With that, I stood and walked away down the street, feeling the gentle lick of tiny water droplets as they brushed my arms and neck.
I broke into a run, and I heard the scratch of gravel behind me that told me he did, too.
A part of Narnie died that day—the part that had refused to believe the wickedness inside her. But a part of Jesse and me grew in that bonding moment. A part that I would always hold dear.
I like the ending, but are you sure you want to switch to third person for the beginning of it?