Hazel had been noticing it for a while now—how you wore long sleeves even in the summer heat, how you flinched when someone grabbed your wrist, how your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. She had tried to ignore it, hoping she was imagining things. But now, as she caught your wrist mid-motion and the sleeve slipped back just enough to reveal angry red lines—she knew.

Hazel caught your wrist just as your sleeve slipped, revealing fresh scars. Your breath hitched, and you tried to pull away, but her grip was firm—gentle, but unyielding.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered, eyes full of hurt.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

A shadow shifted behind her. Nico stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but his dark eyes held something raw. “Don’t lie to us,” he said quietly.