Chapter 10: Day 1 Shadow Sapphire Part 2

My gaze, clearer now though still etched with the ghost of a sorrow I couldn't fully comprehend, swept over my shattered friends: Iris, a fragile silhouette of her former self, her sobs having subsided into a hollow, vacant grief; Leo, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a raw, bewildered pain; Arya, her composure fractured, trying to offer comfort she clearly didn’t feel herself; and Ash, whose stillness seemed to absorb the room's despair.

The phantom deaths, the destruction of our home, my own terrible, cascading choices from the second timeline, it was all a fresh, aching wound.

Yet, beneath it, a strange new stillness held, an inexplicable warmth, the echo of a love and for some reason a life lived fully, a bedrock that kept me from completely succumbing.

This couldn't be the end. Rose, Emily, her father… their tragedies weren't foregone conclusions, not if I could approach this with every lesson learned, every ounce of this newfound, quiet strength.

The kitchen. The same scene as before.

Iris, a tense line of silver hair and hunched shoulders, the Dune book clutched like a talisman, the air around her thick with the fear born of months of Arthur Web’s relentless harassment.

Today, her "moving out" day, was meant to be the culmination of his psychological warfare.

My heart ached with a profound empathy, sharper and clearer than before, but the frantic panic that had previously driven me was replaced by a quiet, almost unnerving resolve.

Before she could settle at the table, before I could even formulate the opening words of this new, fragile strategy, Mom cut in, her gaze, sharp and analytical from years of editing manuscripts, fixed on me.

"Rey," she began, her brow furrowed with a concern that felt both familiar and, now, laden with an unearned prescience, "you were… agitated, just moments ago. Distraught about Iris leaving."

"And now… you’re quiet. Still."

"And yesterday, you were so against her moving. What happened, Rey? I’m truly worried."

Dad chimed in, his voice a rumble of paternal concern. "Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly seen the light about Iris’s independence, son? After all that drama?"

This was my opening. The words, when they came, felt oddly natural, guided by that inexplicable internal warmth.

"Actually, Mom, Dad… you’re right. I have been," I admitted, my voice quiet but firm, deliberately meeting their eyes before glancing at Iris’s tense back as she froze mid-pour at the coffee pot.

"I did a lot of thinking last night. A lot. And I realized… I was being incredibly selfish. Iris is an adult. She has every right to her own space, her own life, to make her own choices, even if they’re hard."

"Me trying to guilt her, to make her feel bad… that’s not supportive. That’s just… me being afraid of change, afraid of missing her, and making it her problem."

I let out a slow breath, allowing a carefully constructed expression of chagrined self-awareness to settle on my face. "So, yes. I’ve seen the light. I… I support her decision. One hundred percent."

I turned my gaze to Iris’s still-frozen back. "And I owe you an apology, Iris. For being a difficult, possessive, stubborn younger brother. I'm truly sorry."

Iris slowly turned, the coffee pot still in hand, her face a mask of utter astonishment.

My parents stared, equally stunned into silence.

The air in the kitchen, usually filled with the comforting aroma of coffee and the low hum of the refrigerator, crackled with a new, unexpected tension.

"Well, son," Dad said finally, a note of cautious approval lacing his tone, though his eyes still held a flicker of suspicion. "That's… a remarkably grown-up thing to say. Quite the turnaround."

Mom nodded slowly, her gaze softening, though a thoughtful line remained etched between her brows.

"Actually," I said, pressing my advantage, the plan unfolding with a deceptive smoothness, "that leads to something else."

"Iris," my voice became gentler, more solicitous, "can we talk upstairs? Before school. It’s important."

"I… I want to make sure today goes as smoothly as possible for you, given… well, given everything. I have an idea that might help."

Her bewilderment was still evident, her eyes wide and searching mine for the catch, but she nodded, a small, hesitant movement. "Okay, Rey. If you think it will help."

In her room, the half-packed boxes and stripped bed were a stark reminder of the turmoil she was enduring.

The air was thick with her unspoken anxieties, a suffocating blanket of fear. I entered first, my steps deliberate. My gaze fell to the corner nearest her window, a perfect place for pocket dimension’s room.

This time, the setup needed to be more… considered.

“Just a second, Iris,” I murmured, moving towards that corner. I feigned adjusting a loose floorboard, using the moment to subtly activate the [Pocket Dimension S] menu. Layer 01, Room mode.

My intent was sharp, precise: a 2-meter cube, open-faced, the internal surfaces perfectly camouflaged to mirror the existing floral wallpaper and scuffed wooden floor. I willed it into existence.

The air in the corner shimmered for a fraction of a second, a subtle distortion that only I could perceive. A faint, almost inaudible thrum resonated for an instant, like a plucked string on an unseen instrument, before settling into seamless invisibility.

