I wake up because something hurts.
Not one thing. Everything.
It's the kind of pain that doesn't spike, it just sits there, heavy and undeniable, like my body has filed a formal complaint and is waiting for me to acknowledge it. I don't open my eyes right away. I breathe first. That works. Mostly.
When I do open them, the ceiling is unfamiliar. Rough stone, uneven, darkened by soot and age. No sky. No stars. That's fine. Safe is relative.
I try to move my fingers.
They move.
That's a win.
I take a breath and roll my head slightly to the side. My ribs protest immediately. I hiss through my teeth, then laugh under my breath because of course they do.
"Don't," Violet says instantly.
I blink and focus. She's sitting close, knees pulled in, watching me like she's been waiting for this exact moment. Her eyes soften when she realizes I'm actually awake.
"Hey," I croak.
She exhales sharply. "You're not allowed to say 'hey' like nothing happened."
"Okay," I say. "Hey… a lot happened."
She snorts despite herself. "You're unbelievable."
Scarlett appears next, standing a little farther back, arms crossed. She looks tired. Not injured tired. Worn tired. The kind that doesn't go away with sleep.
"You're awake," she says flatly.
"Hard to miss," I reply. "You're all doing that thing where you pretend you're not relieved."
She scoffs. "I wasn't relieved. I was annoyed."
"Sure you were."
Celeste is the last one I notice. She's sitting near my feet, calm as ever, hands folded, watching me with an expression that tells me she's already three steps ahead of whatever I'm about to do.
"Welcome back," she says gently.
I swallow. "Miss me?"
"No," Scarlett says immediately.
Violet rolls her eyes. "Yes."
Celeste smiles.
I push my hands against the ground and start to sit up.
Three voices overlap instantly.
"Don't."
"Matte—"
"Slowly."
I pause, halfway up, then continue anyway. Pain flares along my side, sharp enough to make my vision blur for a second, but I grit my teeth and keep going. Sitting upright feels like a victory worth suffering for.
Scarlett stares at me. "You're an idiot."
"Still alive," I say. "Still counts."
She steps closer. "Do you have any idea how close you were?"
"Close is subjective."
Violet leans in, her voice tight. "You passed out standing up."
"I've been working on my balance."
She glares. "I'm serious."
"So am I," I reply, softer now. "Just… selectively."
Celeste watches the exchange quietly, then speaks. "How do you feel?"
I consider it. "Like I got hit by several bad decisions. Repeatedly."
"That bad, huh?" Scarlett mutters.
"I've had worse."
Scarlett's jaw tightens. "That's not comforting."
I stretch my legs slowly, testing. They shake, but they hold. I get my feet under me and push myself up before anyone can stop me.
The room tilts. I steady myself on instinct, breathing through it.
"Matte," Violet says, panic creeping back in. "Sit down."
"I can stand," I say. "See? Standing."
Scarlett pinches the bridge of her nose. "You're going to be the death of me."
Celeste rises smoothly and steps closer, not touching me, but close enough that I can feel her presence. "You don't need to prove anything," she says.
I meet her eyes. "I'm not."
"Then what are you doing?" Violet asks.
I glance between them. Scarlett, tense and sharp. Violet, worried and tired. Celeste, calm but attentive.
"I'm making sure I still work," I say.
Scarlett laughs, short and humorless. "You're not a weapon."
"Could've fooled me," I mutter.
"That's not funny," Violet says.
I sigh and ease myself back down onto the stone. "Alright. Alright. Truce."
They don't relax.
Scarlett crosses her arms again. "We need to talk."
"That sounds ominous."
"It is."
Celeste nods. "We do."
I lean back against the wall. "Okay. Let's talk."
Scarlett doesn't waste time. "You don't stop."
I blink. "I sleep sometimes."
"Barely," Violet says.
"You don't retreat," Scarlett continues. "You don't disengage. You don't even slow down when your body is clearly failing."
"I slow down," I argue. "I just… don't stop."
"That's the problem," Violet snaps. "You don't give yourself permission to fall."
The room goes quiet.
I look away.
Celeste's voice is gentle but firm. "Why?"
I open my mouth. Close it. Take a breath.
"Because if I stop," I say slowly, "things end."
Scarlett steps closer. "That's not how this works."
"It is for me."
Violet shakes her head. "You don't have to carry everything."
"I know."
"Do you?" she asks.
I meet her eyes. "Yeah. I do. I just don't know how to put it down."
Scarlett exhales sharply. "You scared us."
I look at her.
"I don't mean 'oh no, he got hurt,'" she continues. "I mean there was a moment where I thought you were just… going to stay upright until you died."
I grimace. "That wasn't the plan."
"That doesn't make it better."
Celeste folds her hands. "You reinforce yourself when you should collapse," she says. "Not instinctively. Deliberately."
I nod.
Scarlett frowns. "What does that mean?"
I hesitate.
Violet watches me closely. "Matte."
I rub my face with both hands, then drop them. "There's something I haven't explained."
Scarlett raises an eyebrow. "You don't say."
"It's not because I didn't trust you," I add quickly.
"That's not reassuring," she says.
I sigh. "Okay. Maybe a little."
Violet crosses her arms. "Then why?"
"Because once I explain it," I say, "you're going to look at me differently."
Celeste tilts her head. "Try us."
I swallow. The room feels smaller all of a sudden.
"You keep asking why I don't stop," I say. "Why I don't fall. Why I don't let go."
They wait.
"It's because what I use isn't strength," I continue. "It's not adrenaline. It's not some hidden reserve."
Scarlett's expression sharpens. "Then what is it?"
I take a slow breath.
"What I use," I say quietly, "is what's left when everything else is gone."
Silence.
Violet's voice is barely above a whisper. "What does that mean?"
I look at them. Really look at them. At the concern, the frustration, the fear they haven't said out loud.
"It means I don't heal the way you think I do," I say. "I don't reinforce muscle or bone."
Scarlett frowns. "Then what are you reinforcing?"
I feel my heartbeat in my ears.
I exhale.
"That's… a longer explanation," I say.
Celeste nods once. "Then start."
I open my mouth.
And stop.
"Alright," I say softly. "But once I do, there's no pretending you don't know."
They don't look away.
"What I use," I begin—
—and that's where I stop.