Chapter 5: Day 1 β Part 1

The world snapped back.

The familiar weight of my coffee mug in hand, its ceramic cool against my palm. The scent of Mom's tea, Dad's black coffee, the lingering aroma of toast.

Everything was exactly as it had been. I was back, still seated at the kitchen table.

The transition itself was seamless, as always, but the internal shift was profound. The memory of Iris’s blood, the echo of Mom’s scream – those images were still sharp, a heavy weight in my mind that made the ordinary kitchen scene feel unreal, almost a lie.

My mother was right beside me.

"Rey, if you keep staring at that coffee like it owes you money, it might actually get up and leave," she said, her voice light, her eyes crinkling with amusement as she looked at me. Warm. Gentle.

Her easy amusement, the warmth in her eyes – it was all so normal, so untouched by the future I'd just seen. A fresh wave of protectiveness washed over me.

"Just... thinking, Mom," I managed, my voice a bit rough. The words felt wrong.

"About what, sweetie?" she asked, her head tilted, that familiar expression of loving curiosity on her face.

Before I could answer, my father chimed in from across the table, newspaper already folded beside his plate. "Or he's hoping it'll just refill itself, Lily. Save him the effort."

He winked at me, his eyes clear, kind. The gentle teasing, the everyday affection – it was a world away from the devastation I carried, a stark reminder of what was at stake.

I offered a faint nod. "Just tired, Dad," I said, my voice quieter than usual. It wasn't the truth, not even close.

Their brief, loving concern, their playful banter, so mundane in this moment, felt like a judgment on my failure in the previous timeline. I hadn't protected them from that pain. I had to this time.

Their current peace, their unbroken smiles, were a fragile treasure I now understood the true cost of losing.

It was then, as if summoned by the weight of my thoughts, that Iris appeared in the doorway.

"Good morning," she said, her voice soft, her gaze meeting mine for a bare second before sliding past me to focus somewhere over my shoulder, as if examining the wall behind me.

Her straight silvery hair was slightly tousled, her striking blue eyes clouded with sleep, etched with that mixture of determination and sadness I’d initially misinterpreted.

And clutched in her hands, almost like a shield, was the faded blue copy of "Dune."

She took a hesitant step into the kitchen, her gaze flickering back to mine as she seemed to gather herself, the book held out slightly as if she were about to speak of it.

The sight of that specific, battered cover, knowing what it represented and what she intended to do with it, brought a fresh stab of unease, colder and sharper than before.

In the first pass, I’d been too lost in my own hurt to truly see past the gesture. Now, the terror in her eyes was unmistakable, a raw, desperate plea.

I should have seen it then, I berated myself. Why didn't I see it, even though it’s so clear now?

It was a horrifying testament to her fear, to the desperate measures she felt forced to take. Her hand, I noticed, trembled almost imperceptibly against the worn cover.

My "good morning" back to her was quiet, heavy with the unspoken gravity of the moment.

That raw terror I now recognized in her eyes confirmed my worst fears. The book… she’s going to try and give it to me again, I realized with a fresh surge of urgency. I can't let this play out like before.

She opened her mouth, as if to speak, perhaps to begin that same strained offering from the first timeline.

"Iris," I interrupted, my voice coming out firmer, more urgent than I intended. I pushed my chair back abruptly, the coffee in my mug sloshing.

"Can I… can we talk? Upstairs? For a minute. It’s important."

Mom and Dad exchanged a surprised look. The lightness in the room lessened.

"Rey? What is it?" Mom asked, her brow furrowing with a flicker of concern. "Is everything alright with you two?"

"It's… just something I need to talk to Iris about. Privately," I said, trying to keep my tone even, though my heart was beating faster. I met Iris’s eyes, trying to convey a silent message: Trust me. Come with me.

Mom looked from me to Iris, her gaze lingering on Iris’s pale face and the tightly clutched book.

"Privately? Rey, if something's wrong, you know you can tell us." Her voice was gentle but laced with a mother's worry.

"I know, Mom. It's... it'll be fine. Just… something about her move, wanted to ask her privately," I deflected, hoping it sounded more convincing than it felt.

Iris looked uncertain, her grip tightening on the book. The fear in her eyes was undeniable now, mixed with confusion at my sudden, uncharacteristic demand.

