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✘ 𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚘

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Returning to London after all those years in Chicago felt less like coming home and more like walking into a city that had once known her and chosen to forget. Chicago had hardened her - made her louder, sharper, stripped of any remaining softness - or so she'd claim.

She’d traded rain for sirens, ghostly fog for snow that sliced like glass. But London.. It was different. Cold in a way that wasn’t just about the chills. It seeped into the bones, whispered through alleyways and painted windows like regret. It was silent. Poetic. Perhaps cruel.

The air still tasted like rust. The tube still groaned beneath the weight of soaked umbrellas and tired strangers. Every corner looked familiar, but every face was foreign, which suited her just fine.

The old flat was still there, tucked between two boarded-up storefronts that hadn't seen life in years. It was almost laughable that she'd kept it, considering the wealth of her family. But it still greeted her like something patient and smug - like it had always known she’d be back. Dust coated the windowsills, and the floorboards groaned beneath her step as if waking from a long slumber. Her fingers skimmed the bannister with the gentleness of an old friend.

"You don’t change much, do you?" Sierra murmured to the shadows, smiling as that question escaped her lips again. They didn’t answer either.

She lit a candle in the kitchen, watching the flame cast long, stretching shadows across the grime-stained walls. The silence pressed against her chest until it became something she could almost name - grief, maybe.

The kettle screamed somewhere behind her, and thunder growled above the rooftops. She stood in the middle of it all, motionless, as if the city itself might recognise her if she stayed still long enough.

London didn’t forgive - but perhaps, in its own cold, silent way, it remembered.