She hates this. Standing at the edge of something both irrevocable and impossible to ignore, while he scrubs at the golden scruff on his cheeks and she tries to come to terms with the way it feels like something's been scooped out of her.

Except it's not gone, not really. It's just shaped a little differently, and all the new corners and edges hurt when it tries to fit into the same place it had before. "You better not. You promised me a hunt."

Not this one; the one back home. The one only he knows about, even now.

Whatever this string is, it's not really enough for the way they're twined together, gold and red, everything he's been to her this whole year and everything they still are to each other. She swallows against the sadness that vibrates through the string; she doesn't know if he's more afraid or if she is. The only thing she's got is that he's still the person she wants holding onto Ward Earp's badge, and she'll still wear this ring for him, however long he needs. And that... that doesn't have to change.

She swallows again, and steps off the cliff. "It's red. His string."

And not the way a couple of the others are, mixed with gold, more possibility than anything else. This string, the one that feels like warm wool and shy morning sunlight and the glint of something precious; it flickers nervously, but the color doesn't shift. It's red as sunset, as an apple. "And I'm not going anywhere, either."