"It won't take long," I pressed, already moving towards the kitchen exit that led to the stairs. I didn't wait for an answer, relying on the unspoken bond between us, on her recognizing the seriousness in my stance.

A beat of silence, then I heard her soft, almost inaudible murmur, "Okay."

The rustle of her clothes as she turned to follow.

Mom's gentle, "Rey, what’s gotten into you…?" was cut off as I led Iris out of the kitchen.

I walked up the stairs, Iris a hesitant shadow behind me. Each step felt deliberate. This wasn't just another conversation; it felt incredibly important.

This was my chance to change things, to prevent what I knew could happen.

The thought of my new abilities was a quiet presence, but I knew they wouldn't be enough without understanding what was really going on with Iris.

I reached her bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. The room beyond was still.

A knot of tension formed in my stomach. My heart was beating fast, not with fear exactly, but with a firm, unhappy resolve. I had to save her. And to do that, I needed her to talk to me.

My hand hesitated on the doorknob. How to do this? My previous attempts, my own raw emotions, had been disastrous. I needed a different approach.

I thought of my friends – Ash’s calm analysis, Arya’s social grace, Rose’s quiet sincerity, Leo’s blunt truthfulness. They each had ways of handling difficult situations, ways that were so different from how I usually stumbled when things got emotional.

Maybe if I tried to be more... deliberate, more like them in their best moments, I could actually get through to her this time. Yes, I thought, a flicker of resolve hardening within me. I have to try something different.

I pushed the door open, gesturing for Iris to enter first.

The room was already half-emptied, the signs of her impending departure clear. Suitcases stood by the door, a few stray boxes were stacked in a corner. The air felt stale, heavy with unspoken things.

Iris stepped inside, still clutching the faded blue copy of "Dune" tightly to her chest, the book a familiar, difficult presence between us.

She didn't move towards the window or any particular spot, but stood uncertainly near the center of the room, her shoulders hunched, her gaze darting from me to the packed boxes, then back again, her knuckles white against the book's cover. She looked tense, exhausted.

"Iris," I said, my voice deliberately soft, pitched low. My posture, I realized, had instinctively opened, hands visible and relaxed. I remembered Ash pointing out how small shifts in body language could de-escalate or inflame. I tried to project calm, to let the frantic energy inside me settle.

She startled, turning more fully towards me, the book still pressed to her chest. "Rey! What are you doing in here? I'm… I'm busy." Her tone was sharp, defensive. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to me.

"I know," I said, offering a small, almost apologetic smile. I didn't move closer, giving her space. I recalled Arya’s natural ability to make people feel at ease. I tried to let a similar quietness settle into my own expression.

When Iris didn't speak, I continued, "Just wanted to check in. You looked really… overwhelmed this morning. More than just 'moving stress,' you know?" My tone was light, observational.

She eyed me, suspicion mixed with weariness. "Talk about what, Rey? Everything's been said. I'm moving out. It's happening." She turned slightly away.

"I know. And it's okay," I said, my voice still soft. This careful approach felt unfamiliar, a calculated effort. But Iris’s life was the stake. "People move out. It's a good step."

I paused, thinking of something Ash might observe. "It must be incredibly stressful, though," I said, my voice gentle. "All the packing, saying goodbyes, the uncertainty of a new place. That's a lot for anyone to handle." I wasn't asking a question, just stating what seemed obvious.

Her breath hitched. Her gaze dropped to the book she was still clutching, then flickered back to me. The tension in her shoulders seemed to lessen, just a fraction.

"It is," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It's… a lot."

A small opening. My expression softened further. I focused on keeping my own gaze steady and open, trying to mirror the kind of quiet, unwavering attention Rose often gave when someone was troubled – a look that seemed to invite trust.

"Especially when there are things left unsaid, right?" I ventured, keeping my tone gentle. "That book you're holding… 'Dune.'"

I let my gaze rest on it for a moment, then met hers again, trying to convey understanding without pressure. "It's more than just an old favorite, isn't it?"

Her knuckles whitened on the cover. "What do you mean?" she asked, but the defensiveness was tinged with tiredness now.

"I mean what this book means," I said, my voice quiet, letting the shared history hang in the air. "For the little kid who couldn't speak, and for the girl who found her voice again after… after everything. Arrakis, the fanfics, those first laughs. It was more than just a story for us, Iris. It was… everything, for a while."