I then gestured for her to sit on the edge of her bed, pulling her desk chair over for myself.

"Rey, if this is about me leaving again…" she began, her voice tight, defensive.

"No, Iris," I interrupted gently, my gaze steady, trying to project the calm I desperately needed her to feel. "I meant what I said downstairs. I support you. Truly."

The surprise that flickered across her face was palpable.

"But I also know you're carrying a fear that’s far bigger than just the stress of moving. It’s about the stalker, Arthur Web. It’s about the constant harassment, the terror he’s inflicted on you."

Her eyes widened, a gasp escaping her. "How do you—"

"We'll get to that," I said, holding up a hand. The quiet warmth within me, that strange echo of peace, pulsed faintly, giving my words a conviction they might otherwise have lacked.

"This move, Iris, it shouldn't be about running from him, from his threats. It should be about what you want to do. I want to help make today less about fear and more about… closure. Maybe even hope."

"But for that to happen, you need to tell me the truth. This moving out, this sudden decision to isolate yourself… it isn't really your idea, is it? He forced you into this."

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over. "Rey, it’s--"

"I know about Stellaris," I said softly, watching the fight drain out of her as the name of her secret self was spoken.

"I know about the threats, the pictures, the demands he made. I know you're terrified."

"And Iris," I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a near whisper, "I also know something you don’t. Something that changes everything. Arthur Web… he’s not just some random, faceless monster. He’s a father."

"A father consumed by grief for his daughter, Emily. She’s a cancer patient at St. Jude's, her condition is critical, she’s near the end of her life. And he irrationally believes that you, that Stellaris, are somehow responsible for making her worse, because of that online argument she supposedly initiated with you months ago."

Her eyes widened further, shock warring with the dawning horror of this new, terrible dimension to her torment. "Emily… his daughter… a cancer patient? How… how could you possibly know that, Rey?"

"It doesn’t matter how I know, Iris," I said, my tone gentle but firm, trying to steer her away from my own experiences.

"What matters is that you’re not alone in this. And running, isolating yourself, that isn't the answer. It won't stop him. It won't ease his pain. And it certainly won't help Emily."

She was crying openly now, fat tears tracing paths through the faint dust on her cheeks. "But what else can I do? He’s… he’s everywhere! He knows everything! He threatened Mom and Dad, he threatened you!"

"Today," I said, my voice imbued with a certainty, "we offer him something else. We offer him hope. Hope for Emily."

"His love for her, that desperate, twisted parental love… that's the key. If we can offer him a genuine chance to save her, a real possibility of alleviating her suffering … it might be the only thing that can pierce through his rage, his madness."

I took a deep breath, the air in the small, camouflaged pocket dimension feeling suddenly very still.

"I need you to be incredibly brave today, Iris. Braver than you’ve ever been."

"Go to school. Act normal."

"Let him think he’s still in control, that his plan for you to leave is proceeding. It keeps his focus here, on this house, on you supposedly being vulnerable later. It buys us critical time to work, to prepare for a different kind of confrontation."

She was looking at me now, really looking, the terror in her eyes slowly being replaced by a dawning, fragile hope. "You… you really think there's a chance for his daughter, Emily? After everything?"

The memory of the other timeline, of the father’s suicidal despair, of Rose’s tragic end, washed over me, a cold wave.

"I have to believe there is, Iris," I said, my voice thick with the unspoken sorrow of what I knew could happen if we failed, if I failed again. "And we have to try. For Emily. For him. And for us."

She searched my eyes for a long moment, and whatever she saw there, the profound, weary certainty, the echo of that inexplicable inner peace, it seemed to convince her. She nodded slowly, a single, shaky affirmation. "Okay, Rey. Okay. I’ll trust you."

I pulled her into a hug, a brief embrace. "Thank you, Iris.”

I returned to the kitchen alone. My parents were watching me, their expressions a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. The coffee had grown cold.

"Mom, Dad," I said, sitting down at the table, choosing my words with extreme care, the conversation from the first timeline, the successful misdirection, playing in my mind like a script.

"Iris, she… she’s fragile. More fragile than I realized. This whole 'moving out' process, it’s brought up a lot for her."

"Not just the usual nerves, but deeper anxieties she’s been struggling with, anxieties she feels she can't share with you because she doesn't want to worry you further." I let that sink in, watching their concern deepen.

"She’s worried about… well, about her future, about leaving you, of course, but also about some people she feels a deep sense of responsibility for us."

I leaned forward, infusing my voice with earnestness. "My friends and I, Ash, Leo, Arya, we've been talking, trying to figure out how to best support her through this."

"We think… we think we have a way to help Iris work through some of this today. Kind of a… a supportive intervention, a 'facing her fears with friends' sort of thing."

"We're planning to be here with her this afternoon, after school. We've got some activities planned, some discussions, things designed to help her process these anxieties about her independence and these responsibilities she feels so acutely."

