Pete paced the hospital foyer, slowly stepping from one patch of dying sunlight to the next, avoiding the latticework of shadows that crisscrossed the marble tiles. He'd called Artie to tell him the news, and couldn't believe the words that were leaving his mouth.

Steve was in the office when Artie had taken the call. Couldn't believe what he was hearing. Steeled himself, counted to ten as he inhaled, exhaled. He grabbed a notepad and jotted down the details, and pulled on his jacket without delay. He watched for Artie's reaction, waited until the man's face was in his hands, before speaking.

"I'll be on the next flight out."

And in a moment, Steve was gone.

"Artie?" Pete prompted quietly. "We're gonna figure this out."

Artie slowly raised his eyes to meet Pete's gaze. There was a flash of something—an old and distant anger he rarely saw on Artie's face—but to this day, still froze Pete's blood.

"We touch no new cases until this is solved, Pete," Artie said, his voice low. "Let's get to work."

Pete looked up at sound of the whooshing automatic doors to the hospital. Steve crossed the tile to meet him.

"Here's what HG pulled from the car. Hope it's enough," Pete said as Steve held out an open evidence bag. The slug plunked to the bottom.

Steve slowly shook his head. Such a tiny, lethal thing.

"How are you holding up?" he asked as Pete wearily pinched the bridge of his nose.

It would've been easier to not answer at all, Pete knew. There was no sense in lying to the guy, but he wasn't particularly keen on experiencing a breakdown in the middle of a hospital, either. He settled with a shrug and question of his own.

"What about you? How do you—"

"—stay so calm?" Emma Jinks asked quietly, her voice worn to a rasp and eroded from weeks of emotional upheaval. She reached under her sunglasses with one hand, presumably to push away tears, while the other gripped the steering wheel. Steve sat in the passenger seat, his fingers laced around a rose stem in his lap as he contemplated the knot in his chest. The space between them widened as silent minutes passed, and this strange new chapter of his life, Life Without Olivia, began.

Learn. Meditate. Find your path.

Steve shrugged and looked out the window. The world was bright and warm today. Olivia would have loved it, would've been happy to see and feel it.

He couldn't be. Not today. Not after putting his sister in the ground.

One: the truth of suffering.

His mother looked tired underneath all the black. The events of the weeks past had taken their toll, entirely separate demons from their incomprehensible loss:

The police on their doorstep that evening. The coroner's report. The well-meaning phone calls. The now-vacant bedroom across from his. The taunts at school. The strange vulnerability he felt without her, his personal ray of sunshine and his best friend.

Two: the truth of the origin of suffering.

Stray bullet, the police had said. Gang shooting. The autopsy report had been similarly bleak: gunshot wound. Nine-millimeter recovered from the cranial cavity. She'd never known what hit her.

Steve had hated hearing that. It was salt in the wound of a senseless death. Olivia had deserved to know the truth.

Three: the truth of the end of suffering.

"Just drop me off here," Steve mumbled as the car rolled to a stop in their neighborhood.

His mother sniffed. "You sure?"

Steve nodded and let himself out. He carried the rose in both hands, his eyes downcast. Sunlight filtered through the trees that lined the quiet street.

Olivia wasn't gone. Not really. Her warmth was in the sunlight, her laughter on the breeze. She could be everywhere, if he wanted her to.

Four: the truth of the path leading to the end of suffering.

He winced as a thorn dug into his finger. With an impassive gaze, he eyed the bead of scarlet that formed.

The knot in his chest loosened.

He almost smiled.

"Take it one minute at a time," Steve answered as he placed a reassuring hand on Pete's shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of this. I'll contact you as soon as I get to Quantico."

The men each turned and went their separate ways.