I kept my gaze steady, hoping the weight of those unspoken details would resonate with her.

A part of me felt uneasy, leveraging our past like this, but her life was on the line. "That book isn't 'just a book,' Iris," I pressed gently. "It’s a testament. To us. To survival."

Tears welled in her eyes, shimmering. She didn't try to wipe them away. The space between us felt charged, but not with hostility anymore. It felt like the quiet after a storm, when the air is clear and vulnerable.

"I know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I know all that, Rey. You think I'd forget?"

"Then why?" I took a careful step closer. The atmosphere was fragile. I needed clarity now.

I thought of Leo, his ability to cut straight to the point. "This morning, in the kitchen, you were a wreck. Mom and Dad didn't see it, not really. But I did. This time, I really saw it."

Internally, I winced. A lie, partly. In that first, horrible version of this morning, my own anger and resentment had blinded me, just as Mom and Dad, even now, would likely interpret her state as simple nerves, the natural hesitation and fear of a new, independent life. But now, with the benefit of a future I was desperate to prevent, her expression wasn't just 'nerves' – it was stark terror.

"It wasn't just sadness about leaving, Iris. It was fear. Real fear." My voice dropped. "This isn't me not wanting you to grow up and move on. I understand that. This is me seeing my sister – the person who saved me, the person I tried to save – and knowing, deep down, that you're walking into something awful, something you're terrified of."

I was close now, close enough to see the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. The calculated nature of my words felt wrong. This wasn't how I wanted to get the truth. But her life depended on it.

"Iris, this kind of fear... it's not just about moving out, is it?" I said, my voice softer now, trying to coax rather than confront. "I've seen people stressed about big changes. This is different. This is... a hunted look."

"You're holding that book like it's the only thing keeping you from falling apart. You look like you haven't slept in days. And the way you're so desperate to leave, to just disappear from here..."

I paused, letting my observations sink in. My mind raced. What could cause such profound, all-consuming terror in someone as strong as Iris? Not just anxiety about independence. This felt external, like a pressure being applied.

The memory of her lifeless body, the violence of it, flashed in my mind – that wasn't the result of someone simply overwhelmed by a life change.

"This isn't a choice you're making freely, is it?" I ventured, watching her reaction closely. It was a guess, a shot in the dark based on the sheer intensity of what I was seeing, amplified by the horrific knowledge I carried.

"Someone's threatening you, aren't they?" The question came out firm, direct, echoing that directness I sometimes saw in Leo. "Someone's making you do this."

Her whole body trembled violently at my words, a shudder running through her as if the accusation itself had struck a raw, exposed nerve. The last vestiges of her defensiveness crumbled, replaced by an undeniable, heartbreaking pain.

The book, her shield until this moment, slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers, thudding onto the floorboards with a soft, final sound – a small surrender.

Her eyes, wide and glistening with unshed tears, locked onto mine, no longer guarded, but filled with a desperate, yielding terror and a silent plea for understanding, for help. My guess, my terrible shot in the dark, had hit its mark.

"Rey," she choked out, the sound ragged, her voice barely a whisper as the first sob escaped her. "You're… you're right."

Another shaky breath, and the words tumbled out, heavy with despair. "He… he knows things. Things about me, about us… things no one should."

The admission seemed to steal the air from her lungs, her eyes wide with a remembered terror. "He said if I didn't… if I didn't leave, and do exactly what he said… he would…"

Her gaze darted towards the door, then back to me, filled with a desperate, yielding terror. "He said he will hurt you. And Mom and Dad."

The words hit me, even though I’d suspected something like it. "Hurt us? Who? Why?" My voice was low, tight with a rising, cold anger.

Iris sank onto the edge of her stripped mattress, her shoulders slumped. "It's… it's because of… Stellaris."

"Stellaris?" I frowned. The name meant nothing to me. "Who's Stellaris?"

She looked up, a faint, weary smile touching her lips. "Stellaris… is me. Or, was me. My Vtuber persona."

My mind tried to reconcile that. Vtuber? Iris?

Okay, she'd been Student Council President, so she wasn't a total stranger to being in the spotlight or speaking up, but this... this felt different. This was a performance, a whole online persona, potentially in front of thousands, even millions. It was a side of her I couldn't easily picture, a stark contrast to the more reserved, thoughtful Iris I knew in everyday life.

