Honestly, bad things really do pile up.

If they had come one by one, spaced out over time, I like to think I could’ve laughed them off. Maybe poured myself a drink, turned them into a decent story. I probably would’ve handled it calmly enough. I wasn’t a teenager anymore, dazzled by everything the world threw at me. With my thirties right around the corner, I’d already been through most of life’s usual hardships—or at least, I thought I’d learned how to face them.

But when this much misfortune hits all at once, even I start to lose faith. Everything crashed into my life at the same time, leaving me no chance to process it—not even enough time for my brain to properly register what was happening.

As if reflecting my state of mind, the scene in front of me was swallowed in darkness. This was Brisbane’s city center, supposedly developing at a remarkable pace. Yet step just a little off the main road, and this is what you get. Subtropical climate or not, July nights still get cold. And there wasn’t a single sign of another person around. That emptiness only made the sense of despair settle in deeper.

Up in the sky, there were probably countless tiny lights still shining.

I just didn’t have the energy to look for them.

When you’re too exhausted to walk, do whatever you want most in that moment—

that was something my grandmother used to say. She died two days ago. Come to think of it, her death had been the very first announcement in what turned out to be a marathon of misfortune.

But standing there, unable to think of a single thing I wanted to do, I couldn’t help wondering if my future had already been cut off just a few steps ahead of me.

I’d told that same line to plenty of people before—If you’re worn out, just do what you want most right now.

At this moment, I wanted to punch that philosophy in the face and block my ears.

Honestly, anyone who’d ever heard those words from me had probably wanted to punch me and shut my mouth, too.

While I stood there, lost in thought and staring back over my life, my left hand moved on its own. Without asking permission, it slipped into my pocket, pulled out my device, and brought up a contact.

A man I’d blocked three years ago. A number I’d sworn I’d never call again.

Why I hadn’t deleted it altogether was a question I couldn’t quite answer myself.

After a moment's hesitation, I pressed the call button. My future might already be over. Might as well hear his voice one last time—though really, what does it say about me that in the depths of despair, the only thing I want to do is call him? Forget my future; I can't even get a handle on my own thoughts.

I pressed the phone to my ear. The moment the dial tone began, it cut off with a soft click, replaced by a familiar low voice I knew all too well.

"Darcy speaking."

Ah, there was a time when just hearing this voice sent me to heaven.

I let myself steep in nostalgia for a moment, then greeted my childhood friend with impeccable manners.

"Hey, Brian."

A beat of silence. Then he lowered his already-low voice into something approaching a growl.

"Luke, you..."

"I know, I'm sorry. I had absolutely zero intention of calling you. But I'm genuinely at the end of my rope here—cornered, literally, and spectacularly unfortunate."

With every word I spoke, my own voice seemed to grow lighter and less convincing. Panic crept in.

"Hey, Luke—"

"You used to be a cop, right? Not that I actually need anything from you, but I figured I'd let you hear my voice one last time before the end!"

Even I had to admit: what an incoherent mess.

"Alright, alright, calm down, Luke."

Brian tried to soothe me through the phone.

"Tell me what's happening. One thing at a time. What do you mean, 'the end'?"

"Brian..." I gripped the phone tighter. "Brian, Grandma died."

"...Grandma? You mean your mother's mother?"

"Yeah. Mom called to tell me."

"I'm sorry to hear that. She was a wonderful woman."

God, it's so much easier talking to a childhood friend at times like this. Brian continued:

"But I see. If she called you, does that mean she's lifted the disownment?"

"No, she said, 'You're still disowned, so I assume you won't be coming to the funeral.' When I reflexively said 'yes,' she tore into me."

"Naturally. Attend the funeral properly. What else?"

"Right after I hung up with her, Kirk called."

"...Kirk?"

"A colleague I work with sometimes. He keeps wanting me to design furniture for him, but he always has something to say. My designs are 'unconventional,' or 'it would take a genius to create an interior that actually harmonizes with this'..."

I could feel my own energy draining.

"I know he respects my work, and I'm used to it, so it's fine. But the timing was awful. I felt spectacularly incompetent, and it got me down."

"Luke..."

"And then he ended up using my design exactly as I submitted it! Why does he have to start with criticism before even seeing how it looks in the space? Give me back my self-doubt!"

"Tell him that directly. If you plan to keep working together, you really should—"

I talked over my childhood friend and continued.

"Anyway, my head was spinning at that point. I tried to go to Lexandra's place. I just couldn't stand being alone."

"Whose place?"

"Lexandra. Alexandria. Don't tell me you've forgotten? Tanned, muscular, green eyes. Around fifty, I think."

"...You mean Max?"

"That's his legal name. He told me the name given to his soul is Alexandria."

"...Right. Got it. And then?"

Brian sighed in resignation and prompted me to continue.

"So I get there, and Leo's at the bar, completely wasted."

"I see. And who is Leo?"

Brian asked with patient endurance from the other end of the line.

"Leonardo. An ex of mine. He started loudly making fun of me—'This guy's no fun to be around'—so the atmosphere was completely ruined for any kind of heart-to-heart. I thought we'd had something real. I had no idea he felt that way."

"The words of garbage people are a waste of your life to dwell on. Is that everything?"

I glanced down at my scraped arm and sighed.

"I fell in a hole."

"You what?!"

"I didn't want to see anyone, so I took a route with less foot traffic. Turns out it was a construction site. I stepped through some boards, and now I'm stuck up to my chest. Present tense. If I have to spend the night here, I'll probably die."

I expected him to scoff—Brisbane winters aren't that cold—but contrary to my expectations, Brian didn't mock me. He simply exhaled deeply.

"...Okay. Where are you? I'm coming to get you—"

"What? No, you don't have to." Remembering that he'd always been surprisingly caring despite appearances, I hastily cut him off. "Talking to you has actually calmed me down. Why did I even call you? I'm really sorry."

"Luke, just tell me where—"

"Besides, now that I think about it, I've got a detective's business card right here. Might as well put him to work."

At my words, Brian's voice went low and careful.

"...Wait. Why do you have a detective's business card?"

"About that."

The grief I hadn't been able to feel properly—everything had been too surreal—came flooding out. I hung my head.

"Alan's dead too."

"...And who is Alan?"

"A friend of mine. Not a lover. Just a normal friend I'd grab a meal with sometimes and talk to."

"I see."

"The detective told me. That Alan was dead. Then they questioned me."

I sensed Brian go speechless.

"He was murdered. And apparently, I'm one of the prime suspects."