Alex – POV
"I heard Hannah got really hurt. Like, fell on the farm or something." Haley said, voice feather-light and full of faux concern. She wasn't worried—not even a little—but gossip? Oh, that was her oxygen.
"Is that what happened?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and mentally rolling my eyes hard enough to pull a muscle. Rumors travel faster than a gold rush in Pelican Town, and with half the town bored and snowed in, I guess Hannah had become the topic of the week.
"She probably wasn't wearing the right gear," Haley added, twirling her hair with a smirk. "Just those hideous overalls she always wears. Not exactly what I'd call 'mining chic.'"
I couldn't help but laugh, though not for the reason she thought. "Since when do you care about farm accidents?"
"When they're interesting," she replied sweetly, her grin sharp as sleet. "Pierre told my dad that her produce practically kept the shop running last season. He said he's thrilled it's winter, because the shop probably wouldn't be doing too great if not."
I opened my mouth to retort—probably something about minding her own overpriced business—but was interrupted by someone walking up beside me.
Abigail. Again. But this time... she didn't look ready to punch me in the throat. A holiday miracle, maybe.
"That was really nice of you," she said, giving me a small smile. Snow clung to strands of her purple hair, making her look like some magical winter sprite from a video game. One of the cool ones, not the annoying tutorial guide kind.
"It was nothing," I replied, brushing her off with a shrug. "I just haven't been myself lately. Felt like I needed to make things right, you know?"
She tilted her head, looking at me like she could see straight through my act. "Well, don't lose this version of you. This is the guy we all know you can be. Don't let the kiddie pool over there," she said, nodding discreetly toward Haley, "drag you back to the shallow end."
I laughed, genuinely this time. "Point taken."
"I never really understood what made you and Hannah so close," she continued. "But that? What you just did for Sebastian? That showed me. That's the kind of friend she needs right now."
Her voice dipped at the end, the weight of something unspoken hanging between us.
"How is she?" I asked before I could stop myself. Maybe it was selfish, maybe not—but I hadn't seen her since that first snowy day when she came back. Since everything changed.
"I... don't know," Abigail admitted quietly, her brows knitting together. That got my full attention.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"She's shut everyone out," Abigail said, voice hushed now. "No calls. No texts. Not even her weird little passive-aggressive gift deliveries. I've never seen her like this. I'm worried about her, but... she asked for space."
Before I could even process that, another voice piped up behind us.
"I saw her a couple days ago," said Harvey, turning around from where he'd been leaning against the fence like some kind of brooding winter statue. I hadn't even realized he was there.
Abigail's eyes widened. "Wait—what? Is she okay? What's going on?"
"I can't say much," Harvey said, shifting uncomfortably. "Patient confidentiality and all that. But... she's alive. She's resting. She's healing."
Abigail stepped closer, pleading now. "Harvey, please. Just for a second, drop the doctor act. She's my best friend. I need to know if I should go to her. Bring her something. Anything. Just tell us something."
Harvey's mustache twitched—always a sign that he was internally battling his better judgment.
"We're all she has," Abigail added softly, and that seemed to finally do the trick.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's not in a good place. I got a call—someone older, sounded concerned—asking me to check on her. She got banged up pretty bad during a mining trip. Broken ribs. Bruising. Some internal bleeding, but nothing that needed surgery. Physically, she's recovering. But mentally..."
He trailed off, and I felt my chest tighten.
"She's showing signs of acute PTSD," Harvey said finally. "Severe disassociation, memory lapses, paranoia. She's not violent or a danger to herself, but she's... distant. Unmoored. Like she's not fully here."
"What does that even mean?" I asked, hearing my voice come out tighter than I intended.
"It means she needs time. Peace. Routine. I told her to stay home, to stick to what's familiar—her farm, her animals. No visitors, no crowds. She can't handle the pressure of other people's emotions right now. Even well-meaning ones."
I exhaled, a strange mix of relief and dread swirling in my gut. At least she wasn't suicidal. At least she was safe. But the thought of her alone in that house, hurting, haunted—
"Thank you, Harvey," Abigail said, her voice fragile but grateful.
Harvey gave a small nod. "Keep this between us, please. I could lose my license if this gets out."
He raised his coffee mug in a mock toast and turned, boots crunching in the snow as he walked away.
Abigail and I stood in silence.
"Well," I sighed.
"Yeah," she echoed, her breath fogging in the cold air. "Sebastian was right. He told me not to go see her, too."
"He hasn't seen her?" I asked, frowning. Weren't they—together?
"No," she said. "No one has. Not even him."
I looked out across the snowy square, my gaze landing on the distant road that led to Hannah's farm.
"At least now we know she's alive," Abigail added. But her voice held no comfort. Only guilt. Only the aching weight of helplessness.
I was hesitant about my gesture towards Sebastian, but now I know he needed it more than ever. I can't imagine what he must be going through.
I looked over at him as he still stood in the same place staring at the same iced river as if his stare might melt it, completely unaware of the conversations music and life carrying on, happening right behind him. Suddenly he looked like the same old Sebastian, and to me that was sad.
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