"You… you're a Vtuber? Like, with an avatar, streaming for a huge audience?"

She nodded, pulling her phone from her pocket with trembling fingers. She tapped the screen a few times, then turned it towards me.

On the screen was a vibrant, animated character. She had flowing, iridescent hair that shifted between silver and starlight blue, large, expressive eyes, and wore a fantastical outfit that was a clear homage to…

"Princess Starlight?" I breathed, recognizing the distinctive motifs, the color palette.

"You based her on Princess Starlight?" I asked, a wave of unexpected nostalgia washing over me. "The show we all used to watch? With Leo and Arya? The 'Sparkling Heart Beam'?"

"Yeah," Iris whispered, a hint of color returning to her cheeks. "It started as a way to… I don't know, reconnect with something fun, something from before. We all loved that show."

"Remember that ridiculous episode where Princess Starlight and Shadow Sapphire had to team up to fight Alpha, the Undefeated Champion, and Beta, the Mistress of Illusions? Starlight was so earnest and Sapphire was so cynical, but they made it work. It felt… hopeful."

"We'd act out the scenes for hours," I murmured, the memory sharp and bittersweet. "Leo always wanted to be the cool sidekick with the transformation sequence, and Arya always insisted on being Shadow Sapphire."

"Stellaris got… popular," Iris continued, her voice barely audible. "Really popular. Like, a million subs on YouTube, and on Twitch… I think last I checked it was just over 400,000 followers."

"She was… energetic, sweet, always positive. Everything I wasn't always feeling."

"A million?" I was surprised. That was… huge. "Iris, that's incredible. Why didn't you ever tell us?"

Her gaze dropped, a flush creeping up her neck. "It… it didn't start out that way," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Honestly, at first, it was just… for fun. A silly little escape, a way to be someone different for a bit, you know? I never imagined it would get… so big." She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

"And then, when it did, when Stellaris became this thing..." She paused, a troubled look crossing her face. "It wasn't just you guys. I mean, how do you tell your family you have this… secret online life?"

"But also, back then, I was still Student Council President. I had this image to uphold, you know? The responsible leader, the serious student. Stellaris was… so different from that. So energetic, sometimes a bit goofy. I worried what people at school would think if they found out, if it would undermine everything I was trying to do as President."

She sighed. "It felt like this whole other world I'd stumbled into, and I was too… I don't know… embarrassed about the contrast, or maybe just scared of the judgment, to try and explain it to anyone. It felt easier to just keep it to myself, to keep those two parts of my life completely separate."

Her voice trailed off, laden with unspoken regret. "And then… then the incident happened."

"What incident?" I asked, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach, the memory of the erased timeline suddenly vivid.

"It was a few weeks ago," she said, her voice trembling again. "During a stream. I was reading chat, like usual, trying to keep up with the flow. And this one user… I remembered her. She’d always been so sweet in her comments, really supportive."

Iris winced, a flicker of old hurt in her eyes. "But that day… she started with, 'You're so fake. This whole persona is just an act for money.'"

Iris took a shaky breath, her fingers twisting in her lap. "Okay, I thought. Standard hater comment, brush it off. But then she kept going. 'Stop pretending to be 'sweet' and 'energetic.' We all know you're just sad and bitter behind the screen.'"

Her voice tightened. "That one… stung a little. Because some days? Maybe I was feeling a bit down, but I always tried to be upbeat for them, for Stellaris. I tried to ignore it, keep smiling for the camera, but then the next one popped up: 'Your reactions are so forced and over-the-top. It's obvious you don't actually feel that way.'"

A flush of anger started to creep up Iris's neck. "I could feel myself tensing up. It was like she was dissecting me, peeling away the layers I put up. And then, 'Everything you say is scripted. You're just a puppet.' By then, my hands were clenched. The injustice of it, after all the hours, the effort… it was boiling up."

Her eyes flashed with a remembered fury. "And the final straw, the one that just made everything explode, was when she typed, 'Your fanbase is just a bunch of creepy simps and delusional losers.' My fans… they were the ones who supported me, who made Stellaris possible. And she was just… tearing them down, tearing me down."

"Iris…" I started, but she was already lost in the memory of her anger.