Dad frowned, his brow furrowing. "An intervention, Rey? Are you kids really qualified to—"

"Not a clinical one, Dad, nothing like that," I quickly clarified, injecting a note of reassurance.

"More like… a structured support session among peers. We want to help her reframe this move not as an escape or a failure, but as a positive step she's taking with our full backing, a step towards her own strength."

"We want to give her tools and confidence. But for it to be most effective, for her to really open up and confront these feelings without feeling… observed, or pressured by well-meaning parental expectations… we honestly think it would be best if she had the space with just us, her peers."

Mom looked skeptical, her editor’s eye dissecting my words. "You want us to leave? On the day she’s supposedly moving out, when she’s clearly vulnerable?"

This was the tricky part. Her question, as I'd anticipated from the previous, successful deployment of this ruse, was sharper this time.

"Exactly because she's so upset, Mom," I said earnestly, leaning further into the role of the concerned, insightful brother.

"Think of it as… therapeutic detachment. Sometimes, for a young adult to truly find their footing with their peers, to be vulnerable in a way that leads to genuine growth, they need a little space from even the most loving, supportive parental influence."

"If you're here, she'll naturally be focused on your reactions, on not worrying you, on putting up a brave face. We want her to focus entirely on herself, on her feelings, with friends who are going through similar life stages, who can offer a different kind of understanding."

I offered a small, reassuring smile. "We're not kicking you out. We're asking you to trust us, to trust Iris, to give her this afternoon to work through things with her closest friends in a supportive, low-pressure environment."

"Let us be her 'moving day support crew' in a slightly unconventional way."

"We want to empower her, not abandon her."

"And," I added, a touch of feigned weariness, "if you're here, she'll probably spend the whole time worrying if you approve of how her friends are trying to cheer her up! It'll be more performative than productive for her. She needs this space to be truly herself with us."

My parents exchanged a long, searching look. They’d seen Iris struggling for weeks, her smiles strained, her laughter hollow. They knew her friends were a good, solid influence.

The idea of a "therapeutic detachment," framed positively, about peer support for a difficult but necessary life transition, might just be palatable, especially given my earlier, unexpected apology and support for Iris’s move.

It wasn’t about danger, not to them; it was about Iris’s emotional well-being and her journey to independence.

But beneath my carefully crafted words, the real reason throbbed: the indelible memory of our home in ruins, of a carnage I was desperately trying to prevent. Every persuasive phrase about Iris finding her footing was, in truth, a frantic bid to shield them from a devastation they couldn't imagine, a grief I would do anything to ensure they never experienced.

Dad sighed, the sound heavy with a father’s worry but also a reluctant understanding. "So, you're saying your mother and I are… a well-meaning impediment to Iris’s peer-led emotional breakthrough?"

He tried for a stern look, but a hint of weary amusement played around his eyes.

"In the most loving way possible, yes, Dad," I said, allowing a small, grateful grin to surface.

"Just for this afternoon. Let us run 'Operation: Uplift Iris.' Go have a nice lunch, maybe finally see that new exhibit at the gallery you’ve been talking about. Give her this space. It’ll mean the world to her, knowing you trust her, and us, this much."

As I was speaking, Mom’s gaze sharpened. "What exactly are you and your friends planning to address that she feels she can't discuss with her own parents?"

Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through me. This was new, a deviation. My mind raced. I subtly activated [Third Eye A] – Bullet Time to gain time and gather my thoughts.

"Actually, Mom," I said, my voice attempting a smooth, deceptive calm, "that's one of the main things. You know how Iris sometimes gets overwhelmed by… well, by things like setting up utilities, or understanding complex lease agreements, or even just figuring out the most efficient way to arrange furniture in a new, small space for optimal safety and comfort?"

I paused, hoping they'd nod along to this mildly exaggerated, but not entirely untrue, portrayal of Iris’s occasional practical anxieties.

"She confessed to me last night that she's been putting off tackling some of those 'adulting' tasks for the new place because they feel huge and she's scared of messing them up."

"So, this afternoon, I promised her we'd sit down, just the two of us, and make a clear, step-by-step plan for all of it. We'll call the power company together, go over the lease line by line, even sketch out some furniture layouts."

"It's about breaking down these big, scary tasks into manageable pieces, so she feels in control and competent, not just… adrift." This lie makes me the practical problem-solver, focusing on concrete tasks that build confidence.

Mom considered this. Iris did sometimes get flustered by bureaucratic details, and the idea of me patiently helping her navigate them felt like a tangible form of support.

"You’re going to help her with the lease and utilities?" she asked, a touch of surprise in her voice. "That’s… very responsible of you, Rey."

"And probably less stressful for her than trying to decipher it all with us hovering."

