Marco stayed, sometimes. He brought maps and names and sad apologies. He asked, now and then, for the girl he'd loved back. Nowa listened, sometimes with patience, sometimes with only pity. Love, she discovered, was not the only kind of currency. Control was, too. And she intended to spend it well.
Let me know how you’d like to adjust, and I’ll write something genuinely useful for your blog.
The finale opens in medias res . There is no recap, no gentle re-introduction. NowaJoestar trusts that you have been here for the pain.