She wore the necklace today.

Not in a showy way—just looped around her throat like she didn’t even think about it. Like she didn’t know what it meant. What it meant to me. I carved it from mountain stone, shaped it down with my own damn hands, pressed the grooves smooth while the rest of the team was asleep. It wasn’t just a necklace—it was a piece of earth I’d chosen for her. Solid. Grounded. A reminder that even if her whole world cracked, I was still here.

And still, she sat there with her tray untouched. Rice cold. Vegetables left to wilt. She wasn’t even pretending to eat this time. Just sitting there, shoulders curled in, eyes fixed on nothing like the lights were on but no one was home.

Everyone else was chatting—Jay arguing over training scores, Kai making some dumb joke about Zane’s “emotional processing speed,” but I wasn’t hearing any of it. I was watching her. Watching the way she barely blinked. Watching the quiet fall around her like a second skin.

I waited until the others got up, grabbed their gear, headed off toward the training courtyard. She didn’t move. Neither did I.

“You gonna eat that?” I asked finally, low and quiet, like if I said it too loud she’d shatter.

She flinched. Didn’t even look at me. “Not hungry.” Bullshit.

“You said that yesterday too,” I said. “And the day before.”

“I’m fine, Cole.”

“No,” I said, standing. “You’re not.”

I walked around the table, didn’t sit—just stood next to her until she finally looked up. Her eyes were dull. And the necklace? It caught the sunlight from the window behind me. That little piece of stone I’d poured hours into—it sat right against her collarbone like a lie.

Without thinking, I reached for it. Curled my fingers around the pendant and gave the cord the gentlest tug.

She startled. Looked up at me like I’d just snapped her out of something heavy.

“You don’t get to wear something I made for you,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be, “and act like you don’t matter.”

Her throat bobbed. She opened her mouth like she had something to say—but nothing came out. I didn’t need her to explain. I knew the look she had in her eyes. I’ve worn it before.

Grief’s a bitch like that. Comes in quiet. Doesn’t always show itself with tears—it steals your appetite, your sleep, the color in your face. And the worst part is? Nobody notices until it’s too damn late.

But I noticed.

“Eat,” I said. “Now. Or I swear to whatever gods are listening, I’ll carry you to the kitchen myself, feed you like you’re five, and make sure Kai’s there to watch the whole thing.”

That got a flicker. A roll of her eyes. She muttered something under her breath and picked up the fork with a hand that was shaking just slightly.

I didn’t grin. Didn’t ease up. Just stood there, hand still holding the necklace.

Her fingers trembled, but she took a bite.

I let the necklace go. Didn’t say anything else. Just stood beside her until her plate was empty and the color came back into her face, even if only a little.

She thinks I’m just the tough one. The reliable one. The solid ground beneath everyone’s feet.

What she doesn’t know is I’ve already made the decision.

If she breaks—I’m breaking with her. And I’ll still carry her through it.