Swamp Murder

Swamp murder. 70

Zhan's Pov

I woke up without a headache. Surprising, considering the storm that blew through this house last night. Maybe my body just decided it was done being weighed down by other people's tempers. Or maybe I was just too tired to care anymore. Either way, I slept. I actually slept.

The house was quiet when I rolled out of bed. Too quiet. A heavy kind of quiet. I picked up my phone and shot a quick message to Dre.

Me: Where are you?
Dre: My room.

No emoji. No sarcasm. Just two words. That alone told me enough.

I walked down the hall and knocked once before Dre opened the door and walked to the bed. The sight stopped me cold. Dre was sitting at the edge of his bed, shirtless, head in his hands. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck carrying a thousand bricks, eyes swollen, face pale, shoulders slumped.

"Dre..." I whispered.

His head snapped up, and the pain in his expression made my chest tighten. Not anger. Not defiance. Just pure exhaustion, the kind that goes beyond the body and sinks straight into the soul.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, trying to decide if I should step closer or let him breathe.

Finally, he gave a bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. "You came to see the wreckage?"

I shook my head slowly. "No. I came to see my friend."

His jaw clenched, and he looked away. His hands trembled slightly as he wiped at his face.

Last night's venom replayed in my head, the shouting, the accusations, the way Ezra's words cut, the way Dre's voice cracked when he finally broke. And here he was now, broken still, but quiet.

I crossed the room slowly and sat beside him. For a while, I didn't say anything, I just let the silence hang between us, heavy but not unbearable. He didn't push me away, and that was already something.

"You look like hell," I murmured, trying to coax even a half-smile out of him.

"Thanks," Dre muttered, voice hoarse. "You should see how I feel."

I let that hang before leaning forward, elbows on my knees. "You know... this isn't the first time we've been cornered. Or broken. Or humiliated. It's not even the worst. Remember when we had nothing but scraps and still laughed our way through the night?"

His lips twitched, but his eyes stayed dim.

"Remember the prison? The tortures, sleeping on floors we didn't know if we'd wake up from?" I continued. "We've walked through worse fire than last night's. And we're still here. Breathing. Sitting. Drinking bad coffee in expensive houses like we earned the damn right to exist."

Dre gave a shaky laugh, dragging a hand over his face. "Yeah. And every time, I thought we wouldn't make it. But somehow we did."

"Exactly," I said softly. "We've overcome every obstacle thrown at us, chains, bullets, hunger, betrayal. You think a few ugly words will be the thing that breaks us? No, Dre. That's not us. We're too damn stubborn to fall apart now."

His eyes finally met mine, glassy but alive again. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is," I said with a shrug. "We survive. That's what we do. And maybe one day, we'll do more than just survive. But for now? We keep standing. Together. Always together."

For the first time since I walked in, Dre smiled, small, tired, but real.

And for me, that was enough.