Chapter 19: Day 2 Baptism of Lead and Fire Part 1

The day began at the Sterling estate. I watched sunlight catch the dust motes drifting in the clean air, and for a moment, my throat tightened. I could almost smell the thick plaster dust, smoke, and gasoline from another place, another time. I blinked, pushing the memory away. That world wasn’t mine anymore.

Leo and Arya were already at the table. Leo was digging into a stack of pancakes like usual, but the wild energy was gone, he seemed quieter, more alert. Arya sat calmly with a cup of tea, her eyes far away. We felt like survivors, each dealing with the wreckage of yesterday in our own way.

Then, the atmosphere in the room, already thick with unspoken thoughts, shifted, condensing around a single, magnetic point.

Eveline Sterling entered.

The difference she made was absolute. Calling her “Arya and Leo’s mother” felt like a criminal understatement. She was a world-renowned actress, a living legend. It wasn’t just her beauty, which was the sort of breathtaking, peerless phenomenon that made you feel vaguely inadequate for witnessing it. It was the way she owned the space she occupied. With long, flowing blonde hair that caught the morning light like spun gold and piercing green eyes that missed nothing, she moved with the effortless grace of someone who had spent a lifetime receiving standing ovations. The world was her stage, and we were all just players in her scene.

“Good morning, darlings,” she said, her voice smooth and warm, filling the room like music. She moved gracefully toward the breakfast nook, where a maid in a crisp uniform was setting up a silver coffee tray. Without pausing, Eveline said softly but firmly, “That’s fine, Maria, I’ll take it from here.” The maid gave a small nod and stepped aside. Every motion Eveline made was calm and precise. Even pouring coffee felt like a performance, elegant and intentional, as if she were a queen in her own domain.

Beneath that dazzling, iconic aura was a mind like a razor. Eveline saw everything, and her playfulness was a scalpel. I was only just beginning to realize, with a dawning, uncomfortable clarity, that for years, her favorite subject, her most beloved co-star in these domestic dramas, had likely been her daughter’s transparently obvious crush. All those times Arya had suddenly dragged me away, all those inside jokes I never quite got… they were clicking into place now, forming a picture I'd been too blind to see.

Everyone in the Sterling family knew. But Eveline took a special, theatrical delight in it, poking and prodding at Arya’s composure with the mischievous precision of a master playwright. Normally, This must have been Arya’s cue. In the past, she would suddenly grab my arm, inventing an urgent need to be anywhere else, and I realized now she must have been dragging me away before I could register the game.

But not today.

Today, Arya just sipped her tea, her knuckles white around the porcelain. She didn’t move. Maybe because after yesterday, after facing down a madman and watching a miracle unfold, the pretense felt childish. Maybe because the secret was already out between us. Or maybe, just maybe, because she knew that once Eveline Sterling began a performance, you could only watch it unfold.

“Actually,” Eveline mused, setting down her cup with a soft clink, her gaze turning inward as if considering a complex problem, “I was just reading the most fascinating script last night. There’s this character, a young warrior-princess type…” Her eyes flickered to Arya, a playful, knowing glint in their green depths. “Fiercely loyal, a brilliant strategist, but she’s carrying this dreadful torch for the stoic hero of the story. It’s terribly obvious to everyone but him, of course. She spends all this energy building these magnificent walls, trying to appear so composed and unaffected, when really all she wants to do is… well, you know.”

Arya flinched, a familiar, reflexive wince. A faint blush crept up her neck. "Mother, please."

"I'm just discussing a role, darling," Eveline said, her voice a picture of innocence. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, her eyes still on Arya. But then, for the barest fraction of a second, her gaze darted to me, a quick, almost imperceptible probe to gauge the expected lack of reaction.

And she saw it. A slight tightening of my jaw. A flicker of my eyes down to my plate, a momentary discomfort that hadn't been there before.

The playful glint in Eveline's eyes sharpened into a focused, analytical light. The script had just changed, and she was the first one to notice.

“Oh,” she said, her voice low and sharp, sending a chill down my spine. “This just got interesting.”

The air in the room thickened. Arya shot me a look of pure, unadulterated panic. Eveline, sensing she had found the seam in our collective composure, continued, her focus now subtly expanding.

