The only thing she loved in life more than him was maths. And logic. They never failed her. Two and two never refused to yield a sum of four, despite whatever was going on in her life. And now she found herself poring over the precious numbers and formulas again, going over and over every statistic, in hopes of a solution.

Owen bounced a rubber ball against the wall, and she turned to glare at him in annoyance. "You might as well give up, Tosh." He paused, his breath hitching in his chest. "I have."

"I won't give up," she replied. Pushing her glasses up further on the bridge of her nose, she turned back to the figures in front of her. She flicked the pencil in her hand a few times before scribbling new numbers on the sheet. "I'll fix this, Owen."

He turns to her with a half-apologetic smile. "There was never any chance for us."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth."

"The truth is I will figure this out. They are the truth." And as she loses herself in vectors, scalars, and resultants, he sighs. The truth, he thinks, is that I'm dead and there's nothing else.