By the time the winter break ended and they boarded the train back to Elkington, Luna could already feel the difference.

  Scarlet Dust had been warm—chaotic, loud, full of light and people who loved one another so transparently she was still trying to understand it.

  The goodbye at the train station had been overwhelming.

  Clyde and Hector crushed Trey in a hug so intense his spine cracked audibly. Francis, strategically standing two steps away, ended up in one too.

  Grace tucked snacks into Luna’s pockets despite Luna insisting she had no more pockets left.

  Howard placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice gentle.

  “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Don’t let the world shrink you.”

  Even Cookie showed up and refused to get off Francis’s lap until the very last minute.

  And then the train whisked them back into the frost-bitten winds of late winter and Elkington’s stone towers looming like ghosts over the trees.

  Students were already returning.

  The usual crowd.

  The noise.

  The bragging.

  Everything felt… normal.

  Until the day whispers floated through the hall.

  The news spread the way bad news always did at Elkington—quietly, almost gently, carried in low murmurs across hallways.

  “—yeah, Oak Crest lost one of theirs.”

  “Duncan Hale, right? Shame. He was good.”

  “Accident during an SE mission. His body arrived yesterday.”

  Their voices held no shock—just a tired, familiar grief.

  Elkington was a school built on risk. Missions were required. Accidents happened.

  Death on missions also happened.

  Everyone knew it.

  Everyone hated it.

  And then they kept walking, because what else could they do.

  Luna expected Trey to react the same way most people did: a quiet sigh, maybe a frown, then acceptance.

  Instead, the moment he heard the news, something inside him snapped tight.

  His footsteps faltered.

  His smile — always effortless, always bright — vanished like breath in cold air.

  He didn’t say anything.

  He just… stopped.

  Stopped joking.

  Stopped teasing.

  Stopped being loud.

  It was like someone flipped his entire soul upside down.

  Francis saw it too. The flash of something raw in his eyes. Guilt. Old pain, yanked back to the surface without warning.

  “Not again,” He murmured under his breath. “Please, not again…”

  Trey didn’t hear him.

  Or maybe he did — and ignored it.

  From that day on, Trey wasn’t actually Trey.

  He still laughed, but the spark was gone.

  He trained too hard, slept too little, and disappeared often.

  Luna didn’t understand why. But the shift in him was so stark it made her chest ache.

  Francis’s shoulders grew tenser by the day, watching, waiting, worrying.

  Then the whole house noticed too.

  One evening, after dinner, Luna searched the common room. Trey wasn’t there. The clinic was also empty.

  She checked the courtyard. No traces of him. And the roof.

  Nothing.

  Finally, she headed to the workshop.

  Francis was there, surrounded by bubbling apparatus and dried herbs, sleeves rolled up.

  “Francis?” Luna asked. “Have you seen Trey?”

  He didn’t look up.

  “I have,” he said flatly.

  “And?”

  “And I’m done,” Francis snapped.

  Luna blinked. “Done with what?”

  Francis put his tools down, exhaled shakily, then looked at her with a rare kind of frustration—one that wasn’t anger, but exhaustion.

  “Reid,” he called, without breaking eye contact with Luna.

  Reid, who’d been lounging on the couch nearby, stood up and casually took over the tools as if this were routine.

  “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Come with me,” Francis said. “I can’t take this anymore either.”

  Before she could ask, he was already on his feet and heading for the back door, coat half-buttoned, steps brisk with purpose.

  Luna blinked, startled, then hurried after him.

  The woods behind Pine Hollow were dark, even in late winter. Bare branches webbed above them, the air sharp and brittle. Luna followed the crunch of Francis’s footsteps, trying not to trip over roots she could barely see.

  After a few minutes of walking, a shadow of an old stone arch appeared behind the trees—almost invisible if one didn’t know where to look.

  Francis slipped inside, pushing against a slab of earth that revealed a hidden trap door leading into a narrow underground passage.

  “Francis, I can’t see a damn thing in here.”

  He paused.

  “Oh,” he muttered. “Right. I forgot you can’t see Quanta light.”

  Then he gently grabbed her elbow and guided her forward.

  “So you do use it as a lantern,” she muttered.

  He snorted. “Don’t tell Trey. He’ll never shut up about it.”

  They walked for several minutes in the cold, stale dark, their footsteps echoing.

  Finally, Francis pushed up another hatch, and a gust of freezing air rushed in.

  Luna blinked as the world opened into view—

  Gravestones.

  Dozens of them.

  Old, new, crooked, broken.

  A private cemetery tucked deep in the trees.

  Luna instantly moved closer to Francis.

  Without a word, he reached for a lantern resting on a stone pedestal.