“And the hero she's pining for,” she went on, her gaze now including me in its sweep, “oh, he’s a piece of work. The strong, silent type. Carries the weight of the world, thinks he has to face every monster alone. Utterly noble and completely blind to the love right in front of him. But the script has this fascinating twist… something happens, a shared crisis, and suddenly he’s not so blind anymore. He starts seeing her. It complicates everything beautifully. It raises the stakes.”

Her gaze settled fully on me now, a direct, though still veiled, probe. “Doesn’t that sound like a much more interesting story, Rey?”

Arya and I, now on high alert, deflected with a practiced ease forged over years of friendship.

"Sounds like a bestseller, Mrs. Sterling," I said, meeting her gaze with a carefully neutral expression.

"I'm sure you'd be brilliant in the role, Mother," Arya added smoothly, her composure returning.

We were a fortress, unshakable. But Eveline, like a master strategist, simply shifted her line of attack to the weakest point in our defense. Her gaze swiveled to her son.

Leo.

The moment her hypnotic green eyes locked onto him, his whole body tensed. One second he was a relaxed teenager enjoying a pastry; the next, he was a mouse frozen under the gaze of a beautiful, deadly serpent. His mouth went dry. A single bead of sweat slipped down his temple, followed by more. In moments, his forehead was shining, he was practically drowning in it.

“Leo, darling,” Eveline cooed, her dazzling smile all charm and mischief. “You’re so quiet this morning. Usually, you’re entertaining us with stories from the dojo. Something on your mind? Something you’re not telling us?”

Arya and I both snapped our eyes toward him. Our gazes were a silent, screaming chorus: Don't. You. Dare.

Leo shot us a look of pure panic. He knew he stood no chance. I could see him calculating the trajectory to the nearest exit. He was preparing to make a run for it.

Just then, a presence filled the doorway, cutting short Eveline’s impromptu drama session as effectively as a director yelling "Cut!"

“Morning, everyone.”

Luke Sterling entered the room, and the entire atmosphere shifted again. Taller than Leo, with tousled brown hair, sharp blue eyes that held both warmth and an edge of steel, and a charismatic, easy charm, he commanded the room without effort. He was the anchor to Eveline’s whirlwind.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Beside me, Arya did the same. Leo slumped in his chair, looking like a man who’d just been pulled from a sinking ship.

Luke raised an eyebrow at the collective, unsubtle sigh of relief, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, but he wisely chose not to comment.

My body moved before my mind did, a gesture born from years of ingrained discipline and respect. I rose from my chair, my back straight, and offered a formal bow.

“Master,” I said.

Luke settled into a chair with a tired, familiar smile. “We’re not in the dojo right now, Rey.”

I straightened up, a flush of embarrassment warming my cheeks. “You’re right.”

A ripple of soft, relieved laughter went through the room, cutting through the last of the tension.

“I heard about your last match,” Luke said, his gaze moving between me and Leo. “A tie at 389–389, impressive.” He raised an eyebrow, a hint of the instructor returning. “I’d like to see how you both adjust next time.”

Leo, rescued from his mother’s interrogation, visibly relaxed, a modest grin touching his lips. “It was tight. Rey’s timing’s improved, and I tried out some new move and guard work. Made for a challenging bout.”

“Indeed,” Arya chimed in, her composure fully restored. “Both of you read each other well. It could’ve gone either way until the final exchange.”

I nodded, my own thoughts turning back to the familiar, grounding discipline of the fight. “Next rematch will be interesting, we both know we need fresh tactics. Training resumes after school.”

“Just don’t overtrain to settle the score in one go,” Eveline called out from her seat, her voice once again light and playful, the interrogation seemingly forgotten.

“No flying punching bags across the dojo this week, okay?” Arya added with a wry smile.

Leo chuckled. “Agreed. But I’ve seen Rey’s spinning kick get crisper; next time, we’ll have to reinforce the mats.”

“As long as the dojo survives, I’m in,” I replied, a genuine smile touching my lips.

For a moment, it felt normal. A rare, easy morning with this family that had become a second home, the specter of yesterday’s battle reduced to the simple, clean motivation of a sparring match.

Then Luke’s expression shifted. He glanced at his phone, then around the room, his gaze settling on the three of us. The easy banter faded into a tense, expectant silence.

“So,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Why didn’t any of you go to school yesterday?”

