Run Before Sunrise…. Part 5

Ace’s laugh carried over the music and chatter of the block party as he caught up with old teammates, the kind of conversation that pulls someone back into a different version of themselves. Shoulder pats, memories of games, talk about who made it out and who didn’t. He got pulled in without even noticing how far he drifted from Dior.

Dior stood near the edge of the crowd at first, letting him have his moment. She watched him for a while, then looked around—kids running with glow sticks, grills smoking, music thumping off nearby houses. She figured she’d just walk a little, stretch her legs, not go far.

But the further she went, the less familiar everything felt.

She turned down a tighter stretch between houses where the noise dulled, replaced by the hum of a dumpster lid slamming somewhere down the block. That’s when she saw it.

A pair of feet sticking out of a trash can.

For a second, her brain refused to connect what she was seeing to anything real. Then the shape shifted slightly—too still, too wrong, too human. Her body reacted before her thoughts caught up.

Dior screamed.

It ripped out of her so fast it cracked her voice, echoing off the narrow space between buildings. She stumbled backward, heart slamming so hard it felt like it was in her throat, and she screamed again—longer, sharper—until her lungs burned and her vision blurred at the edges.

People started turning. Music felt distant all of a sudden, like it had been turned down underwater.

And Ace—still mid-conversation, still half-laughing—froze when he heard her voice.

He didn’t think. He just ran.

Dior’s hand shook so badly she could barely keep it raised. When Ace finally reached her, she didn’t even form words at first—just a broken breath, eyes wide like she’d seen something that didn’t belong in this world.

She pointed again.

Down the narrow stretch. The trash can. The feet still hanging out like some sick mistake nobody had bothered to fix.

Ace followed her line of sight.

For a second, everything in him went still.

Not fear exactly. Not panic. Something colder. Familiar in a way that made his jaw tighten instead of loosen. He exhaled through his nose, slow, like he was pushing the reaction down before it could show on his face.

Dior watched him, waiting for something—shock, anger, disbelief, anything that matched what she was feeling.

But Ace just looked away.

“How could you not be—” Dior’s voice cracked as she stepped closer, grabbing at his sleeve. “How could you not be bothered right now?!”

Ace didn’t answer her. Not right then.

Instead, he took her hand.

Firm. Certain.

And turned her away from the alley like it didn’t matter what was back there.

“Come on,” he said flatly.

Dior stumbled as he pulled her through the thinning crowd, back toward the louder side of the block party where music tried to pretend nothing was wrong. Her heart was still racing, her mind stuck on what she saw, refusing to let it blur into something she could forget.

“Ace!” she pulled against him. “You saw that! You just saw that and you’re acting like—like it’s nothing!”

He stopped only when they reached a brighter corner under a streetlight, away from wandering eyes and the narrow alley’s shadow.

Then he finally looked at her.

Not soft. Not shocked. Just steady.

“I saw it,” he said.

That was all.

Dior stared at him, breath shaking. “Then why aren’t you—why aren’t you saying something? Calling somebody? Doing something?”

Ace’s grip tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to keep her from spiraling further.

“Because right now,” he said, voice low, controlled, “you don’t need to be over there. You need to be over here.”

He didn’t explain the rest.

Didn’t offer comfort in the way she expected.

Just kept hold of her hand like that was the only thing that mattered in the moment—and like whatever was in that alley belonged to a world she wasn’t supposed to step into.

Dior went quiet for a second, like the words hit her harder than she expected.

The car was moving slow through the night, streetlights sliding across the windshield in steady pulses. The block party noise was gone now, replaced with the low hum of tires on asphalt and the distant sound of sirens that didn’t belong to anything specific.

She stared out the window, but her voice stayed in the space between them.

“I am not used to that,” Dior said again, softer this time. “Yeah, I grew up rough, but seeing bodies like that… gave me goosebumps.”

Ace kept his eyes on the road. One hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console like nothing had happened at all. His face didn’t change, but his jaw was set a little tighter than before.

“This is the streets, Dior,” he said plainly. “This is exactly how it is.”

Dior turned toward him now, searching his face like she could find something that contradicted what he was saying. Something gentler. Something human.

Instead, she just looked more unsettled.

“How do you know,” he asked slowly, “he didn’t cross anybody… and you just feeling bad for a snake or a snitch?”

That made the air in the car shift.

Dior didn’t answer right away.

He drove for a few more seconds in silence, passing under another flickering streetlight. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower—controlled, almost clipped.

“Because it don’t matter what he was,” she said, “What matters is i saw something i wasn’t supposed to see.”

Ace frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

Ace finally glanced at her then—quick, sharp.

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not the answer you want.”

Silence settled again, heavier this time.

Dior hugged her arms tighter to herself. “So people just… die like that and everybody just moves on?”

Ace’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly.

“Some people do,” he said. “That’s the truth you don’t get to unlearn.”

Dior swallowed hard, eyes glassy now, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. She looked forward again, like she was trying to force her brain to accept something it didn’t want to hold.

Ace’s voice softened just a fraction, but not enough to become comforting.

“And you,” he added, “you’re not built for looking at that kind of thing. So next time I tell you stay close… you stay close.”

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