She didn't stop. Not when branches clawed at her arms. Not when rocks bit into her soles. She knew the path by heart, even in the dark—the dip where the roots tangled, the fallen log she always stumbled over, the final clearing that opened up like a held breath released.

The pond was still. Moonlight pooled on its surface like spilled milk, unbroken by wind or ripple. Y/n collapsed at the water's edge, her knees sinking into the moss, her reflection staring back at her—tangled hair, tear-streaked cheeks, a trembling mouth.

She hated how small she looked in the water. How broken.

A tear slipped off her chin and landed in the pond, sending a tiny ripple through her reflection.