Big Sis

Eternity passed her by.

The machines beeped softly in her room, their rhythm so steady it felt like mockery. She wanted nothing more than to rip out their cords, to tear through them—just to hurt something, anything.

Lena sat upright in her wheelchair, tubes still threaded into her arms, her breath labored as she stared at the message before her.

She hadn’t been allowed out yet. She hadn’t even been allowed to stand. And still, the message came.

It was short. Sweet, in a way that made her chest constrict.

"Margot passed this morning. Peacefully."

That was all. No fanfare. No warning. Just the kind of calm finality she wasn’t ready to hold in her hands.

For a long time, Lena didn’t move. The words hovered in front of her for hours. 

She thought it'd take a war to finally croak her. That's what it would have taken for her big, strong sis... and even then, she would have crawled back to her body kicking and screaming. Proxima was postponed. Fans were pissed. She was actually being monitored by the police for the first time in years. No more miracle drugs for her. 

She thought, maybe, she would cry. That the tears would come, a flood to wash away the numbness that was creeping up her spine, curling into her chest. That the knowledge that she, in all likelihood, indirectly killed her.

But they didn’t.

She was so damn tired. Too wrung out by the stress of the tour, of collapsing on stage, of every step she’d taken just to sit here and try to keep going. The weight of it all bore down on her shoulders, and yet the tears stayed locked inside her, refusing to fall.

In a sad, bitter way, Margot’s wish had come true.

It was so anticlimactic. Trapped in this goddamn room, with no way out. It happened so fast. Too fast.

They hadn’t resolved their differences, hadn’t said the things that needed to be said. She remembered the last fight, the sharp words exchanged, the sound of the door shutting too hard as Margot left. 

The weight of Margot’s frustration lingered even now, heavy and weighing on her heart in the River Styx.

Margot had a life outside of all this. Outside the machines, the endless medical routines, the suffocating weight of failure Lena carried like a shroud. She had people who cared about her, people Lena barely knew, and now they would mourn her in ways Lena couldn’t. Shouldn’t. And her final days were taking care of her stupid, dumb, idiotic sister.

And yet... Lena felt... nothing.

Not the flood of sadness that might have given her relief. Just an emptiness, vast and unyielding, stretching out like the void beyond the ship’s walls.

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to a different kind of cold.

Northern China, one century and decades ago. 

The wind had cut like knives through the narrow streets, whipping snow into cruel little flurries that the muscles in her face numb. She had been so small then, barely old enough to understand the weight of their lives, but old enough to feel it pressing down on her ribs.

She remembered shivering, her teeth chattering so hard it hurt, as she stumbled through the snowbanks.

And then, Margot was there.

\\

Margot’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her up from where she’d fallen, her voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the wind like a beacon. “Lena! Don’t just lie there. You’ll freeze.”

Lena had looked up, her vision blurred with snow and tears, and seen the fury and determination etched into Margot’s face. Her sister hauled her up without hesitation, dragging her to her feet.

“I’ll always protect you,” Margot had said, her voice steady even as her own breath came in labored puffs of mist. “Even if you’re a pain in my ass.”

She didn’t let go. Not until they were back inside, the warmth of their tiny, makeshift shelter seeping into their frozen skin. Lena remembered the burning ache as her body thawed, the way her fingers and toes had screamed as blood rushed back into them.

Margot had laughed then, a short, breathless sound. “Cold shock therapy,” she’d said, grinning as she wrapped an old, patched-up blanket around Lena’s shoulders. “See? You’re tougher now.”

Lena had scowled, her lips trembling as tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t want to be tougher,” she’d said, her voice trembling.

Margot had pulled her closer, her hand warm against the back of her head. “Doesn’t matter what you want. You will never be rid of me. Ever.”

\\

Lena stared at her bio-internal UI, at the space where the message had been, the cold of that winter creeping back into her bones.

Her hand came up, trembling, to touch her face, and it was wet.

Ah.

That was where the tears had gone.

\\

The doctor stood across from her, a figure of immaculate professionalism—white coat pressed, tablet in hand, voice measured and calm. He was saying something, but they washed over Lena like waves on the beach.

She caught fragments. Words that floated in and out of her awareness like leaves drifting on a cold, slow river.

“Condition deteriorating... prognosis uncertain... one month... palliative care or... Upload recommended.”

The air in the room felt thick, so thick she could choke and die.

"Please, Lena. Please listen to me." The doctor’s voice softened as he leaned forward, his brows knitting together in what Lena supposed was meant to be empathy. “It’s important to make a decision soon. We can provide resources to help you—counselors, specialists. This doesn’t have to be a rushed choice.”

Lena blinked, her gaze drifting to the corner of the room where a single plant sat—a desperate attempt at life in this clinical space. Its leaves were too green, too perfect, probably synthetic. She wondered absently if it would ever wither.

The doctor’s voice broke through her thoughts again. “Lena, do you have any questions?”

She turned her head slightly, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Her throat felt dry, her chest hollow. Questions? She didn’t have any questions. She didn’t care enough to ask them.

“I just want to go home.”

The doctor hesitated, his professionalism faltering for a moment as something like pity flickered across his face. “Of course,” he said finally. “We’ll arrange for you to leave as soon as possible. But... please, think about what we’ve discussed. You don’t have to make a decision now, but time is limited.”

Lena didn’t respond. She watched him leave, the door hissing shut behind him, and the silence that followed felt both suffocating and hollow.

One month.

“Caden, I…”

The words escaped her lips before she even realized she was speaking. Her voice faltered, thin and broken, and the silence of the room swallowed them whole.

Oh.

That was right.

Caden wasn’t here.

He’d been taken into custody while she was unconscious, drifting somewhere between sleep and awareness, her body too frail to fight, her mind too hazy to grasp what was happening.

She didn’t remember the reason. It was all so sudden. She hadn’t had time to find out. All she remembered were vague flashes: voices murmuring just beyond her comprehension, the faint vibration of footsteps moving away, and the cold, sterile emptiness that had followed.

It sounded bad. Really bad. Something to do with the company that produced Caden. Apex, as well.

“He’s not coming back, is he?"

The plant in the corner didn’t respond. Neither did the machines.