The immediate skepticism in her eyes faded somewhat, replaced by a grudging approval. "Those things can be overwhelming. Knowing she has a clear plan, with your help, might indeed make her feel more prepared."

She was still hesitant, but the focus on concrete, solvable problems seemed to ease her concerns about Iris’s emotional state. "And you'll call us? Let us know if you manage to get the internet set up without any major meltdowns? You promise?"

"Absolutely," I promised, relief flooding through me, so potent it was almost dizzying. "We'll take good care of her. This is about helping her launch successfully, not pushing her out."

Finally, Mom nodded, a watery smile replacing the last of her doubts. "Alright, Rey. If you truly think this will help her… your 'Operation: Uplift Iris' has our blessing."

"But you bring her over for dinner tonight, young man, and she'd better be looking a lot happier than she has been these past few weeks."

"Deal," I said, the word lighter than air.

Tears welled in Mom’s eyes as she hugged me tightly. "You’re a good brother, Rey. A good son."

"Trying to be," I whispered, the words catching in my throat, the weight of the day’s true purpose pressing down.

The moment their car pulled away from the curb, the facade of "Operation: Uplift Iris" dissolved like mist in a harsh sun.

The real, grim purpose of the day settled heavily in the quiet house.

My friends arrived soon after, Leo having doubled back from ensuring Iris was safely on her way to school, his face already etched with a seriousness that told me Arya had briefed him thoroughly.

Ash, Leo, and Arya gathered in the living room, the morning sun slanting through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in an air thick with unspoken tension and the faint, almost imperceptible hum of the now-active [Pocket Dimension S] in the corner.

"Alright," I began, my voice low, trying to keep the tremor of remembered horrors out of it. The quiet warmth within me, that strange echo of a peace I didn't fully understand, was my only anchor.

"What I told my parents about helping Iris with anxiety… that was a necessary misdirection. The truth, as you know, is far more dangerous."

I watched their expressions sharpen, saw Leo’s hand clench almost instinctively.

I’d seen these reactions before, in other iterations of this terrible day, though they didn't know that.

I knew the shock that was coming, the anger, the fear. This time, however, my own delivery was different, imbued with a weary authority.

"Iris has been stalked for months," I stated, the words falling like lead weights into the charged silence. "By a man named Arthur Web."

I saw Leo’s immediate, visceral reaction – a barely suppressed snarl, his knuckles whitening.

In one particularly brutal version of this day, his rage at hearing this had been almost uncontrollable force I’d had to carefully redirect his anger simmering rather than exploding.

"His daughter, Emily," I continued, my gaze flicking to Arya, whose sharp emotional intellect always spot on, "is critically ill with leukemia, currently at St. Jude’s Children's Research Hospital."

"Web, in his profound grief and desperation, irrationally blames Iris – or rather, her Vtuber persona, Stellaris – for somehow exacerbating Emily's condition after an online argument they had months ago, an argument he likely instigated through Emily's account."

Arya’s reaction, as always, was a swift intake of breath, her eyes narrowing not just with anger for Iris, but with a keen assessment of the threat.

I remembered her face in another timeline, pale but resolute, already formulating strategies. This time, there was a deeper shadow in her eyes.

"He's been threatening her relentlessly," I pressed on, the images from the second timeline – the fear in Iris’s eyes, the sheer terror of the final confrontation – flashing through my mind, fueling the urgency in my voice.

"Sending her pictures, monitoring her movements, making demands that she isolate herself that she disappear from the internet and from our lives. This whole 'moving out' plan was his design, a way to break her spirit, to punish her for a crime she didn't commit."

I’d seen Leo slam his fist into his palm then, a mirror of his current suppressed frustration.

I’d heard Arya’s cold, precise fury. "That absolute… bastard," she’d hissed in a previous loop, the word a sliver of ice.

"He's pushed her to the brink of collapse," I said, my voice heavy with the weight of what I’d witnessed across timelines.

"And today… today, with Emily's life hanging by a thread at St. Jude's, her condition now officially critical according to my… sources…"

"I have a feeling he's going to snap. He might even make a violent move against Iris, likely when he thinks she’s most vulnerable, alone after supposedly leaving home."

"Today is the day his grief will metastasize into uncontrollable violence."

Ash, who had been listening with his usual unnerving stillness, his gaze fixed on the "normal" corner where the [Pocket Dimension S] hummed almost imperceptibly, would typically process this with a chillingly flat affect.

But I’d seen the almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes in previously, the minute shift that signaled his mind was already dissecting the variables, his head tilted as if listening to something only he could hear.

“'Operation: Uplift Iris,'” Ash murmured, his voice flat, though his eyes flicked to me with a new, searching intensity.

“Is, in fact, 'Operation: Intercept Arthur Web.' To prevent catastrophic escalation, given the critical timing of his daughter's condition.”

