When Theo vanished, Tate's life hollowed out. He didn't cry-he calcified. He buried himself in equations, patents, and long hours under fluorescent lights that didn't ask questions. He told himself he didn't care. But every night, he dreamt static. Every morning, he woke up wondering if she was alive. Gravity Falls became a place he left behind, until he couldn't. When Fiddleford collapsed under his own mind, and Ma walked away, Tate came back.
And still, in the quiet hours, he thought of her-of the girl who could drag him into trouble and brilliance with equal ease.
When Theo came back, she wasn't the same. Her scars were jagged and angry, her eyes older, sharper, haunted. And Tate-Tate wasn't the same either. He'd become stone on the outside, hiding the fire that still lived in him.
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