The light banter evaporated instantly. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with unspoken truths and the weight of yesterday's chaos. Leo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Arya’s composed mask settled firmly back into place. This was it. The real interrogation had begun.

I opened my mouth to answer, to launch into the carefully constructed narrative we had agreed upon, but Luke held up a hand, his own phone already in it.

“Let’s ask your parents first.”

He dialed my father first, a knot of anxiety tightening in my gut. No answer. My dad, ever the workaholic, was probably already buried in manuscripts. Then he dialed my mother. She picked up almost immediately.

“Good morning, Mr. Sterling,” Mother’s voice, warm and clear, filled the room.

“You’re on speaker, Lily,” Luke informed her. “Just wanted to talk about yesterday. The kids didn’t go to school.”

Her tone remained calm, unruffled. “Yes, I noticed. But I still don’t know why.”

I stood, forcing a calm I didn't feel. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I met Luke's gaze directly. “I can explain,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “A friend of ours, a little girl named Emily, has been fighting cancer at St. Jude’s. Yesterday, her condition became critical, so we went to the hospital to support her family.”

I didn't pause, didn't give them time to interject. “That’s when the impossible happened. On the very same day she was expected to pass, she made a full and complete recovery. The doctors are calling it a miracle. It makes no sense, but it's what happened.”

As I spoke, a profound silence fell on the other end of the line. Then, the distinct, rapid-fire sound of typing, followed by a sharp, audible intake of breath from my mother.

“I just found the story,” she said, her voice filled with a stunned disbelief. “It’s already online.”

Instantly, phones were out. A flurry of taps, and there it was. Pictures of us at the hospital, our faces grim and worried, alongside Emily’s beaming parents. Headlines were already screaming about a “miracle recovery.”

I let out a slow breath. I had known this would happen. Counted on it, in fact. The public nature of the “miracle” was a crucial piece of our cover story, a loud, undeniable validation of the impossible. But it also threw a brighter, more complicated spotlight on us.

Eveline spoke first, her voice laced with a gentle but firm parental concern. “I understand everything you just said, Rey. But something like this… it’s not the sort of thing you hide from your parents.”

A jolt of yesterday’s chaos shot through my mind, the hospital smell, the fading hope, the heavy truth of Emily dying. Emotional space? I could barely breathe. The weight of it all still pressed on me, so real it felt like I was back there. I didn’t need to make anything up. I just had to tell her that part of the truth.

“I didn’t know yesterday would be critical,” I replied, my tone calm but unwavering. “I just went. And when everything started spiraling, I didn’t exactly have the emotional space to make phone calls.”

“Still,” Lily’s voice came through again, soft but pointed, a mother’s quiet hurt. “This is the first time I’m even hearing about this girl.”

I didn't answer. I couldn't, not truthfully.

Arya stepped in then, her voice a smooth, empathetic current. “Mrs. Amaranth, how could he talk about it? Rey was already hurting over Emily’s situation. The last thing he wanted was to put that pain on you, too. It’s just… his way. He was trying to spare you the grief we all thought was coming.”

Her words hung in the silence. She'd given a kind, noble reason for why I hadn’t spoken, a gentle excuse that made my silence seem almost selfless.

Then Luke’s gaze, sharp, settled on me. He leaned forward, a half-smile playing on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then tell me, Rey, why do your eyes say something different?” He gave a rueful shrug, as if acknowledging the melodrama of his own words. “I know it sounds over-the-top, but I know those eyes. I’ve seen them more times than I can count. They look like the eyes of someone that’s come back from war.”

The room went cold. He saw it, the burden I carried, the traces of timelines he couldn’t begin to understand.

Leo’s voice, low and steady, cut through the stillness, a shield of his own. “Is watching a friend die in front of you any different?”

We paused. In that one shared breath, a whole world of pain passed between us.

Luke let out a long, tired breath and rubbed the back of his neck. His expression softened, the sharp edge in his eyes fading into something more gentle.
“I’m sorry, Rey. That was out of line.”

I looked at him, my eyes shadowed by the horrors of Iris’s death, of Rose’s suicide, of a house in flames, of a grief so deep it nearly broke me. I summoned a small, tired smile.

“It’s nothing,” I said, the words a quiet lie that felt like the truest thing in the world.

“Nothing at all.”