The Cracks
Mara had always slept lightly. It was both curse and gift. Curse, because every creak of the house set her nerves on edge. Gift, because it meant she always noticed when Elena slipped out of bed.
The third time that week, she awoke to the faint scrape of bare feet against the floorboards. Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a silver pallor across the room. Elena was standing near the desk, shoulders rigid, lips moving in a murmur too soft to catch.
Mara pushed herself up on her elbows, heart thudding.
"Elena?"
No answer. Just that low, rhythmic whisper.
"Elena." Louder this time.
Her sister turned slowly, eyes half-lidded, face slack in a way that made her look like someone else. The words spilled out clearer now, the cadence almost chant-like:
"Beneath the roots… we promised. Beneath the roots… we promised."
Mara's mouth went dry.
"Elena—wake up!"
Her own voice cracked, pulling Elena back to herself with a violent shudder. She blinked, confused, her chest rising and falling as if she'd been running. "What?" she asked hoarsely.
"You were—" Mara stopped. How could she explain without sounding crazy? "You were… talking in your sleep again."
Elena pressed her palms to her eyes, groaning. "God. I hate when I do that." She tried to laugh it off, but her hands trembled.
Mara lay awake long after Elena slid back under the blankets. The words echoed in her head. Beneath the roots. We promised.
The next morning at school, Mara thought maybe she had dreamed it. Elena was her usual self—hair neatly braided, uniform immaculate, that effortless smile she gave teachers that made them forgive any slip. In comparison, Mara felt like a shadow: shirt untucked, shoes scuffed, her gaze too sharp, too restless.
Still, the sleep-talking clung to her. She couldn't let it go.
They sat together in chemistry, Elena scribbling precise notes while Mara sketched angry spirals in the corner of her workbook. It wasn't until the lunch bell rang that the day finally tilted sideways.
A group of older boys cornered Mara in the courtyard, mocking the way her tie hung loose, her hair wild. She was used to it, but today something inside her snapped. She shoved one of them hard enough that he stumbled into a bench.
Gasps erupted. The boy's face twisted. He lunged at her—
—and Elena was suddenly there, grabbing his arm, her voice like steel.
"Don't you dare touch her."
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. Her perfect composure carried weight, and the boy faltered under her glare. The others muttered, backing away. The tension bled into the crowd until they scattered, leaving the twins standing together.
Mara's chest heaved. "Why'd you—"
"Because you're my sister," Elena said simply, adjusting her sleeve like nothing had happened.
For a second, Mara glimpsed the pact in her eyes—the unspoken vow forged in fear under the oak tree weeks ago.
That night, Elena didn't sleep-talk. She didn't move at all. She lay on her side, face turned to the wall, her breathing steady but unnaturally rigid, as though holding something back. Mara stayed awake watching her, wondering what lived inside her sister that Mara couldn't see.
The cracks were spreading.