Zero pov

The humid air sticks to my skin, thick and heavy, like it’s trying to slow me down. Chinatown’s alive with a low hum, neon signs buzzing, their pink and green glow bouncing off wet streets. The air is sharp with incense and the sizzle of street food frying nearby.

Strolling down the busy streets,you would think you just transmigrated to China.

My boots splash through puddles. I can't help the guilt gnawing at my chest, a dull ache I can’t shake. I lied to ...