"Essentially," I confirmed, nodding confirming Ash's words. "Yes."

"My gut feeling, my absolute certainty, born from… let’s just say a particularly vivid understanding of how these situations can escalate … is that he will try something horrific today."

"We need to be ready. Not just to protect Iris, but to try and prevent an even greater tragedy from unfolding."

They were looking at me now, not just with concern for Iris, but with a dawning awareness that my certainty was… different. Deeper.

More absolute than just an educated guess or a protective brother's fear.

I couldn't tell them why. I couldn't speak of the blood and fire and soul-crushing despair that forged this conviction. I could only use it.

My friends watched me, their expressions a mixture of concern and grim anticipation. Leo had stopped pacing, his gaze fixed on me.

Arya had pushed herself off the bookshelf, her arms crossed, her usual sharp wit replaced by a somber focus.

Ash, however, had risen and was now slowly circling the "normal" corner, his head tilted, a frown of intense concentration on his face.

“Okay,” I said, gesturing towards the living room sofas, trying to draw their attention, especially Ash’s.

“First things first. We need a secure place to talk, really talk. And to monitor things when the time comes.”

I gestured to the very corner Ash was examining. “This corner. It’s… shielded.”

I’d already moved the beanbag and graphic novels aside with deliberate care before they arrived, then reinstated them perfectly once the Pocket Dimension was active.

Focusing inward, I had summoned the [Pocket Dimension S] menu. Layer 01, Room mode. My intent was precise: a 2-meter cube, its open face seamlessly integrating with the room, the internal surfaces camouflaged to mirror the existing walls and floor.

Then, the crucial addition. I’d snatched a spare, high-powered Wi-Fi router from my dad’s study before they left.

I had stepped into the dimensional corner, placing the router discreetly inside Layer 01, then plugged it into a hidden extension cord I’d also prepared, snaking the cable out and concealing it behind the larger sofa.

Activating it, I had mentally linked its signal to broadcast from within the Pocket Dimension, creating an illusion of normal, even enhanced, connectivity in that specific area, while the true interior was a dead zone to external signals.

From outside, the corner looked utterly normal, the beanbag and books I’d replaced appearing exactly as they had. The faint hum of the router, if one listened very closely, now added to the illusion of normalcy rather than indicating a signal dead zone.

Ash, who had completed his circuit, paused, his attention fixed on the air directly in front of the beanbag in the corner Rey had chosen.

He was silent for a long moment, his head tilted as if listening to something incredibly faint.

"Rey," he said finally, his voice soft, "is it just me, or is the air in this precise spot… different?"

He waved a hand slowly through the space. "There’s no draft, of course, but there's a lack of… particulate matter. The way the light catches the dust motes elsewhere in the room… it stops abruptly, right about here."

He took a cautious step closer, peering intently. "And the ambient temperature on my skin feels a fraction cooler, almost imperceptibly so, but only within these few cubic feet."

He looked up, his grey eyes sharp and focused on me. "It's as if this small section of the room is under a different, localized atmospheric condition."

I sighed, a genuine wave of exasperation, mixed with a grudging admiration, washing over me.

“Ash, I swear, if you tell me you’ve also deduced the tensile strength of the carpet fibers from the way the dust motes settled this morning versus now, I’m going to… I don’t know, nominate you for a Nobel Prize in Overthinking It.”

A rare, fleeting smile touched Ash’s lips. “Merely an observation.” His eyes are almost I have seen through you, it’s scary.

I waved a hand dismissively, though a part of me felt a genuine jolt of alarm at Ash’s relentless perception, making me realize how incredibly difficult it would be to keep the full extent of my powers entirely secret from someone so acutely observant.

“Right, focus. Gather around. This is important.”

They settled, Leo perching on the arm of the sofa, Arya leaning against the mantelpiece, Ash taking a seat in the armchair, his gaze still lingering on the "anomalous" corner.

I took a deep breath, the warmth from that phantom life, that echo of waemth, a steadying presence against the tide of my own anxieties.

“My plan,” I said, looking at each of them in turn, my voice low and measured, “is not to wait for Web to come to us.”

“That’s what led to disaster before.”

“We need to go to him. At St. Jude’s. Not to fight, not initially. But to offer him the one thing that might thwart his rage, his tangible chance to help Emily.”

“A chance? How, Rey? What can we possibly do for a critically ill cancer patient?” Leo asked, his voice tight with skepticism and worry.

“I… I have an idea,” I said, the concept still nascent, dangerous, born from the desperate lessons I barely recall from… before… but now tempered with an inexplicable sense of… gentleness, a different kind of strength that had settled in me after… after everything.

“It’s something I might be able to do, a way I might be able to reach him, to show him something that could change his perspective. It’s not fully formed, it’s incredibly risky, both for me and for the outcome."

