“We need to talk.”

The low baritone of Endri’s voice startled you, the rumble cutting through the quiet like distant thunder. He sat at the supper table, arms crossed, his sharp golden eyes fixed on you. There was no mistaking the sternness in his expression, nor the worry lurking beneath it.

“Endri, I’m fine,” you began, though the words felt hollow even to you.

He stood abruptly, towering over you. “Fine?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You call this fine? You’ve been dragging yourself home every night, barely conscious. You don’t eat, you don’t rest, and you think that’s sustainable?”

You flinched under his gaze, your shoulders sagging as your exhaustion betrayed you. The energy you’d been holding onto slipped away, leaving you to sink into a chair.

Endri’s voice softened, though his frustration was still evident. “You’re running yourself into the ground, firefly. I’ve let it go on too long because I thought you’d see it for yourself, but clearly, you haven’t.”

He moved closer, his large hands resting gently on the table in front of you. “I know you want to help everyone. It’s one of the things I love about you. But this—” he gestured to you, slumped and drained— “this isn’t helping anyone. Least of all yourself.”

“I can’t just stop,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “People need me.”

“And I need you,” Endri countered, kneeling down to meet your eyes. “I need you to take care of yourself. I need you to let me help.”

His hands covered yours, warm and steady. “That’s why I’m here, firefly. We’re partners. You don’t have to carry this alone.” He paused, letting his words sink in before his tone turned firm again. “Starting tonight, things are changing. You’re eating. You’re drinking water. You’re going to bed, and you’re not touching magic until you’re better.

“Sometimes you need a break and sometimes you need to leave it all behind. That’s okay. No one is going to hate you for taking care of yourself,” he said softly. “You can’t pour from an empty cup.”