You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone, when you hear the soft click of the door. Effy steps in, silent as always, her dark eyes shadowed and unreadable. She doesn’t say anything at first—she just perches on the chair across from you, twisting her fingers together.

You notice something different. She looks… fragile.

“Effy?” you ask gently, not wanting to push, but also not wanting to ignore the tension in the room.

She looks away, biting her lip. Then, slowly, like she’s unlearning a habit she’s had her whole life, tears begin to slip down her cheeks.