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CASPIAN

I sit across from Autumn with my legs stretched out and my back against a tree trunk. I don’t speak, not that I need to. She knows I’m here.

Luna lies between us with her head on her paws and her ears twitching at every sound. She hasn’t left Autumn’s side since we buried Summer.

Autumn crouches by one of the larger trees that ring the clearing. Her head bows while she carves with the blade I’d given her. I can’t see the carvings yet, but I have an idea.

The rough scrape of her knife against bark echoes through the quiet.

She moves to the next tree, then the next.

As much as I wish I could take away her pain, she needs to do this.

It’s the only way to heal. I went through it myself.

The only difference is she has three insanely protective men watching over her and keeping her safe while she breaks, waiting for the moment when we can help put her pieces back together again.

One by one, she works her way around the clearing. When she reaches the fourth tree, her muttered words reach my ears. “She won’t just disappear. She can’t.” The words come out like a chant .

I shift forward with my elbows on my knees. My knife appears in my hand before I realize what I’m doing, and I flip it once between my fingers. Without a word, I move to the nearest tree and start carving.

Summer.

The letters aren’t clean. Bark flakes under my blade and catches in the grooves, but it doesn’t matter. I carve deep enough for it to outlast the world.

Autumn stops moving and I feel her gaze on me. When I glance back, her shoulders sag. Her eyes, rimmed red and raw, meet mine, and I nod. “I won’t let her disappear, either.”

Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t speak. I’m not carving for myself. I’m carving for her. For her sister. For something to hold on to when everything else falls apart.

Luna rises and pads over to Autumn, then presses her warm body against Autumn’s leg. Her tail gives one slow wag to offer comfort. It’s enough to make Autumn pause to scratch behind Luna’s ears.

There’s a rustle behind us, then boots scuffling against the dirt. Mars steps up beside me and pulls his own knife free of its holster, then carves without instruction. His letters are big and clumsy, but they’re there, bold and unapologetic.

Jace joins next, silent as always, the shadow of grief etched into his brow. He carves with precise, controlled movements. Each letter turns out perfect despite the tremor in his jaw.

When Mars moves to the next tree, he carves ‘Autumn’ below her sister’s name.

Jace follows suit, adding Autumn’s name beneath Summer’s.

I watch the curve of the letters form. Mars glances over his shoulder and flashes that cocky half-smile that barely hides the softness behind it.

“None of us are disappearing,” he says as a promise.

Then he carves his own name next. Then Jace’s.

Then mine. Claiming us and stamping us into the world as proof we were here, and we mattered. Proof we belonged to each other.

Luna moves between us all to sniff at the fresh cuts in the bark, and I add her name at the bottom as the final member of our strange little family.

Autumn’s eyes glisten while she watches. The look she gives us overflows with something beyond gratitude. Recognition, maybe. Understanding. Love. Without saying a word, she moves to the next tree and continues carving.

Summer. Autumn. Mars. Jace. Caspian. Luna.

All of us.

Over and over.

Carving us into the world so we’ll never fade. Creating a forest of names, a monument to survival and loss and finding each other among the ruins.

Then, at the bottom, she adds my brother and Jace’s foster father.

Even when drowning in her own grief, she’s still including us.