  A spark of Quanta flickered at his fingertip—soft, controlled—before the flame caught.

  Warm light spilled outward, chasing back the shadows.

  Luna swallowed. “Francis… what is this place?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. He just lifted the lantern a little higher, its glow stretching across rows of graves like ripples on water.

  “Come,” he said quietly. “You’ll understand.”

  He led her past rows of tombs.

  One grave—new—covered in fresh flowers and ribbons, caught her eye.

  “Duncan Hale,” He said quietly. “The one who died last week.”

  Luna swallowed.

  They walked further until she noticed another grave—older, untouched, strangely free of debris, like someone cleaned it often.

  “Wait. Are we even allowed—”

  “You’re allowed if I allow it. This place belongs to my family,” Francis cut in, gesturing to an old stone arch with faded letters.

  The Creek Cemetery.

  Luna stared at him.

  “What? So when Trey said your house was a—”

  “Do not take everything he says seriously,” He snapped. “You’ll end up insane.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  He continued walking, then stopped before a gravestone so worn Luna could barely read the name.

  But once she did—

  she froze.

  Mira Rowan

  Her chest caved inward.

  Her fingers went numb.

  Her heartbeat plummeted to her feet.

  She had imagined many possibilities about the girl Trey wouldn’t talk about.

  That she’d graduated.

  That she’d run away.

  That she’d been taken by Elderwatch.

  But not this.

  Not lying cold six feet under.

  Francis stood beside her, hands deep in his pockets.

  “Mira was our good friend.”

  Luna remembered Trey saying something like that.

  “She was on a mission in Mid Defrost with Trey,” he said quietly. “He let her wander off for something. She never came back.”

  Luna’s breath hitched.

  “No one blamed him,” Francis continued. “But he blamed himself. Hard.”

  He told her how Trey had gone back to Mid Defrost repeatedly after the incident.

  How he faked mission requests just to go search for her again and again.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  How he argued with the headmaster— Garrett— until he banned him from that town, then banned him from missions for a long while.

  How Garrett, Ermin, and the Pines had spent months trying to keep him from breaking apart.

  “He healed,” Francis said. “But… not really. His smile stopped reaching his eyes.”

  He nudged the moss with his foot.

  “We buried her here anyway. Empty grave. Just so he could have something like closure.” He paused. “He never tended to it. Not once.”

  Luna stared at the moss.

  Trey didn’t believe Mira was dead.

  Francis brushed dried leaves off the headstone, hands steady.

  “So… when he tricked Mr. Cornwall into signing off that mission while he was still on probation,” he said quietly, “I didn’t stop him.”

  Luna blinked. “Why?”

  Francis was supposed to be the reasonable one in any story.

  “Because he’d been breaking apart for months,” Francis admitted. “And trying to stop him would’ve shattered what was left. So I thought… fine. Let him do the one thing he loves. Maybe he’ll breathe again. I’ll just tag along.”

  Luna’s voice softened. “Did it work?”

  Francis gave a tired, humorless little laugh. “You tell me. That was the mission we found you on.”

  Luna froze.

  He continued, gently, “When he said he was bringing you back to school, I assumed—wrongly— that you were some sort of coping mechanism. A distraction. Something unhealthy”

  Luna’s throat tightened. “…Oh.”

  “But he explained it. Thoughtfully. Reasonably. He believed you… needed help. And he wanted to give it.” He shrugged. “And I agreed. Because it was the first sane decision he’d made in months. And because somehow you steadied him.”

  Luna swallowed. Hard.

  The idea that she could anchor someone like Trey — someone who seemed made of sunlight and motion — sent a fierce, trembling heat through her.

  “…I didn’t know it mattered that much,” she murmured.

  He nodded once.

  “The best joint decision we ever made.”

  Luna muttered, voice unsteady. “Why… why are you telling me just now? You said before it wasn’t your story to tell.”

  Francis sighed — the kind of sigh that came from carrying someone else’s weight too long.

  “Because I’ve reached my limit,” he said plainly. “On both of you.”

  He turned to her, expression serious but gentle.

  “Go fix him. Please. I’ve done everything I can.”

  Luna stuttered. “I— I don’t think I can.”

  “You surely can.”

  His tone left no room for argument.

  “I see it every time he looks at you. The way he worries. The way he listens. The way his eyes light up right before he annoys you. The way he actually”—Francis made a helpless little gesture in the cold air—“thinks before doing something stupid. Sometimes.”

  Luna whispered, “Francis… Trey taking care of me was just because of Ermin’s orders.”

  Francis laughed once. Harsh.

  “You saw where he grew up. Do you seriously think anyone can order that man-child unless he wants to be ordered?”

  Luna opened her mouth, then closed it.

