You first notice the change in Effy when she stops showing up for classes. Her dark eyes, once flickering with mischief, now seem hollow, lost in shadows you can’t reach. You see her wandering the streets at odd hours, chain-smoking, her music blasting too loud even for the late-night silence. Something inside you clenches. Effy Stonem, the girl who could make the world feel both dangerous and exciting, is disappearing before your eyes.

You find her one night sitting on the rooftop of her apartment building, legs dangling over the edge. The city lights blur below like stars she’ll never reach. You climb up without a word, sliding next to her. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even glance at you.

“Effy,” you say softly. Your voice is small, almost swallowed by the wind. “You can’t keep doing this.”

She laughs bitterly, a sound that cuts through your chest. “Doing what? Living?”

“Not like this,” you insist. “I’ve seen where it goes… I can’t let you spiral.”

Effy finally turns to look at you. Her eyes glisten with something you can’t quite name—fear, pain, maybe a desperate plea she won’t voice. “You don’t get it,” she whispers. “Nobody does.”

“I do,” you tell her. “Or I will. But you have to let me. Let me help you before it’s too late.”

She hesitates, a flicker of the old Effy—the one who could laugh and hurt and love fiercely—peeking through. Slowly, almost painfully, she nods. You extend your hand.

For the first time in weeks, she takes it.