"I know I shouldn't have," she rushed on, tears welling again. "I should have ignored it, banned her, moved on. But it just… it hit every single nerve. All the pressure, the feeling of having to be 'on' all the time… I just lost it."

"It's okay," I said softly, trying to be reassuring. "So, what happened then, when you snapped?" I could feel a hot surge of anger on her behalf – at the anonymous user, at the unfairness of it all – but I pushed it down, needing to hear her story clearly.

"I…" she began, then the memory seemed to fully take hold. Her voice, when she spoke again, had a raw, furious edge as she relived it. "I didn't just get 'harsh,' Rey. I exploded. Full-on, lost-my-shit raged." Shame warred with the remembered fury in her tone.

"I yelled at her. I told her, 'Who the hell do you think you are, psychoanalyzing me from your basement? You think this is easy? You think it's just some fake bullshit I pull out of my ass for clicks?'"

"I told her she was a bitter, jealous troll who knew nothing about me or the effort I put in. I said if she was so miserable, maybe she should try actually creating something instead of just tearing other people down. God, I called her out on everything, said she was probably just projecting her own pathetic life onto me."

"It was… it was ugly, Rey. I was just so sick of the constant negativity, that feeling like no matter what I did, some asshole would twist it into something awful."

I watched her, a knot of sympathy and apprehension tightening in my chest. Iris had a temper, sure – we’d had our share of arguments growing up where she could get properly riled up. But hearing her describe an anger this… this unleashed, so public and verbally cutting, was something else. It wasn't the flash of frustration I was used to; this was a deeper, more bitter well of fury, clearly forced out by a pressure I could only begin to guess at.

"Wow, Iris," I said quietly, the word inadequate. "That sounds… rough. God knows I've felt like losing it when people push the wrong buttons." I paused, thinking of the bully in the cafeteria, the cold rage I'd felt then. "But to have it happen that publicly, on stream… that’s where it gets dangerous, right? The blowback?" My concern was less about her anger and more about the hornets' nest she'd just described kicking.

She took a shaky breath. "The chat… it exploded. My fans, they're very loyal. They went after her. And once those words were out, I lost control. It was like a tidal wave."

"I tried to stop them, Rey, I really did. I made a follow-up steam, begged them to leave her alone, said I regretted losing my temper. But the internet… it has a mind of its own."

"What happened to the user?" I asked, a grim feeling forming.

"It started simple," Iris whispered, her face pale. "Mass downvoting her comments, flooding her social media if they could find any profiles with the same username, reporting her accounts."

"Then… it escalated. People started trying to figure out who she was, digging for personal information, posting anything they found. There were threats, horrible messages sent to any account they suspected was hers, some even found an old school forum she might have used and started posting there."

"I was terrified. I shut down my streams for a few days, hoping it would die down."

"And did it?"

"Eventually," she said. "But then… then I got the email." She shuddered.

"The subject line was: 'You will regret what you did to my child.' And under it… was a video snippet. Of me. From the stream where I… lost it. And pictures."

Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "Pictures of me, Rey. Entering our house. One of me… through my bedroom window, when I was studying, you can see my laptop screen. One of me at the café near campus, laughing with a friend. Another of Mom and Dad leaving the grocery store last week."

"It was like he knew every move I made." Her breath hitched. "The email… he said if I ever streamed again, or if I went to the police… he'd make sure this family—the one that so generously took you in—would pay the price. For what he claimed I did to his daughter."

A cold dread, sharp and sickening, settled in my stomach. Us. He threatened all of us. The implications were horrifyingly clear. The nightmare that had been consuming Iris was now explicitly engulfing Mom, Dad, and me. Our entire family was a target.

The horror must have been plain on my face, because Iris nodded, fresh tears welling, her expression a mask of misery.

"And it didn't stop there," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The subsequent emails just got worse. More threats, each one more specific. More details about our lives, things he couldn't possibly know, unless he was always watching."

"He said he wanted me to disappear, to stop being Stellaris completely, to move out, to isolate myself. He called it my punishment." Her voice cracked. "He said if I did all that, and stayed quiet, he might leave us alone. But if I didn't…" She couldn't finish, a fresh sob wracking her frame.

"Iris, why didn't you tell us? Tell the police?" I asked, though I already knew the answer from her terror.

"How could I?" she cried, her composure finally breaking. "He knew where we lived! He had pictures! What if calling the police made him angrier? What if he hurt you, or Mom and Dad, because of me?"

