Ruby's eyes caught a flicker near a vent at the far end of the rooftop — a small, almost imperceptible shadow of a child, crouched and trembling. Unlike the other echoes, this one radiated both fear and desperation, as though the memory itself was aware of her presence but too frightened to move. Ruby approached slowly, careful not to startle the fragile figure.
"You're safe," she whispered, kneeling beside the shadow. "I won't let anyone hurt you. You can rest now."
The child's memory shook violently, and the chill of fear seeped into Ruby's chest. She felt the echoes of loneliness and neglect radiating outward, clashing with the residual sorrow of the teenagers she had just calmed. The rooftop seemed to shiver under the weight of all these intertwined emotions. Ruby pressed both hands into the air, letting her warmth radiate outward, threading a protective blanket through the child's memory.
"See? You're not alone," she murmured, her voice almost drowned in the wind. Slowly, the child's shadow relaxed, curling into itself. Ruby felt the ache settle heavier in her chest — a fragment of her own memory vanished: the warmth of her grandmother's smile, a feeling she could no longer fully recall. She exhaled, pressing a hand to her heart, but there was no time to linger. The night was far from over.
As Ruby moved along the rooftop, the wind carried a faint murmur — a subtle, insistent tension that drew her attention toward the city skyline. Across the street, on a neighboring rooftop, she detected a group of shadows huddled together: adults, mid-twenties to thirties, replaying betrayal and resentment over a shared memory. The echoes collided with each other, forming a chaotic storm that threatened to destabilize even the younger echoes she had just soothed.
Ruby inhaled deeply. She had to thread warmth carefully, or the entire rooftop could become a vortex of emotional pain. She began with the most dominant shadow, a man whose anger radiated outward in jagged spikes. "I see you," she whispered. "I hear you. Let it go. You are safe now."
The shadow lashed out, figuratively, and Ruby felt the sharp pang in her chest — rage, disappointment, and humiliation from a memory that was decades old, pressing on her own mental defenses. She focused, letting her warmth thread through the spikes of pain, untangling the man's memories from the intertwined emotions of the group.
It took nearly an hour, her knees scraping against wet gravel, her hands aching from constant tension. Slowly, the echoes began to calm. The man's anger softened, the others followed, and the cluster of memories settled into quiet relief. Ruby's chest felt hollow with the cost — her own memory of a first heartbreak, raw and delicate, slipped away into darkness. She pressed a hand to her face, closing her eyes, letting herself mourn the loss for a fleeting moment.
The rooftop was no longer calm. As Ruby moved to a corner near the fire escape, she sensed multiple echoes converging: a child's fear, a teenager's grief, a young woman's anger, and an older man's sorrow. They collided and intertwined, creating emotional friction that reverberated across the rooftop. Ruby's pulse spiked; she could feel the tension pressing like a storm against her chest.
She stepped carefully into the center of the collision, spreading her arms, her voice soft but commanding. "I am here. You are safe. Each of you will be heard. Calm yourself."
The echoes recoiled, then hesitated. Ruby moved between them, whispering to each individually, threading warmth, patience, and understanding. The process was exhausting — some memories fought back, lashing outward like thorns. But slowly, she disentangled the tangled echoes, separating anger from sorrow, fear from regret, letting each memory find its place and settle into quiet relief.
For a moment, the rooftop seemed suspended in time, the echoes finally at rest. Ruby's chest ached with fatigue and the cost exacted by her gift. Another memory slipped from her: the smell of rain on city streets from her own childhood, a sensory fragment she would never regain. She pressed a hand to her heart, letting the grief wash over her before moving on.
As dawn approached, Ruby noticed a stubborn shadow huddled in a corner near the edge of the roof. It was small, fragile, and resistant, a child perhaps no more than ten, trapped in a memory of abandonment. Fear radiated outward, colliding with the calmer echoes nearby. Ruby knelt, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It's okay. I see you. I hear you. You are safe. Let it go."
The shadow trembled violently. Ruby pressed both hands into the surrounding air, threading warmth deep into the memory, soothing the fear without forcing it. Slowly, the child's shadow relaxed, curling into itself like a leaf floating on water. Relief rippled through the surrounding echoes.
Ruby's body shook with exhaustion. Her hands were numb, her knees sore, and her chest heavy with the cumulative weight of lost fragments. Another piece of her own memory disappeared: the laughter of her father in the rain, a comfort she had cherished. She pressed a hand to her face, breathing deeply, letting herself feel the cost before standing and surveying the rooftop.
The city stretched before her, rain-slick streets glowing in the first light of dawn. Ruby leaned against the railing, watching as the shadows of buildings lengthened and merged with the soft orange of morning. The rooftop was quiet, the echoes she had tended now at rest — for the moment.
She knew this calm was temporary. Tomorrow, the echoes would call again, new memories trapped in fear, grief, anger, or longing. She would rise to hear them, as she always had. The red thread bracelet on her wrist pulsed softly, a reminder that she was still herself, still tethered, still capable of enduring the cost of her gift.
Ruby closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the city's heartbeat beneath her, the intertwined memories and whispered echoes. She allowed herself a single thought, a quiet affirmation: I am here. I will endure. I will listen.
Because Ruby was the girl who hears too much.
And the city would never stop speaking.