No one speaks right away.
The silence after my unfinished sentence stretches longer than it should. Not awkward. Heavy. The kind that presses in on your ears until you feel like you're supposed to say something just to let the room breathe again.
I don't.
Scarlett's the first to move. She doesn't pace, doesn't fidget. She just shifts her stance, weight rolling from one foot to the other, eyes locked on me like she's recalibrating.
"So," she says at last. "You're basically telling us you're a walking failure point."
I snort despite myself. "That's one way to put it."
Violet doesn't laugh. She's still watching me like she's afraid I'll tip over again if she looks away for too long.
"You didn't finish," she says quietly.
"I know."
Celeste's gaze stays steady. "You stopped for a reason."
I nod. "Because if I say the rest out loud, it stops being something I carry alone."
Scarlett arches an eyebrow. "And that's bad?"
"It complicates things," I reply.
"Good," she says. "Things should be complicated."
Violet shifts closer, sitting on the stone beside me. Not touching, just close enough that I can feel her presence. "You don't get to scare us half to death and then decide what we can handle."
I glance at her. "I wasn't trying to scare anyone."
"That's worse," she says. "You weren't thinking about us at all."
The words land harder than anything else she's said so far.
I open my mouth, then close it again. She's not wrong.
Celeste breaks the tension gently. "You were focused on surviving. That doesn't make you careless. It makes you human."
Scarlett scoffs. "Debatable."
I let out a breath. "Look. I don't know how to explain all of this cleanly. I don't even experience it cleanly. Most of the time, I'm just reacting. Adjusting. Trying not to tear myself apart."
Scarlett's expression tightens. "That's not a plan."
"No," I agree. "It's not."
Violet folds her arms, thinking. "But you're not blind to it either."
I shake my head. "I'm not reckless. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Scarlett challenges.
"Yes," I say immediately. "Reckless is not caring if you live. This is… caring too much."
That shuts her up.
Celeste watches the exchange carefully. "You mentioned limits earlier," she says. "Not knowing what happens if you cross them."
"I know pieces," I admit. "Enough to be careful. Enough to know when to pull back."
Scarlett snorts. "You have a funny definition of 'pull back.'"
"Yeah," I say. "Working on that."
Violet's voice softens. "You don't trust rest."
I look away.
"That wasn't a question," she adds.
"I don't," I admit. "Because rest feels like letting go. And letting go feels like things end."
Celeste nods slowly. "That kind of thinking doesn't come from power. It comes from loss."
Scarlett's jaw tightens. She doesn't say anything, but I can tell she clocks that.
Violet hesitates, then asks, "When you passed out… did you know you were going to?"
"No," I say honestly. "I knew I couldn't stop standing. That's different."
"That's insane," Scarlett mutters.
"Probably," I reply. "But it's how I've survived this long."
Celeste's voice remains calm. "Survival and longevity aren't the same thing."
I glance at her. "I'm starting to realize that."
The quiet that follows feels different now. Less tense. More… settled.
Scarlett finally sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "Alright. Let's assume we accept that this is how you function."
"That's generous of you," I say.
She ignores me. "That still leaves one problem."
"Only one?" I ask.
She glares. "You don't exist in a vacuum anymore."
Violet nods. "What you do affects us."
"I know," I say. "I'm trying to be better about that."
Scarlett studies me for a long moment. "Trying isn't enough."
"I know."
Celeste shifts slightly. "Then what do you suggest?"
The question hangs there.
I hadn't planned to say it yet. I can feel that. The idea's been sitting in the back of my mind, waiting for the right moment. Maybe this is it.
"We stop pretending this is just my problem," I say slowly.
Scarlett's eyes narrow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," I continue, "I can't keep reacting on instinct while you two just… adapt around me."
Violet tilts her head. "So what do we do instead?"
I glance between them. Scarlett, sharp and guarded. Violet, thoughtful and open. Celeste, steady as ever.
"We train," I say.
Scarlett blinks. "Train how?"
"Together," I answer.
There it is.
The word settles into the room.
Violet's brows knit. "You mean like… drills?"
"Conditioning," I say. "Endurance. Awareness. Control. Not fighting each other. Not pushing until someone drops. Just… learning how to move, think, and recover as a unit."
Scarlett scoffs. "That sounds suspiciously reasonable."
"Don't get used to it," I say.
Celeste considers this. "You're not talking about making them into you."
"No," I reply immediately. "I wouldn't even know how."
Scarlett watches me closely. "Then what's the goal?"
I think about that for a second.
"So the next time things go sideways," I say, "we don't rely on me refusing to fall as the plan."
Violet exhales slowly. "I like that plan."
Scarlett doesn't respond right away. When she does, it's measured. "You're injured. Badly."
"I know."
"And you still want to train."
"I want to recover," I correct. "Properly. And I don't want to be the only one carrying momentum."
Celeste nods once. "Training doesn't have to mean strain."
Scarlett looks between the three of us. "This isn't a short-term thing, is it?"
"No," I admit. "For the foreseeable future."
Violet smiles faintly. "Figures."
Scarlett sighs, then shakes her head. "You're unbelievable."
"You keep saying that," I reply.
She finally smirks. "Fine."
I look at her. "Fine?"
"We train," she says. "Together. On our terms."
Violet nods. "Together."
Celeste smiles, just slightly. "Then this is where things change."
I lean back against the wall again, exhaustion finally catching up now that the decision's made.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "It is."
And for the first time since I woke up, the weight on my chest eases just a little.