"This family… you took me in, you gave me everything, loved me when I had no one. How could I risk bringing that kind of danger to your doorstep? I couldn't. I wouldn't."

"So you decided to leave?" I said, the pieces clicking into place with awful clarity. "To make it look like a normal step, moving out for university, so he'd think you were complying?"

"I have the money," she said, wiping her eyes. "My streaming was… very successful. And I have what my parents left me. It seemed like the only way. To get away, to draw his attention away from here. To protect you all."

A heavy weight of guilt pressed down on me. Her fear, her desperation – I had dismissed it as her being emotional about leaving. I had been so wrapped up in my own feelings.

"And the book?" I asked, my voice thick.

"I… I wanted you to have it," she whispered. "It's so precious to me, to us. If… if something happened to me, despite all this… I wanted you to have that piece of us. To remember."

I closed the distance between us and knelt before her, taking her trembling hands in mine. The firm resolve from the moment I’d seen her body in the other timeline surged back, no longer frigid and detached, but a burning, steady anger.

"Iris," I said, my voice low and intense, meeting her tear-filled gaze. "Listen to me. You are not responsible for the actions of a deranged man or the toxicity of the internet. You did not bring this on us. He did."

I squeezed her hands, my own fear for her solidifying into a cold, hard anger. "You're not going anywhere alone. And you are not going to be his victim. We're going to face this, and we're going to stop him."

My mind was already racing, not just with fury, but with a dawning understanding of what this would take. This wasn't something I could just punch my way through, or rewind until it was perfect. This would need strategy, courage, different kinds of strength. And thinking of Ash, Leo, Arya, and Rose, I knew those qualities weren't out of reach, that we had more resources than just me.

Iris looked up, her tear-streaked face pale. "But Rey… he's not just some internet troll. He's dangerous. The things he knew, the pictures he had…" Her voice was still shaky, laced with the memory of terror.

"He threatened Mom and Dad. You. He said he’d make our lives a living hell if I didn't obey."

"And that's exactly why we fight," I countered, my voice hardening. "He's counting on your fear, on you feeling responsible. He's counting on you to break."

I leaned in, trying to catch her gaze and hold it. "Iris, think about it. Think about who you are. Who you became."

A flicker of confusion crossed her face.

"Stellaris," I said, my voice softer but intense. It sounded cheesy even to my own ears, like something out of one of those old shows, but right now, cheesy felt like the only weapon I had against this particular brand of fear.

"No… Princess Starlight. Remember her? Remember how she faced down Alpha the Annihilator, Beta the Mistress of Illusions? Even when she was scared, even when everything looked hopeless? She found her strength."

"You found that strength when you became Stellaris. You built an audience of millions because they saw that light in you, that same courage." I gave her hands a gentle shake. "Stellaris – no, Iris, Princess Starlight – you are stronger than this. You are stronger than him."

A different kind of tear welled in her eyes now, not just of fear, but perhaps of a remembered strength. Her chin lifted, just a fraction, the name an echo of a more hopeful time.

"Stellaris…" she whispered, the name tasting unfamiliar yet powerful on her tongue.
"Princess Starlight..."

"Yes," I affirmed, pushing past my own internal cringe at the dramatics; if it worked, it worked. "He thought he could scare her into silence. He thought he could break her. But he can't. Not if you don't let him."

Her gaze met mine, and for the first time, a genuine spark of defiance, the one I knew so well from our childhood games and her online triumphs, began to burn through the terror.

A watery chuckle, shaky but real, escaped her. "Princess Starlight," she repeated, a small, self-deprecating smile playing on her lips. "God, that's so cheesy, Rey. But..."

Her eyes met mine, a new, fierce light in them. "...you're right. He did pick the wrong magical girl to mess with."

A ghost of a smile touched my lips. "That's the spirit." I stood, gently pulling her up to stand beside me. The air in the room still felt heavy, but now it was charged with a different kind of energy.

"So," she said, her voice gaining firmness, wiping at her cheeks with a decisive gesture. "What's our first move, 'little brother'?" The old teasing nickname, a sign of her returning fight, was a welcome sound.

"First," I said, meeting her gaze, a fierce protectiveness solidifying into a plan, "we stop playing his game. We're not running. We're fighting back. And we start by bringing him into the light."