The smell of Eliot's cooking wakes me, which should be comforting. It's always been comforting - the scent of breakfast, the sound of him moving around the kitchen, the grumpy muttering when he finds Hardison's cereal stash. But nothing feels right lately.

I pad into the kitchen to find Eliot at the stove, his back to me. The morning light streams through the windows, but he's positioned himself in the shadowy corner, away from the sun. Three days now, he hasn't eaten anything. Three days of pushing food around his plate, of making excuses, of growing more distant with each passing hour.

"Morning," I say, but my voice sounds smaller than I intend.

He stiffens slightly before turning, forcing a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Sleep okay?" he asks, turning back to the pancakes on the griddle.

Hardison shuffles in behind me, still half-asleep, and presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Smells good, man," he says to Eliot. "You gonna eat with us today?"

Eliot's jaw tightens. "Nah. Got an errand to run later. No point in wasting food."

The familiar excuse. Three days of errands, of avoiding us, of hiding something. Hardison catches my eye, and I see the same worry mirrored there that's been keeping me up at night.

After breakfast, Eliot leaves again - more errands, more secrets. Hardison turns to me with a sigh. "You gonna let him keep doing this?"

I stare at the door where Eliot disappeared, determination hardening inside me. "No. Not this time. We need to figure out what's going on with him."

I grab the whiteboard from the other room and uncap a marker. Time to investigate.