  Francis continued, quieter now.

  “I don’t know why or how either, Luna. But you lifted him. You made him smile from his heart again. And I’m grateful for that.”

  Luna looked away, voice tight.

  “If what you said is true… then why is he still such a mess?”

  Francis blinked—visibly taken aback.

  Then he smiled sadly.

  “I don’t know. Maybe some wounds need… multiple stitches.”

  “I care about him,” she said quietly. “Believe me, I do. But I’m an outsider. I don’t know how to fix him.”

  Francis stepped closer, moving faster than she expected.

  “You’re not an outsider,” he said firmly. “Not since a long time ago.”

  Her chest tightened — painfully, confusingly.

  “Then… what do I do?” she asked.

  “Simple.”

  He placed the lantern in her hands.

  “Go back. Deal with him.”

  She hesitated. “You’re not coming?”

  He shook his head, already turning away.

  “No. There’s a stone I need to clean first.”

  He walked toward the old, well-kept grave—the one Luna had passed before.

  She took one step back toward the hatch.

  “Francis?” she called softly.

  He hummed in response.

  “…What if I see a ghost?”

  He didn’t even turn around.

  “You won’t,” he said. “I don’t allow ghosts either.”

  Luna let out a tiny, unexpected snort — the first warm sound in hours.

  The light flickering against the cold night, the cold air bit at her cheeks as she stepped into the underground passage, lantern swinging at her side.

  She had barely taken ten steps when the frustration hit.

  How in the world was she supposed to “fix” Trey Lancaster?

  He wasn’t a loose door hinge or a crooked shelf— which she didn’t know how to fix either. He was… Trey. A storm in human form. Loud, bright, chaotic, and made of a thousand contradictions.

  Luna gritted her teeth, breath clouding in the air.

  What does Francis even expect me to do? Walk up to him and just make everything better?

  I can’t do that!

  I don’t know how to deal with this version of him. I don’t even know how to deal with myself half the time.

  But the more she walked, the more something else tugged quietly in her chest.

  Memories.

  One small thing at first.

  Then another.

  And another.

  She remembered how Trey dragged her out of her room on her first week at Elkington.

  “You gotta eat or you’ll die. And if you die, I’ll get yelled at. Move.”

  She remembered the day she arrived at Pine Hollow, trembling and out of place.

  How he stood there, waiting patiently for her in the dark hallway like some loyal, overconfident guard dog.

  She remembered him carrying her bags without being asked.

  Remembered him standing beside her during training.

  Remembered how he’d made her laugh—so many times, so stupidly—until her ribs hurt.

  She remembered her Quanta exploding.

  Her panic, the shame.

  And how Trey didn’t yell, didn’t flinch, didn’t blame her.

  He’d simply said,

  “It’s fine. Really. Don’t worry about it.”

  Or worse,

  “Can you do that again?!”

  Like her mess didn’t inconvenience him at all.

  She remembered the entrance exams—how he waited for her at the finish line, grinning like an idiot, like he knew she’d make it.

  He cheered for her when she failed.

  Cheered louder when she tried again.

  He made the whole world feel a little less terrifying simply by existing in it.

  She stopped walking, breath catching painfully.

  If he had done all of that for her—

  If he’d pulled her through every fear and failure—

  Then…

  Why shouldn’t she do the same for him?

  Why shouldn’t she be there when he fell apart?

  Why shouldn’t she return even a fraction of the loyalty he’d shown her?

  The lantern flickered in her grip.

  Luna swallowed hard, straightening her shoulders.

  “…Fine,” she muttered to the dark. “If he’s going to be dramatic, then I’ll deal with it.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Another step. Steadier.

  For him.

  For all the things he did for her.

  For whatever it takes.

  She kept walking—toward Pine Hollow, toward Trey, toward the boy who had waited for her at the finish line.

  Toward the mess she refused to let swallow him again.

  Luna found him earlier than she expected.

  Trey was in the backyard, sprawled against the rock hills Blake usually used for punching practice.

  He sat with his knees bent, arms draped loosely over them, eyes fixed on the stars above—unmoving, unblinking, too quiet for someone who usually vibrated with noise.

  Disappear and appear like a ghost.

  Only Trey could brood this dramatically in plain sight.

  Her boots crunched softly against the grass.

  Trey heard her before he saw her. His head turned slightly, brows knitting the moment he recognized her silhouette.

  “Luna—where’s your coat?”

  She stopped.

  Of all things… that?

  He was unraveling, spiraling into old wounds, losing sleep—

  and the first thing he asked was whether she was cold.

  “I forgot,” she muttered. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  His smile flashed — quick, crooked, and painfully empty.

  “Miss me already?” he said lightly. “Come here before you freeze.”

