The Weight of Ashes

EXT. CITY STREETS – MORNING

Starman walked alone.

No cape. No armor.

Just a gray hoodie, worn jeans, and tired eyes. He kept his head low as people passed, some staring, some turning away, others crossing the street to avoid him.

In his ear, Jace’s voice came through gently.

JACE (V.O.)

“Breathe. One step at a time. You’re not here to be liked. You’re here to listen.”

Starman nodded silently and approached the first door.

INT. APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM

A woman opened the door, older, with deep eyes that had cried too long. She stared at him for a moment.

“You’ve got nerve.”

“I know. I’m here to say I’m sorry. For what I did. For who I was.”

She said nothing.

Then she opened the door wider.

Inside: pictures of her son. A small shrine. A quiet ache.

She poured tea. They sat. She cried. He did too.

JACE (V.O.)

“That’s one.”

MONTAGE...