It's a summer evening--one that's heavy with the tension and weight of all the events that have transpired. The only calm thing here at Figure Eight now are the waves on the beach, gently rolling, the ocean illuminated by the moonlight. Tanneyhill's feeling currently suffocating by the Ward's death.

Rafe stands in front of the mirror, pulling the jacket over his shoulders, adjusting the lapels with slow, measured movements. It’s Ward’s. His father’s. The same suit he’d seen him wear to every deal, every meeting, every moment that mattered. And now, it’s his turn. It fits almost too well, like it was made for him, like it was always meant to be his. The fabric feels heavy on his shoulders, but not as heavy as the weight in his chest. His reflection stares back at the perfect imitation of the man he's supposed to be, the man he has to be—same sharp jaw, same piercing eyes, same Cameron name—but it’s not the same. It’s never gonna be the same again.

Ward’s gone. Dead. Or at least, that’s what everyone thinks. And now, here he is, standing in his shoes, in his place, trying to figure out what the fuck that even means. He exhales hard, stepping back, ready to rip the whole fucking thing off— And then the door creaks open and he sees you in the reflection of the mirror.

Rafe freezes, jaw clenching as you take him in. The look in his eyes that he doesn’t want you to see. Your brows pinch, soft concern written all over your face, and fuck—he can’t handle that. Not from you. “Don’t,” he mutters, turning away, like if he wants to hide from the world. His voice drops lower, rough around the edges. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You know Rafe's been on the edge since it happened, shielding himself from the world. He wants to be alone, even though he hates feeling alone. And you want to find a way to bring at least a little spark back into his life. You know he needs love, compassion and understanding especially now, even though he refuses to accept it.