"But it’s the only path I see that doesn’t end in more tragedy, more death.”

I paused, my gaze drifting for a moment as if searching for something unseen. That strange, insistent warmth that had settled in my soul after the worst of the rage passed – an echo of peace I couldn't name but trusted implicitly – pulsed with a sudden, undeniable strength.

It wasn't a voice, not a clear thought, but an overwhelming pull, a deep, resonant feeling associated with… Rose.

"And… for some reason I can't fully explain," I continued, my voice softer now, almost perplexed by my own conviction, "I feel very strongly that Rose… that she needs to be there."

"Not necessarily for the plan itself, not in a way I can articulate as strategically vital, but… her presence."

"I just… I have this powerful feeling that for things to have the best chance, for me to have the best chance of making this work, she needs to be part of this. It's an intuition. A very strong one."

Arya stiffened immediately, her expression clouding over, a protective, almost fierce look hardening her eyes.

“Rose? Rey, absolutely not."

"Why? She’s been through more than enough. Bringing her into something this dangerous, this volatile, with a man who is indirectly, horrifically, linked to her trauma… it’s not fair to her. It’s cruel.”

Her reaction was swift, almost too swift, and a sudden, sharp observation pierced through my own thoughts.

It was a strange echo, but inverted. In the β-timeline, Arya had advocated for Rose’s involvement in our plans, almost as if sensing and overriding my desire to shield Rose from danger.

Now, faced with my unwavering insistence on Rose’s presence in this even greater peril, her fierce opposition seemed less about Rose's safety alone, and more a complicated, almost panicked reaction.

“I don’t know why, not entirely. It’s a gut feeling, a strong one. A conviction."

"She has a part to play in this, …,” I added, my gaze sweeping over them, “she’s our friend. One of us."

"She deserves to know what’s happening, to choose if she wants to help, not be shielded and excluded because we’re afraid for her. That’s not friendship.”

“A gut feeling? A conviction?” Arya’s voice was sharp, laced with an agitation that felt… disproportionate, almost defensive, not entirely logical given her usual cool pragmatism.

“Rey, we’re talking about confronting a potentially violent, grieving man who is on the edge of a complete psychotic break, and you want to bring Rose, who is still recovering from a severe trauma that this man’s extended actions indirectly contributed to, based on a hunch? That’s reckless."

Leo, watching his sister, had a sad, knowing look in his eyes. He glanced at me, a quick, meaningful flicker that spoke volumes I couldn’t yet decipher, a silent communication that hinted at deeper currents beneath Arya’s resistance.

“Arya,” I said, my voice softer now, appealing to the friend I knew was beneath the sudden, almost strident protectiveness. “I understand your concern. Believe me, the absolute last thing I want is to cause Rose any more pain."

"But this feeling… it’s insistent. It’s more than a hunch."

Arya looked away, biting her lip, the internal conflict visible on her face. Finally, with a sigh that seemed to carry a heavy, unspoken weight, she nodded, a jerky, reluctant movement.

“Alright, Rey. If you’re this certain… if you truly believe this is necessary… okay. But if anything, anything happens to her because of this…” Her voice trailed off, the threat unspoken but palpable.

“It won’t,” I said, though the words were more a prayer, a desperate vow, than a concrete promise. I wouldn’t let it. Not again. Not Rose.

“Call her, Arya,” I said quietly. “Please."

"Tell her we need to talk. That it’s important. For all of us.”

Rose arrived looking small and uncertain, her eyes holding that familiar guardedness that always twisted my gut with a fresh pang of guilt.

But today, there was no hesitation in me, no cowardly retreat. The path, illuminated by that internal warmth, felt strangely, terrifyingly clear.

“Rose,” I began, my voice steady, meeting her gaze directly as she stepped into the living room. “Thank you for coming."

"I… I owe you an apology. A huge one. For so many things.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, her hands clutching her bag strap a little tighter.

“This morning, at the station, I know that you wanted to talk to me… I was a coward. I’ve been a coward for months, ever since the accident.” My voice was low, but I didn’t falter. The warmth within me urged this honesty.

“The coldness between us, my avoidance, my inability to even look you in the eye properly… that’s all on me. It was never about you.”

I took a deep, steadying breath, the words I’d rehearsed in countless internal agonies finally finding their way out. “The accident, Rose… I was there. In the hallway, just before it happened."

"That bullied student, the one you were so bravely protecting? I knew it."

"I’d known for weeks they were escalating. And I stood by, did nothing, used my flawed hypocrite philosophy. My silence, that’s what allowed things to escalate to the point where you were shoved through that window."

"I am responsible for what happened to you, Rose. Directly responsible.”

My expression, I knew, I’d tried to keep carefully neutral, a mask of calm I’d perfected through too many internal battles. But as I spoke, I felt the hot sting of tears pricking at my eyes.

I hadn’t even realized they were falling, blurring the image of her concerned face, until Rose’s voice, soft and gentle, impossibly kind, broke the silence.

“Rey,” she whispered, taking a small, hesitant step closer, her own eyes wide with a startled empathy. “Your face… you’re crying.”

My carefully constructed composure, the one I’d clung to for so long, crumbled into dust, and the sorrow, the guilt, the sheer, overwhelming weight of it all, poured out. My facial muscles contorted, and I choked back a sob that felt like it was tearing me apart from the inside.

Rose’s hand, hesitant but firm, reached out and gently, so gently, took mine. Her touch was warm, grounding, a small, unexpected anchor in the storm of my emotions.

“Rey,” she said again, her green eyes full of an aching, profound sadness, but not for herself – astonishingly, impossibly, it was for me.

“All this time… all these months… you’ve been carrying that? Alone?”

Her gaze swept over me, taking in my tear-streaked face, my shaking form, the utter desolation that must have been etched there. “What happened to me… it was terrible, yes. But to live with… with that inside you…”

She shook her head, her voice trembling with a shared pain. “That’s a different kind of fall, isn’t it? A much lonelier one.”

The words. My breath caught. Shock, not just from my own breakdown.

They were the same. Exactly the same empathetic words she’d used in the first timeline, after my guilt was psychically exposed.

Back then, I’d expected anger, and her kindness felt unreal, I was too buried in my own shame and self-loathing to truly accept it.

I couldn't see past my own perceived monstrosity. But now, after I chose to confess, she said the exact same thing.

It hit me hard: Rose Wayne didn't change. Timelines could twist, I could fail, but her fundamental kindness, her ability to see others' pain even when she was hurt, was constant.

In any world, she was just a genuinely good, kind person. Her forgiveness, then and now, felt like the only steady thing.

Her words, still holding no blame, hit like a punch, but this time, they also felt like a solid truth I could finally accept.

Her words, so devoid of blame, so full of an empathy I hadn’t earned, I didn’t deserve, were a physical blow, knocking the last of the air from my lungs.

“I see now… you can’t forgive yourself,” she continued, her grip tightening on my hand, her voice gaining a quiet, firm strength.

“That’s why you need to hear me clearly, Rey. I, Rose Wayne, forgive you. For everything."

"I forgive you for the accident, for not acting, for your fear."

"I forgive you for the coldness that happened later, for the distance you created."

"I forgive you for running from your grief, for trying to carry this impossible, crushing burden all by yourself. So please, Rey,” her eyes pleaded with mine, “if you truly care about me… if our past friendship meant anything… forgive yourself. Let it go.”

I sank to my knees, the sobs tearing through me, raw and unrestrained, the sound echoing in the suddenly hushed living room.

Rose knelt with me, her arms wrapping around me in a hug that was both fragile and incredibly, unbelievably strong. I felt her own tears on my shoulder, a shared, cleansing grief.

After what felt like an eternity, the storm passed, leaving me hollowed out, exhausted, but… lighter. I pulled back slowly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, feeling a profound sense of release, and an even deeper, overwhelming gratitude for this quiet, resilient, extraordinary girl.

Rose offered a watery, tremulous smile. “Better?”

I nodded, unable to speak, my throat tight with unshed emotions.

Then, her expression shifted, a shadow crossing her face, a familiar flicker of pain returning to her eyes. “Actually,” she said, her voice dropping, hesitant again, “there’s something I haven’t told all of you… I’ve been keeping secret too."

"Because I was afraid… afraid you’d all think I was crazy.”

We all looked at her, sensing the gravity in her tone, the air in the room tensing once more.

“After the accident,” she began, her gaze distant, fixed on some internal landscape of pain, “after I started to get a little better … I started hearing them. Voices.”

Leo frowned. “Voices? Like, people talking who weren’t there?”

Rose shook her head, her gaze dropping to her fingers, which began to twist restlessly in her lap.

A deep breath shuddered through her. "No," she began, her voice barely a whisper, so quiet I had to lean in. "Not… not like hearing people who aren't there."

"It's… inside."

Another pause, longer this time, as if she were battling something unseen. "They're… whispers," she finally managed, the word itself seeming to cost her an immense effort.

She looked up, her eyes wide and haunted, a raw vulnerability there that twisted my gut. "In my own head, Rey, but they’re not… they're not my thoughts. They don't feel like me."

Her breathing quickened, her words starting to tumble out a little faster now, a fragile dam beginning to crack.

"They're cruel. So cruel. Vicious."

Her voice hitched. "They tell me… they tell me everything I'm most terrified of is true. That I’m a burden, Rey. Just a heavy weight on everyone."

"That no one really likes me, that you all just… tolerate me out of pity, because of what happened."

The pace of her words picked up again, a desperate torrent now, her fingers clenching and unclenching. "They say I’m worthless. Broken. Damaged beyond any hope of repair."

Each adjective was a fresh stab, her voice trembling with the force of these internal accusations. "And they twist everything!" she cried, her voice rising in pitch, laced with a desperate frustration.

"Kind words from my parents? They make them sound like… like mockery, like they’re laughing at me behind their hands."

"Concern from you, from Arya or Leo? It becomes condescension, proof that I'm pathetic, that I need constant coddling!"

Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, darted around the room as if the whispers were closing in, her voice cracking with the strain. "They make it so hard to trust anything, Rey! Anyone!"

"I can't even trust myself anymore! Especially myself!"

With that final, choked admission, the last of her composure shattered. A raw, broken sob ripped from her throat, and she doubled over, her shoulders shaking violently as the full weight of her hidden torment finally, devastatingly, poured out in a flood of unrestrained tears.

She looked at me, her eyes pleading for understanding. “That’s why I was so hesitant this morning, Rey, at the station. Even when a part of me, a deep, hidden part, wanted to believe you, wanted to reach out…"

"…the whispers were screaming at me. Screaming that you were just being polite, that you secretly despised me for what I’d put you through, for being a reminder of that day."

"They’re… they’re always there, Ash,” she glanced at him, a flicker of desperation in her eyes, “waiting for me to be weak, to falter. They feed on my doubts.”

A stunned, horrified silence filled the room. My heart ached for her, for this hidden, relentless torment she’d been enduring on top of everything else, a torment none of us had even suspected.

As Leo and I started to offer words of comfort, a choked, strangled sound came from across the room.

Arya.

She was on her knees, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with violent, wracking sobs that seemed to tear through her usually composed frame.

Leo was instantly beside her, his arm around her, his own face a mask of pain and dawning, terrible understanding.

“Arya?” I asked, bewildered by her sudden, overwhelming distress.

Slowly, she lifted her head, her face streaked with tears, her eyes red and raw with a grief that mirrored my own from moments before. “Rose… I… oh God, Rose, I’m so sorry,” she choked out, her voice ragged and broken.

“When the bullying first started,” Arya confessed, her words tumbling out in a torrent of guilt and self-loathing, “the stuff before the accident, the taunts, the exclusion…"

"I saw it. I knew what was happening."

"I knew that boy, the one they were targeting. And I knew the bullies… I understood their ugly little motivations, their insecurities, their desire for dominance."

"I could see how it would escalate, how someone brave and impulsive and fundamentally good like you, Rose, would inevitably get caught in the middle if you tried to intervene.”

Her gaze, full of a desperate, pleading self-loathing, flickered to me. “I could have stopped it. So easily."

"A word here, a subtle manipulation there… I’m good at that."

"It’s… it’s a sick, ugly part of me, Rey. I can see people like… like bundles of desires, levers to be pulled, buttons to be pushed. I can make them do things, subtly guide their actions without them even realizing it.”

She took a shuddering breath, the confession tearing from her. “But I didn’t. I watched it happen. Day after day."

"And the reason… the reason is even uglier, more shameful.” Her eyes met mine, then Rose’s, filled with a desperate, pleading sorrow that I couldn’t comprehend.

“It was… it was jealousy. Rose, you were so… bright. So effortlessly kind, so genuinely good. So authentic."

"Everything I felt I wasn’t, everything I struggled to be. And you… you and Rey… you had this connection, even back then, before the accident, a quiet understanding, a shared wavelength that I… I envied."

"I envied your ease with him, your shared quiet moments.”

She looked at me directly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears and an emotion I couldn't name, but Leo sighed beside her, a sound of profound, weary sadness, his hand tightening on her shoulder in a gesture of pained solidarity.

The implication of her unspoken words, her unvoiced feelings for me, hung in the air, a possibility that stunned me, one I hadn’t ever considered, not once.

“When the accident happened,” Arya whispered, her voice breaking completely, “when I saw what my inaction, my stupid, petty, poisonous jealousy, had led to… I was horrified. Devastated."

"I never imagined… this. The guilt… it’s been eating me alive ever since."

"I swore then, if I ever got the chance, if you ever recovered, Rose, I would be a true friend. No matter what.”

“That’s why I pushed so hard for you to reconnect, Rose,” she said, looking at her through tear-filled eyes, her voice raw with sincerity. “Why I tried to get Rey to see, to talk to you. I was trying to fix what I helped break, trying to atone for my silence, for my selfishness.”

The weight of their confessions, Rose's hidden pain, Arya's guilt, settled heavily.

This day of shattering revelations left the path ahead dark and perilous, yet we faced it with eyes and hearts more open.

Our bonds, forged anew in shared pain and honesty, felt stronger.

The quiet warmth within me affirmed this new beginning: we would face the darkness together, not alone, but together.