Mika couldn't make sense of her brother's fixation with Hunters. Chasing empty dreams was for children, she thought. It was always better to go after what could actually happen than to lose yourself in what never would.
She hesitated for a heartbeat. Impossible dreams, huh…
If anyone was familiar with those, it was her. Maybe everyone's dreams were their own private shape—impossible to wear for anyone else.
Elio finished eating before she did and set his spoon down. He waited in quiet, watching her bowl out of the corner of his eye so he could clear the dishes when she was done.
"Are you doing your exercises, Mika?"
She chewed the last mouthful, swallowed, and answered. "I am. Of course."
There was a thin thread of irritation in her voice, like she'd been asked whether she remembered how to breathe.
Because of her frail body, Mika moved very little in a normal day. That lack of movement made her stiffer over time. To keep from locking up entirely, she had a set of gentle routines she did at certain hours—nothing more than warm-ups, really. If she pushed too hard, her body pushed back in ways she couldn't afford.
She lifted her arms and traced small circles. Lying down, she held her legs off the mattress for a few seconds. She reached for her toes. Sometimes she tried to walk without the walker, just a step or two to remind her body how.
They were simple motions—boring, even—to anyone else. For Mika, they were work.
Those routines had come in pieces, passed along by neighbors' advice and bits of hard-won wisdom from Elio's coworkers—things that had helped someone once.
"Will you do them after dinner?" Elio asked.
"I will."
He stretched his own arms over his head, shoulders loosening with a quiet roll. "Then I'll join you. We'll do them together."
Mika shot him a doubtful look at the unexpected answer.
"I don't have anything else to do anyway," he added, easy.
She weighed him with a short, skeptical squint, then gave a small nod. "Okay."
Mika finished her meal. Elio gathered bowls and utensils onto the tray and took them to the sink. He worked with the dish soap and sponge until the film of starch slipped away, the clink of porcelain and the faint squeak of clean glassware marking the minutes.
Before long he came back to her side.
He slid the floor table out of the way and pulled the floor mattress from where it was stacked against the wall. He opened it and smoothed it flat where the table had been, turning a portion of the room into a simple mat. Under Mika's watchful, slightly suspicious eyes, he finished setting it up and sat, facing her.
"All right, captain. We can start."
Mika made a small face that said she wasn't pleased but would proceed anyway. She adjusted herself on the mattress, aligning her back and shoulders. She stretched her legs out straight in a clean line. Then she raised her right arm straight up toward the ceiling.
Elio mirrored her, eyes attentive. He lifted his right arm to match hers, palm steady, elbow locked, breathing even.
Mika held the position for twenty slow seconds. Her fingers trembled by the last few counts, but her face stayed composed. Then she brought her arm forward until it stood at a right angle to her body, reaching out as if to touch an invisible point in the air. Another twenty seconds. Her shoulder tensed, then eased with a measured breath.
She lowered her right arm and began the same sequence with the left. As she moved, she cut small, sideways glances at Elio—checking his form without making it obvious. He kept pace with her exactly: lift, hold, extend, hold. The muscles along his forearm stood out briefly under the thin fabric of his pajamas; a quiet line of focus pulled his brows together.
Elio mirrored the motions with a bright, uncomplicated smile, keeping pace with Mika's counts. The next in line were shoulder stretches.
Mika reached her right arm across her body as far as it would go and braced it in place with her left. She applied a gentle, steady pressure—just enough to feel the pull along the shoulder and upper back. She held, breathed, released a little, then pressed again, careful and precise.
She was about to switch sides when—
"Ow—ow—ow!!"
The noise knifed in from her right—high and squeaky, the kind of sound an injured pig might make if it had opinions.
Mika turned her head, eyes narrowing.
Elio was trying to stretch his arm across his chest, and the face he was making looked like the expression of a man discovering fire for the first time and deciding it hurt. His jaw was set, brows pinched, lips pulled thin.
"What are you doing?" Mika asked, voice flat as a ruler.
Elio's pained grimace shifted into something sheepish. "Heh, uh… it hurts. A lot, actually?"
Mika blinked at the absurdity. It hurts? "Are you making fun of me?"
"No, no—no." Elio straightened, suddenly earnest. "It really hurts. How do I put it… You must be really flexible. My body doesn't bend like that at all."
He kept talking even as he tried again, dragging his right arm across his chest. Except it didn't cross so much as hover awkwardly in front of him, as if an invisible wall had been installed at sternum level. Calling it a "stretch" felt generous.
Mika stared. "What do you mean, it doesn't bend?"
Elio switched arms, demonstrating with the left. The result was the same: his elbow floated in front of his shirt, shoulder refusing to give even a centimeter.
Mika pushed onto her knees, then took two small shuffling steps to his side. She set one hand on his shoulder and the other just above his elbow. "Hold still."
Then she pressed. Not wildly—just firm, directed force, the way you might guide a door that stuck at the hinge.
"Ow—ow!"
Elio squealed again. His arm didn't budge. Not a millimeter.
Mika eased off, more baffled than before.
Elio let his arms drop and offered a triumphant, shameless little smile. "Told you. It really doesn't go."
To prove the point, he brought a palm to the side of his head and tried to tilt his neck. The result was barely a tilt at all—maybe a finger's width of movement—his posture still comically upright. "Look. That's the maximum my neck goes."
Mika regarded him for a beat, then turned away, returning to her spot with a final, suspicious glance. "You're built like a plank."
The words landed cool and clean.
Elio pulled a face but went back to his stretches with quiet determination, copying her sequence as best he could—awkward angles and all.
They kept at it for about half an hour, small holds and careful releases, counting under their breath. By the end, Mika was breathing hard, heat in her face and a fine tremble in her arms. Moving—really moving—always cost her more than it looked.
Elio stood and rolled his shoulders, a thoughtful note under his breath. "Maybe I should always join you. It'd help loosen me up."
"Suit yourself," Mika said, expression neutral—but a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she let it go.