I Am the One Who Burned

Ru's fingers trembled as he pulled the Marionette of Justice from his pajama pocket. The card glowed faintly—not in triumph, but in mourning.

He couldn't look at Jazz—couldn't bear to see the ashes in those storm-gray eyes or the way his talons had retracted like a beast learning shame. Instead, Ru stared at the card—at the puppet strings etched into its surface, the ones that had once bound them both.

"Take it," Ru whispered, thrusting it toward Jazz without meeting his gaze. "It's yours. It always was."

There was a beat of silence. Then—

Jazz's hand closed over the card... and Ru's fingers along with it.

Ru froze. Jazz's grip wasn't forceful—just desperate, his thumb brushing Ru's knuckles like a question.

"Look at me," Jazz rasped.

Ru shut his eyes. A single tear streaked through the glitter-dust still clinging to his cheek.

Jazz's breath hitched. He leaned in—close enough that his next words burned against Ru's skin: