Shattered Silhouettes

At half-past eight in the morning, I woke up.
     Such was the fate of a man betrayed by the gods of sleep and seasonal holidays.
     Ordinarily, I’d be basking in the sacred right of students everywhere—sleeping in until my body forgot how sunlight worked.
     But today, Azusa had her regular checkup, and as her designated older brother-slash-escort-slash-breakfast mule, I had a job to do.
     By the time I’d washed up and accepted my fate, I found her sprawled across the couch, flipping through the latest issue of JUMP with the focus of someone deciphering ancient scripture.
     A true woman of culture.
     Just... not quite a woman yet—at least not in EXP or stature.
     You get the point.
     “We should get going soon,” I said, nudging her gently out of her manga-induced trance.
     She glanced up at the clock briefly, before returning to the page. Without missing a beat, she reached for her whiteboard and scribbled: “There’s still time, no need to rush.”
     “Yeah, well, better early than late, as they say. I’d rather not be sprinting into the waiting room at the last minute.”
      I realized, belatedly, that I sounded like a hypocrite.
     Azusa gave me a look of pure deadpan, then dead-penned her reply:
     “Says the one who’s been sleeping in every morning since break started.”
     “Fair point. I’ll take the L on that.”
     “What about breakfast?"
     “I’ll grab something on the way. Anyway, you ready to go?” I asked, tossing the keys into the air and catching them—casually, I might add. Like a man who definitely had his life together.
      Azusa sprang up from the couch with contagious energy.
     Looks like we were off to a good start.
     “Race you to the elevator?”
     “You’re on.”

It had probably taken fifteen stops, two unexpected detours, and one overheard argument about metaphysics from a pair of retirees in the front row to get here.
     Still, credit where credit’s due—thanks to my totally intentional suggestion to leave early, we arrived with enough buffer time for a pit stop a stone-throw away from the hospital.
     Breakfast included.
     As we passed the usual row of neighborhood shops, a golden retriever sat obediently outside a laundromat, its leash tied to a pole with a lazy knot.
     It looked like the kind of fluffball that could understand human speech but would still chase its tail if left unsupervised.
      I might sound dumb for saying this, but aren’t golden retrievers supposed to be one of the smartest breeds around?
     I’m probably being too quick to judge.
     I was just superficial like that.
     Anyway—Azusa lit up like someone had handed her an ultra-rare figurine and a lifetime supply of strawberry milk simultaneously.
     She hit me with a look sharp enough to qualify as a legal request.
     I glanced between her, the dog, the store—then back again.
     The owner was probably inside, and the retriever looked harmless enough.
     “Just a little, alright?” I told her.
     She didn’t wait for a second opinion. Already crouched down, Azusa extended a hand—and the retriever, sensing a kindred spirit, leaned in with full tail-wagging approval.
     “You good if I grab us some food?”
     She nodded, already nose-deep in golden fluff.
     “Alright. Back soon,” I said, and left her in good paws.
     I made a stop at the roadside store we frequented most. Azusa had chosen to wait outside, despite my guarantee that the store attendant wouldn’t bite.
     Such was the magical pull of dogs.
     “Ah, the usual?” the store attendant asked, already reaching for the curry bread behind the display.
     “Yeah, two please,” I replied, scratching my cheek, mildly self-conscious.
     I wasn’t sure if she was a part-timer or the owner’s daughter helping out with family duty, but her memory was frighteningly sharp for someone who probably saw hundreds of customers a week.
     She handed over the warm bundle and added with a smile, “Tell your sister I said hi, alright?”
     “Will do,” I said, juggling the bag and exact change like I hadn’t just been emotionally ambushed by small-town kindness.
     With breakfast secured, I figured I might as well complete the morning hero package.
     A few shops down stood a pair of vending machines—one old enough to qualify for government aid, the other suspiciously well-stocked for such a sleepy street. I gave them a once-over.
     Naturally, I picked black coffee.
     Because I was an adult.
     Allegedly.
     The can dropped down with a mechanical cough. I cracked it open and took a sip.
     Bitter.
     Unapologetically so.
     The kind of bitterness that had me interrogating my life choices.
     Including, but not limited to, this one.
     But hey, it had caffeine.
     Next—for Azusa’s holy grail.
     I scanned the rows like a man looking for buried treasure, and—there it was.
     Strawberry milk. Limited edition, too.
     The gods of convenience had smiled upon me.
     I popped the coins, grabbed the can, and double-checked my loot. Coffee and strawberry milk. Chaotic pairing, but we’d made worse decisions.
     Drinks in hand, I made my way back toward the laundromat—already bracing myself for the inevitable showdown.
     No doubt it was going to be a close fight judging by the contenders for Azusa’s undivided affection.
     In one corner: the undefeated duo of curry bread and strawberry milk.
     In the other: weaponized fluff equipped with soulful eyes.
     I gave myself about a 3% chance of coming out on top.
     Not terrible odds, all things considered.
     But any chances at contention were ruined when I returned.
     Something was amiss: the dog was gone.
     The leash dangled from the pole like a snapped ribbon.
     Standing beside it was a middle-aged man with a laundry basket under one arm, glancing around the street with rising alarm.
     Our eyes met briefly.
     No words were exchanged, but his expression confirmed what my gut already knew.
     Azusa was gone.

*          *          *

Somewhere in the depths of a cold, formless landscape where the warmth of the summer sun could not reach, a girl stood at the edge, observing the fractured remnants of a scene lost to time. It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself there—caught between memory and something else entirely.
      Within the obscured darkness, Nozomi made out the blurred outline of a woman wavering indistinctly like a mirage. The woman was hunched over, hands clutching her abdomen, her breathing labored—as if she were bracing against an agony too great to name.
      She reached out with trembling fingers, clawing through the air toward something unseen beyond the shadows. Desperation clung to every motion.
     A solemn cadence filled the air, drowned beneath a chorus of indistinct voices, heralding some momentous… or inevitable.
     Who is she?
     Nozomi leaned in, lifting a hand of her own. But as she reached forward, the distance only grew.
     Why do I keep seeing this? Why does she feel… familiar?
     The voices grew insistent, demanding and pleading for something she couldn’t discern.
     Help her… please…
     But Nozomi couldn’t.
     The woman’s hands eluded her grasp.
     The vision warped like an old film reel coming undone. A surge of light and darkness swept over her, and the world was no more.
     When the colors returned to her eyes, she was standing beneath a bright summer sky, sunlight streaming through the canopy of trees.
      She felt warmth—not just on her skin, but in her hand, where her mother’s fingers wrapped softly around her own.
     She was a child again.
     Her mother smiled down at her, and the tenderness in that gaze rekindled something deep within Nozomi—a glow from a joy long dormant.
     But then the smile faded.
     Nozomi felt the air shift. The previously comforting warmth grew chilling, as if she’d been suddenly doused with cold water. Without warning, her mother’s hand slackened, and she collapsed to the ground.
     “No!” Young Nozomi burst out in a sharp cry that teared through the air.
     Around them, people turned—but none moved. No one stepped forward. Their cold eyes held no sympathy—only disgust and disdain.
     They’re staring at me. Blaming me.
     She shook her mother’s unmoving arm, her tiny fingers trembling.
     “Someone, help!” she cried again desperately.
     Still, no one came. They just watched. Their apathy screamed louder than any condemnation.
     What did I do wrong? Why won’t they help mother…?
     She clung to her mother’s body, her desperation turning to despair. Tears blurred her vision.
     Then the world split again.
     No… stop this already… I don’t want to watch any more…
     She was in a dark, narrow room this time.
     Shadows slid along the walls like oil across water. She felt small again, though not quite the child she had been moments before. An oppressive presence hung in the air like an invisible, crushing force.
     In front of her, a figure loomed—a presence lithe and formless, its shape bleeding into the darkness. It said nothing at first, but the silence between them spoke volumes of something greater.
     Of a pact already sealed.
     The figure shifted, its form stretching until it seemed to engulf the entire room. Then a voice—cold and sinister—rang out from beyond her reach:
     “You made your choice.”
     The words reverberated through the room, reciting the ghost of an oath she couldn’t deny.
     An unspoken contract had bound her to this figure.
     She no longer remembered the words exchanged between them that day, but the magnitude of the agreement remained unmistakable.
     From that moment on, she came to understand what it meant to be chosen.
     The crushing responsibility laid upon her tiny shoulders.
     A bond.
     A burden.
     The figure loomed closer, its shadow bleeding into hers.
     “You know what must be done.”
     She wanted to scream.
     To deny its words.
     To run.
     But she couldn’t.
     She was already bound—
     To the role she had been forced to play.
     To the promise she didn’t understand.
     What have I done… Why did I agree to this?
     She lashed out at the dark, but it only swallowed her deeper.
     The scene shifted once more, drawing her further—deeper—prying open yet another painful memory.
     Another punishment.
     She was once again made to watch through the eyes of her younger self, standing by a street corner.
     The sky hung low and overcast, leeching colour from the world until everything turned grey. Her small hands gripped a black envelope. Ahead, a figure stumbled forward.
     Nozomi’s stomach twisted with a familiar dread.
     Not again…
     The figure collapsed—crumpling like a marionette with its strings severed.
     She stood rooted to the spot, her breath catching in her throat.
     She almost threw up.
     Her heart pounded in her ears even though she knew it shouldn’t.
     The silence around her was deafening, as if the world itself had paused just so she could bear witness.
     Helplessness.
     Inevitability.
     She knew these feelings all too well.
     The memory looped.
     Once.
     Twice.
     Again.
     Faster. Louder.
     A reel of death and consequence spinning on repeat.
     Her stomach churned.
     Why does it have to be me…?
     She clutched her chest, repulsed by her detestable self.
     The street bled away—
     And a mirror appeared.
     She stood before it.
     Her reflection stared back.
     But it wasn’t her.
     The girl in the mirror was a hollow imitation—skin sickly, eyes sunken and empty.
     Not even grief remained—just vacancy.
     She raised a trembling hand to the glass.
     The reflection rippled, then warped.
     A grotesque version stared back now—its eyes void-black, its mouth twisted into a silent, mocking grin.
     This… this can’t be me…
     She slammed her palm against the glass—
     But the image held fast.
     Is this what I really am…?
     The reflection's lips moved.
     Not a single sound.
     But the message landed like a blade.
     “This is all your fault.”
     No!
     She clawed at the mirror, nails screeching down its surface.
     Her voice broke into sobs.
     “I didn’t ask for this!”
     The nausea returned, heavier than before.
     Her knees buckled beneath her.
      She collapsed inward, arms over her ears, as if that could drown out the voice that was never spoken aloud.
     “I didn’t… want any of this…”

Nozomi jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, her breathing ragged and heavy.
     She sat up slowly. Her hands were still shaking from the aftermath of her vivid nightmare.
     She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to chase the thoughts out of her skull—an effort as hopeless as it felt.
     Her usually cozy room was already beginning to feel claustrophobic.
     She couldn’t bear it.
     She was losing her mind. She was losing herself.
     Maybe both.
     Haaaah…
     She drew in a deep breath to calm herself.
     Thankfully, it worked.
     For the time being.
     Perhaps a walk, she considered—more out of routine than actual desire.
     Anything to clear her thoughts.
     It wasn’t as if she had a destination in mind.
     It wasn’t as though she had someone in particular she could meet.
     Still, the notion of wandering aimlessly seemed more appealing than remaining boxed-in by her worries.
     The first thing she did was freshen up.
     The pallid reflection in the mirror looked foreign. Lifeless eyes harboring a sadness that it didn’t even bother trying to hide.
     Nozomi raised a hand and smudged the surface of the glass. The spell of the reflection dissipated.
     I look horrid… she thought despondently.
     Next came the matter of getting dressed.
     Her closet was modest. Nothing like what most girls her age had.
     What she wore hardly mattered when the world barely noticed her.
     Trivial things like fashion weren’t really worth thinking about—no more than the rising and setting of the sun.
     Again, she chose her school uniform, mostly out of habit.
     She slipped on her school blazer over her summer uniform like a model student. As if not doing so would be some unimaginable offence.
     She remembered the small potted plant that sat by her windowsill, bathed in sunlight that strained through her partially drawn curtains.
     The poor thing seemed to be struggling, its leaves drooping from days of neglect.
     A subtle reflection of herself.
     Feeling guilty for its pitiful treatment, she made watering it the last thing she did before leaving her humble abode.

The outside air was warm and inviting.
     It was undoubtedly bright and loud. Probably too alive for someone who wasn’t quite awake.
     She welcomed the change anyway.
     Carefree laughter of families and children playing filled the air. They were full of life, blissfully unaware of the things that lay beyond their understanding.
     How lucky…
     Nozomi recalled something she’d forgotten.
     Of a time when she still believed in the simplicity of this world.
     It felt like a lifetime ago. Almost like a fairy-tale she had imagined herself to be the protagonist of.
     She passed a group of teenagers laughing over a phone screen. They nudged each other playfully, teeming with palpable energy.
     Connection and belonging were but foreign concepts.
     All she could do was watch from a distance.
     A spectator at best.
     She’d be lying if wasn’t the least bit curious.
     But she didn’t stop walking.
     She’d travelled from one street to the next. There was no shortage of places to disappear into.
     As long as she kept on moving, her thoughts wouldn’t catch up.
     Alas, they did anyway.
    In the form of Kaoru Kurokawa.
     She hadn’t meant to remember their conversation, but here it was.
     Funnily enough, that boy had tried to reach out to her more than once.
     The first person to try.
     She couldn’t remember the last time someone did.
     She couldn’t remember giving anyone a reason to.
     Why did he even bother?
     He had nothing to gain from it. Maybe he was just that kind of person.
     Or maybe he was simply too naïve to keep his distance.
     Still somehow, he hadn’t forgotten her.
     Yet.
     He’d probably chosen his words carefully.
     He hadn’t tried to fix her. His words had resonated with her. And that—oddly—made his clumsy kindness bearable.
     “Busybody.”
     She’d murmured the word out loud to herself.
     That was her verdict.
     That was what the boy—her classmate—Kaoru Kurokawa was, from her perspective.
     Annoying, persistent, and strangely tolerable. Something that wasn’t simply unpleasant.
     But what she thought and what she felt were completely opposite of each other.
     Maybe that was the problem—
     “Mama, mama! I want one of those!”
     A child’s excited voice startled her.
     She glanced toward a food truck up the road, where a small line had formed.
     A boy pointed enthusiastically at a drool-inducing pancake, the kind wrapped in paper and overflowing with fruit and cream.
     She observed as a young couple shared a bite of their freshly purchased product in wrapping, their faces lighting up with each bite.
     Is that… crepe?
     Nozomi had never eaten a crepe in her life.
     The appeal of such delicacy had never crossed her mind once.
     Actually, that was an excuse.
     More accurately, she’d never had anyone to try it with.
     Such was the tragedy of someone who had no friends. And, realistically speaking, she doubted that status of hers was going to change anytime soon.
     Yet a few minutes later, she was marveling at her newly purchased crepe, purchased entirely by her own hand.
     So sweet!
     The warm, sugary delight melted on her tongue.
    She could practically hear herself groveling in bliss.
     Over a dessert.
     Uncharacteristic didn’t even begin to cover it.
     Maybe enjoying something trivial wasn’t such a crime after all.
     As she nibbled away at the last of her dessert, a blur of motion caught the corner of her eye.
     A white cat darted across the sidewalk.
     Hot on its heels came a dog—a golden retriever at first glance—barking wildly, its leash trailing behind in the wind.
     A runaway…?
     Then came a girl no older than thirteen or fourteen, stumbling after them, arms flailing in frantic pursuit.
     No collar grip. No control.
     She certainly wasn’t walking the dog—
     She was trying not to lose it.
     All three of them veered toward a construction site up ahead.
     This isn’t going to end well.
     She took off after them with a gnawing sense of unease.
     Good thing she was fast.
     A surprisingly good thing, actually.
     Probably a good thing she had the physical limits of an RPG character with a bugged stat ceiling.
     A built-in cheat code that she wasn’t exactly proud of.
     She couldn’t be upset about it—there were times where it came in useful:
     No one could chase cats better than her.
     She hoped she was wrong about her bad feeling.
     By the time she made it through the side street and reached the site’s perimeter, the trio had vanished.
     Urgency and adrenaline coursed through her veins.
     Please don’t let me lose them now!
     The sound of barking resumed, seemingly from the opposite side of the fence.
     She spotted the narrow gap they’d used. It didn’t look like something she’d be able to fit through.
     She decided she wasn’t about to get stuck halfway suggestively like a badly written romcom protagonist.
     Curse these hips, she thought bitterly.
     There must be something else she could use.
     Her eyes scanned the area.
     The only object lying around had been an oil barrel.
     After making sure it was empty, she rolled it upright, propped up against the fence.
     She backed up, and ran. One wide step. Then a leap.
     She launched off the barrel and barely managed to haul herself over the fence.
     A messy landing. Not quite elegant. A 6 out of 10 if she would say so herself.
     Still, she made it.
     Maybe I should’ve gone to gym class once or twice.
     No time for regrets or complains.
     She’d arrived just in time for the caterwauling.
     There they were.
     The cat had climbed a tower of scaffolding, metal creaking ominously under its weight.
     The dog barked below, wagging its tail like this was all some game.
     The girl moved closer—dangerously close—trying to reach for the dog.
     A few things happened simultaneously at once:     
    The cat jumped higher, landing on a higher platform gracefully like a practiced acrobat.   
    The dog followed clumsily in pursuit, missing its footing. Clearly, it wasn’t much of an acrobat.
     It slipped and landed back on the ground with a thud.
     The scaffolding trembled under the sudden shift of weight. Metal beams swayed precariously.
     Nozomi gasped in alarm.
     The structure began to topple like a tower of cards.
     Despite all that, the girl still lunged at the dog.
     Nozomi’s body reacted automatically too.
     “Watch out!” she exclaimed, lunging out. Her hands found the girl’s arm and with a powerful yank, she managed to pull her back.
     The scaffolding gave way with a deafening crash. Metal and wood collided with concrete below, sending up a cloud of dust and debris.
     They hit the ground together.
     Nozomi had cradled the girl to shield her from the worst of the fall. Her own body had absorbed the most of the impact. She barely took notice.
     The girl’s stared with wide terrified eyes.
     She opened her mouth to speak, but before a single word escaped, her grip slackened and her body went limp.
    Nozomi sprang into action, quickly scanning for visible injuries.
    Unconscious. No bleeding, no obvious trauma. Likely just shock.
    She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
    The dog stood nearby, whimpering softly—its excitement subdued, as if it too realized it was somehow to blame.
    On the other hand, the cat had vanished without a trace.
    Truly a smooth criminal indeed.
    A commotion this large was bound to attract attention.
    Footsteps multiplied by the minute, growing louder. Stray curiosity, of course, always showed up on time.
     She needed someone to call for help.
     Nozomi turned to the dog.
     She crouched beside it, gently scratching behind its ears.
     “Can I count on you?” she asked the furball softly.
     It barked once and licked her hand in what could be taken as affirmation.
     “Good boy,” she whispered, patting its head. 

Nozomi cast a final glance at the scene from afar.
     She had left the unconscious girl by the entrance, the dog faithfully at her side—easy enough for anyone to find.
     The barking would take care of the rest.
     A small crowd had already begun to gather, drawn by the persistent commotion.
     She had done what she could. Her presence was longer necessary.
     There was no reason to draw further attention to herself.
      With a shallow breath, she ducked back into the side street—retreating from prying eyes, her presence all but erased.

The next time she stopped walking, Nozomi found herself at a small playground tucked away in a quiet residential district.
     The swings creaked in the breeze, adding a note of melancholy to the otherwise lifeless grounds.
     She trudged closer and sank onto one of them, her fingers curling around the cold chains.
     Her feet skimmed the dirt as she rocked herself gently back and forth.
     How exceptionally soothing.
     Now that the adrenaline had faded and her pulse had settled, her thoughts caught up.
    Unbelievable.
     She couldn’t hide her irritation at her own behavior.
    Seriously, what was I thinking?
     That girl was simply another denizen of the world. One she no longer felt connected to. She had no reason to intervene.
    She was really flimsy.
    Flimsy and weak.
    She couldn’t abandon her ideals. She couldn’t abandon that pesky thing called a conscience.
    Even when her logic protested.
    She didn’t want to admit it.
    The girl had vaguely reminded her of her younger self.
    If only just a bit—
    “Still going out of your way to help strangers, I see.”
    Nozomi lifted her head.
    Perched atop the jungle gym was a white cat with amber eyes like twin mirrors.
    They reflected her back at her, if only slightly distorted with mischief.
     “It’s not against the rules, Haku,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
     Annoying. Irksome. Unpleasant.
     Such were Nozomi’s impressions of the creature known as Haku.
     “Oh, I’m not suggesting anything,” Haku replied, sounding faintly amused.
     With a soft thump, it leapt down, landing just in front of her.
     “Though I would suggest finding better hobbies than saving every lost kitten that crosses your path.”
     “That chase earlier—was it your doing?”
     Her tone had flattened without her realizing. Talking to this cat always tested her patience.
     “Perhaps,” Haku replied innocently. “No need to overreact—it was just a harmless bit of fun.”
     Her grip on the chains tightened in tandem with her jaw.
     “You shouldn’t needlessly meddle with the lives of others. I don’t want any extra work because of you.”
    “Meddle? Moi?” It swept its tail around its feet. “That sounds harsh. Besides, nothing of value was lost.”
     Of course it saw things that way.
     She hated how easily it trivialized the weight of life.
     Had it simply kept quiet and behaved like a proper feline, she might’ve spared it a shred of tolerance. Perhaps even called it cute—grudgingly.
     “As usual, I see no way to accept your twisted sense of logic,” she said coldly. “I don’t think we can ever see eye-to-eye.”
     “I fail to see your point. On the contrary, I think we get along rather well.”
     “Regardless, I don’t want you involving those who aren’t due,” she snapped.
     Haku tilted its head as if she had suggested something inordinately stupid.
     “You of all people should know that I never do anything without reason.”
     She shot it a dubious look.
     “Surely you jest.”
     “You claim to be burdened with extra work, and yet here you are, swinging like a schoolgirl playing hooky.”
     “…It’s none of your business where I go. Or who I spend my time off with.”
     “Your work ethic’s always been exemplary,” Haku meowed with a flick of its tail. “But this whole ‘hanging out with people’ thing? That’s new.”
     Her glare intensified.
     Busted.
     But she wasn’t about to let it show.
     “Keep your meddling—and your stalking—to yourself. It’s honestly creepy.”
     “Rude. Observation, you mean.”
     “That’s what all stalkers say. Creep.”
     Haku’s expression shifted.
     “Did that boy’s words get to you?”
     A tinge of uncertainty passed over Nozomi’s face, too fast to catch. But Haku caught it anyway. Of course it did.
     “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
     Haku’s whiskers twitched.
     “No matter,” it said breezily. “Variables always make for interesting developments.”
     She was already on her feet before she’d realized it.
     “I don’t know what you’re planning, but keep your paws off my classmates.”
     Haku bared its teeth in what barely qualified for a grin.
     Nasty. Unpleasant in a way that felt almost predatory.
     She felt a little sick inside.
     What kind of twisted schemes was that cat brewing in its tiny skull?
     She had no way of knowing.
     “You’re so stubborn, Nozomi. Keep clinging on to those little morals of yours. As if acting human makes you any closer to being one. You delude yourself.”
     “I’d act the same regardless of what I am. You wouldn’t understand.” Nozomi replied coolly. Her disdain for the creature was hardly subtle.
     “Intriguing. I do think I understand more than you realize.”
    Nozomi was ready to protest but Haku had already padded off anticlimactically.
    “You’ll be busy soon,” came its voice from over its shoulder. “Things are about to get… interesting.”
     Its sheer indifference to her rising ire felt almost insulting. But its parting words clung less than a farewell than a curse wrapped in promise.
     “Don’t delude yourself.”
    The white cat’s words seeped in like poison.
    She hated how deeply they burrowed into her. How much truth they carried.
    She’d spent so long telling herself that detachment was protection.
    That distance was necessary.
    But the cracks in her carefully constructed walls were beginning to show.
    Kaoru.
    Where was he now? What was he doing?
    She didn’t know why he came to mind.
    She barely knew anything about him.
    She barely knew anyone.
    And she’d worked hard to keep it that way.
    He belonged to a world of warmth—of shared laughter and spontaneous crepes.
    A world she was denied. A world she wasn’t meant to reach for.
    Something about him had stirred a longing she couldn’t afford.
    But any more doubts could easily erode the foundation she had built.
    Not any more than this.
    She had already decided.
    Her nails bit into her palms—a tether to the present.
    She had come this far alone.
    She wasn’t allowed to falter now.
    For his sake and hers.
    She drew in a breath, then released it slowly, forcing the rising tide of her emotions back into the depths where they belonged.
    This is the only way.

*          *          *

What was that sound?!
     The ground quaked beneath my feet—followed by the low, dreadful groan of metal and concrete giving way. It sounded like a building had collapsed nearby.
     My heart went feral as I fumbled for my phone, fingers clumsy with panic while I pulled up Azusa’s number.
     Sirens blared in the distance, each shrill note gnawing at what remained of my sanity.
     I pressed the phone to my ear.
     Come on. Pick up. Please pick up.
     But nothing. Just the relentless ring on my end.
     My mouth went dry.
     Bless its useless little folds, my brain offered no plan. Just vibes.
     So I ran.
     Ran like my legs had taken me hostage and were dragging me straight toward the noise.
     Did some cosmic intern just decide to crank the difficulty setting on my life for fun?
     This had to be some sick joke.
    Azusa… Please be okay.
    By the time I reached the epicenter, the construction site had already become the eye of the disaster.
     No, it wasn’t the kind that involved flames or debris.
     It was the crowd.
     Phones were raised like a congregation of digital monks.
     Murmuring. Filming.
     Morbid curiosity was the real first responder, apparently.
     I shoved my way forward.
     “Excuse me! Coming through—move, please—!”
     Someone grabbed my arm.
     “Hey, kid—you can’t just—”
      I could. And I did.
      Because whatever consequences existed on the other side of that tape couldn’t be worse than what I was imagining.
      A paramedic crouched beside an unmistakably small figure surrounded by what looked to be a gathering of cultists.
     Cold sweat threatened to erupt from every pore I had.
     I stumbled forward, startling the paramedic tending to my sister.
     “What—what’s the situation?!”
     My voice cracked, like it forgot how to function under pressure.
     He had every right to be annoyed at the kid who just borderline heckled him.
     But he wasn’t. So that made him a saint in my book.
     “Stable. No visible injuries. Probably fainted from shock. But we’ll need to bring her in for evaluation.”
     Stable.
     That one word hit my brain like a defibrillator.
     Her lashes trembled faintly. Her chest rose—just a little.
     Enough to confirm she was alive.
     She was okay.
     Not okay-okay.
     But okay enough.
     And right now, that was everything.
     A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding exploded out of me like I’d just resurfaced after drowning in panic.
     My panic had receded for the time being, although not entirely.
     Like it was giving me a break before the next round.
     Fair enough.
     I sagged forward, brushing her hair from her face with shaking fingers. Would’ve been nice if someone warned me that I’d turn into a human tuning fork.
     Guess that’s what I get for installing the Big Brother DLC on hard mode.

*          *          *