  He opened one side of his coat, patting the space beside him.

  Luna jogged the last few steps and sat beside him. Trey wrapped the coat around her shoulders automatically, pulling her into his warmth.

  For a moment, neither spoke.

  The sky stretched endlessly above them.

  Cold. Quiet. Too quiet.

  Luna swallowed.

  “Trey…”

  Her voice was small, unsure where to begin.

  He hummed. “Sup?”

  Luna shifted, facing him.

  “Next time you decide to brood dramatically, at least warn someone. Francis almost had a stroke.”

  Trey snorted. “He’ll live.”

  Luna’s eyes softened.

  “You scared us. You… scared me.”

  His jaw clenched.

  The bitter smile returned—sharp at the edges, hollow in the middle.

  “Don’t do that thing,” Luna said quietly.

  “What thing?”

  “That smiling thing. The one you pretend you’re fine so I stop asking.”

  He froze.

  “It’s me,” she murmured. “You can drop it.”

  Trey exhaled, long and shaky, eyes flicking away.

  “Luna… I don’t think—”

  “And please stop being so selfish.”

  He whipped toward her. “What?! I— what the hell—”

  “Do you remember what you did for me?” Her voice cracked—not from anger, but something rawer. “Do you?!”

  He blinked, startled.

  “You dragged me to meals when I didn’t want to move,” Luna said. “You carried my things when I couldn’t. You… waited at the finish line for hours.”

  She swallowed, voice trembling.

  “You made me laugh when I hadn’t laughed in years. You never blamed me for anything—not even when I exploded a bowl in your face.”

  Trey’s lips twitched, but she cut him off.

  “And when I failed, it was always okay to you.”

  Her voice dropped.

  “You made me feel safe to try.”

  Trey stared at her, stunned silent.

  “But when it’s your turn?” she whispered. “You don’t even let me near you.”

  “Luna…” His voice was barely there.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Trey.” Her grip tightened on the edge of his coat.

  “Talk or don’t talk. I don’t care. I’ll deal with you. I’ll sit with you. I’ll hurt with you.”

  Her chest ached as the words slipped through her lips.

  “Til the end of time, if I have to.”

  The words hung between them—warm, terrifying, true.

  For a heartbeat, the mask cracked.

  The cold wind pressed between them.

  Trey’s breath hitched.

  For a long moment, he stayed frozen—then his shoulders sagged, all the fight draining out.

  He stared straight ahead, voice low.

  “…How much did Francis tell you?”

  “Enough,” Luna whispered. “But start over. I want to hear it from you.”

  He swallowed once, hard.

  Then he spoke. His voice was quiet. Unarmored.

  “Mira… and I went on a mission, finished it,” he said. “Completely done. We were supposed to head back the next morning.”

  His fingers dug into the fabric of his coat.

  “But she wanted to check on something—some lead, some trail, some… stupid gut feeling. And I was exhausted. I told her— I told her, go ahead. I’ll wait at the inn.”

  Trey dragged a shaky breath.

  “She left.”

  The words cracked.

  “And she didn’t come back.”

  He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes.

  “I let her go alone, Luna. I let her walk out there alone.”

  His voice was breaking, piece by piece.

  “If I’d gone with her—

  If I’d stopped her—

  If I hadn’t been so damn selfish—

  She’d still—”

  He didn’t finish.

  He didn’t have to.

  Luna touched his arm gently.

  “Trey…”

  “I searched all night. Then all morning. Then all week. No trail. No tracks. Nothing. Everyone kept saying it wasn’t my fault. That missions are dangerous. That things happen.”

  He laughed once — hoarse, bitter.

  “But it was my choice. My call. I let her walk out alone when I could’ve gone with her.”

  Luna felt her chest twist painfully.

  He wasn’t talking about logic.

  He wasn’t talking about blame.

  He was talking about grief.

  Luna moved first. Her arms wrapped around him — clumsy, desperate, real.

  “It’s okay, Trey. It’s gonna be okay.”

  For one frozen second, Trey didn’t move.

  Then he folded.

  His forehead pressed into her shoulder, breath shaking as if the world had finally stopped demanding strength from him.

  He didn’t cry.

  But he broke.

  Luna held him tighter.

  The stars blurred. The cold faded. The coat wrapped around both of them now.

  They stayed like that — sitting on a rock in the silent, frost-bitten backyard — until exhaustion pulled at their bones and the lantern flickered low.

  Trey’s head tipped gently against her shoulder.

  Luna’s chin rested atop his hair.

  Their breaths synced.

  Warm. Quiet. Still.

  And sometime between one heartbeat and the next, they drifted into sleep —

  leaning on each other, wrapped in one coat, under a sky full of distant, patient stars.