Riley isn't at practice this morning.

      Her absence feels wrong, like a missing star in a familiar constellation. No ridiculous signs. No inappropriate cheering. No charcoal-smudged smile making everything feel lighter.

      The early morning light feels harsher somehow, like the world itself is off-balance without her there to soften its edges. Every time I hear footsteps, I look up expecting to see her bouncing across the field with another glitter-covered creation, that smile that makes everything feel possible lighting up her face.

      But she's not here. And the emptiness echoes in a way I never expected it to.

      After last night—after almost kissing her, after watching her run, after that cryptic text conversation—I'm not surprised. But it still hurts.

      "Where's your shadow?" Trevor asks as we run plays. "Finally scare her off with those dance moves?"

      I force a laugh, but my next pass goes wide. Coach makes me run extra laps.

      She's not in Psychology either. Her empty seat mocks me, still covered in the star doodles she carved into the surface over the weeks. I trace one with my finger, remembering how she looked last night in the starlight, before everything fell apart.

      I'm more distracted than usual, missing questions and earning concerned looks from Professor Chen. But all I can think about is Riley's voice breaking as she said "I couldn't save them."

      By lunch, worry has settled into my chest. She's not answering texts. Not responding to calls.

      Rule number one isn't just broken—it's shattered.

      "Hey." Ella slides into the seat next to me, her expression concerned. "Everything okay with Riley? She was supposed to help with the art for student council posters today, but she never showed."

      "I don't know. Have you seen her at all?"

      Ella shakes her head. "Not since yesterday. She seemed... off. More scattered than usual."

      Off. Scattered. The words don't begin to cover the wild panic I saw in her eyes last night.

      I leave lunch early, ignore Mike calling after me about afternoon practice. There are more important things than football right now.

      I find her car in the far corner of the student lot, hidden behind the maintenance building where nobody goes during lunch. She's inside, forehead pressed against the steering wheel, shoulders shaking.

      Through the window, I can see evidence of her breakdown scattered around—crumpled tissues, her sketchbook open to a page that looks like it's been scratched out repeatedly, an empty coffee cup that suggests she's been here since before school started. Her phone lies face down on the passenger seat, probably filled with missed calls and messages she can't bring herself to answer.

      This is Riley without her armour. Without the mask she wears to convince everyone—maybe even herself—that she's okay.

      For a moment, I just watch her. She looks small, broken in a way I've never seen before. All her careful walls have crumbled, leaving something raw and wounded exposed.

      I tap on the window.

      She jerks upright, hastily wiping her face. But when she sees it's me, something in her expression just... crumples.

      I open the passenger door, slide in beside her. "Rule number three."

      "Don't." Her voice is hoarse, like she's been crying for hours. "Please, Ethan. Not today."

      "Okay." I reach for her hand. She lets me take it, her fingers cold and trembling. "Then we'll just sit here."

      Minutes pass in silence. Her breathing gradually steadies, but tears keep sliding down her cheeks. She doesn't bother wiping them away anymore.

      "Twenty-six days," she says finally.

      "Until your birthday."

      She nods. "Promise me something?"

      "Anything." The word comes too quick, too honest.

      "Stick to the deal." She won't look at me. "No matter what happens, no matter what you... what you think you feel. Just stick to the deal."

      "Riley—"

      "Promise me." Now she does look at me, and there's something desperate in her eyes. "Promise you'll wait until my birthday to decide. Promise you won't..."

      She trails off, but I hear the unspoken words. Promise you won't choose me instead of choosing to live.

      "I promise." I squeeze her hand. "But you have to promise something too."

      "What?"

      "Stop running from me."

      She pulls her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm not—"

      "Yes, you are. Since last night, since I almost..." I stop, start again. "You're pulling away. Shutting down. Running."

      "I have to."

      "Why?"

      "Because!" The word bursts out of her. "Because I can't do this again! I can't watch someone else I—" She cuts herself off, pressing her hands to her face. "I can't."

      "Can't what?" I reach for her again, but she flinches away. "Can't let someone care about you? Can't risk letting someone in?"

      "Can't lose anyone else!" The words echo in the small space of her car. "I can't... I can't be responsible for... I'm not strong enough to..."

      She's crying again, harder now. I want to pull her into my arms, want to promise that everything will be okay.

      But I don't think she'd believe me.

      "Riley." I wait until she looks at me. "I'm not going anywhere."

      "You can't promise that."

      "I can promise that I won't disappear without warning. That I won't make you wake up one day to find out—" I stop as her whole body flinches. "Who did you lose, Riley?"

      She shakes her head, tears falling faster.

      "Who couldn't you save?"

      "Please." The word is barely a whisper. "I can't. Not today. Not... not with twenty-six days left."

      There it is again. That fixation on the deadline. On her birthday.

      Something happened on her birthday before. Something that broke her so completely she's still trying to put the pieces back together.

      Something that makes her need to save everyone else because she couldn't save someone who mattered.

      "Okay." I lean back in the seat, giving her space. "We don't have to talk about it. But I'm not leaving you alone like this."

      "You have practice."

      "Screw practice."

      She almost smiles. Almost. "Coach will make you run laps."

      "Worth it."

      Now she does look at me, really look at me. Studies my face like she's trying to memorize it. Or maybe like she's trying to find a lie.

      "Why?"

      "Why what?"

      "Why are you here? Why do you care? Why..." She gestures vaguely between us. "Why any of this?"

      Because I'm falling in love with you. Because you're breaking and I don't know how to fix it. Because you saved my life and now I think I need to save yours.

      "Because you matter," is what I say out loud. "Whether you believe it or not."

      Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "You can't save me, Ethan."

      "Watch me."

      She laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. "That's my line."

      "I know." I hold out my hand again. This time, she takes it. "I learned from the best."

      We sit in silence after that, her hand cold in mine, watching clouds drift across the autumn sky. She's still crying, but quieter now. Like she's too exhausted for anything else.

      "You should go to practice," she says eventually.

      "Riley—"

      "I'll be okay." She offers a weak smile. "Or I won't be. But either way, you can't fix it by sitting in my car all afternoon."

      "Promise you'll answer if I call?"

      She hesitates. "I promise to try."

      It's not enough. Not nearly enough. But it's all she can give right now.

      I squeeze her hand one more time before getting out. But at the last moment, I turn back.

      "Hey Riley?"

      "Yeah?"

      "You know all those reasons to stay alive you've been showing me?"

      She nods.

      "You did that. Nobody else Riley. You are proof that life can be beautiful."

      I close the door before she can respond, but not before I see fresh tears falling.

      Walking away from her car feels like leaving part of myself behind. Every step is a battle against the urge to turn back, to stay with her until whatever demons she's fighting finally retreat. But maybe that's part of loving someone—knowing when to hold on and when to give them space to breathe.

      I think about all the times she's done this for me. All the moments she somehow knew exactly what I needed, whether it was space to scream in a quarry or random texts about stars at 3 AM. She has this way of making the world feel less overwhelming, of breaking everything down into manageable pieces—constellations built one star at a time.

      Now it's my turn to be that for her. To help her find her way back from whatever darkness she's lost in. To remind her that even the longest night eventually ends, that stars can't shine without darkness to give them meaning.

      I just have to figure out how to save someone who's spent so long saving everyone else that she's forgotten how to accept help herself.

      Twenty-six days until her birthday. Twenty-six days to figure out what happened to her. Twenty-six days to make her believe she's worth saving too.

      I just hope it's enough time.