The next day at school felt… off.
Aidan tried to speak to Kayla the moment she stepped into the hallway, but he didn't get the chance.
"Kayla."
Lucas—Aidan's cousin—slid in smoothly, smiling like they shared a history.
"Long time," he said casually, leaning closer. "Didn't think I'd see you here."
Kayla didn't even look at him.
No reaction. No acknowledgment.
Her eyes passed over him like he was beneath notice—like he didn't exist.
Lucas's smile faltered.
Before he could try again, the classroom door opened and the teacher walked in. Students scrambled back to their seats.
Mira arrived a few minutes later than usual.
"Hey, Kayla," she greeted softly.
Kayla didn't turn.
But she heard it—the slight change in Mira's voice. Hesitation. Unease.
That told her enough.
Lunch
They spent lunch in the library.
Mira brought snacks instead of the meal she usually prepared. Kayla noticed immediately.
Without asking, Kayla reached over and began eating Mira's snacks.
Mira lifted her hand halfway, as if to stop her—then let it fall. She said nothing.
When Kayla finished, she pushed her own food across the table.
Mira stared at it for a moment, then accepted it and ate quietly.
There was no point arguing with Kayla.
They both knew that.
When the final bell rang, an announcement came over the intercom.
"Kayla Wayne, please report to the principal's office."
The principal didn't waste time.
"Your father would like you to join one of the school clubs," he said carefully, as if testing her reaction.
Kayla's face remained blank.
"I'll think about it," she replied.
That was all he got.
The Locker Room
Kayla felt dizzy on her way out—lightheaded, sharp around the edges.
She turned into the girls' locker room.
It was empty.
Almost.
A piece of clothing hung awkwardly on one of the lockers. Kayla paused, then opened it.
Mira was inside.
Curled in. Pale.
Kayla didn't hesitate.
She lifted Mira effortlessly and carried her into an empty classroom. Grabbing a bottle, she forced water into Mira's mouth until she coughed and gasped awake.
Mira blinked in confusion.
"Classes were dismissed," Kayla said calmly.
Mira swallowed hard. "Why… why are you still here?"
"I can give you a ride," Kayla replied. "You usually take the bus."
Mira stiffened. "How did you know?"
"You complain about the bus every morning," Kayla said flatly.
Mira laughed nervously. "Yeah… you're right."
They packed their things in silence and walked to Kayla's car.
Mira gave directions quietly.
When they arrived, Kayla cut the engine but didn't move.
"I'll stay," Kayla said. "We need to start the assignment."
"You don't have to—" Mira began.
"I'm already prepared," Kayla interrupted. "I told my guidance counselor."
It was a lie.
But Mira didn't know that.
She flinched at Kayla's tone—at the way she spoke to people close to her like they were strangers.
Still, Mira nodded.
"Okay," she said softly.
She didn't ask questions.
Even though curiosity burned in her chest.
Some things felt safer not knowing.
And Kayla—
Kayla watched everything.
"Pull off your shoes before coming in," Mira said quickly when they reached the front door.
Kayla paused, then nodded.
Instead of complying immediately, she turned back to her car and pulled out a neatly folded piece of clothing—dark, plain, functional.
Mira didn't ask why.
The house itself was… normal.
Average-sized. Clean. Warm-colored walls. Slight wear on the edges that came from years of living rather than neglect.
Kayla took it all in with a single glance—and felt something twist unpleasantly in her chest.
What she hated wasn't the house.
It was the location.
Too close.
Too familiar.
Too easy to watch.
If someone had followed her, they'd find this place without effort.
Too late now.
She needed to finish at least half of the assignment.
"Come," Mira said softly. "I'll show you my room. But I need to shower first."
Kayla nodded.
"Go."
The Room
Mira's room was small but personal.
Posters pinned crookedly to the wall. A bookshelf with half-read novels. A desk cluttered with notebooks and pens that had been chewed absentmindedly.
And photos.
Kayla's eyes lingered there.
Mira with her parents.
Mira younger—smiling wide.
A little girl beside her, arms linked, identical eyes.
A family.
Kayla's expression darkened—not with hatred, but something quieter.
Envy.
Curiosity.
She turned away and opened a drawer at random.
Inside was a folded newspaper.
The headline caught her instantly.
EMPLOYEE ARRESTED FOR EMBEZZLING COMPANY FUNDS
Before Kayla could read further—
"Don't."
Mira was suddenly there.
Water dripped onto the floor as Mira snatched the paper from Kayla's hands. Her body was wrapped in a towel, hair damp, wrist exposed.
A fresh bruise.
Kayla blinked.
She hadn't heard the bathroom door open.
"Don't touch anything without my permission," Mira said sharply.
Kayla's gaze flicked to the bruise—then back to Mira's face.
"Your father," Kayla said calmly. "I presume."
Mira's voice cracked instantly.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't tell anyone."
Kayla tilted her head. "Tell who? And what exactly?"
Mira let out a weak, breathless laugh.
"…Right."
She turned away. "Let's just work. After you shower."
Kayla bathed quickly.
Efficient. Silent.
She changed into an oversized T-shirt and loose trousers, tying half her hair back without thinking.
When she stepped out, Mira had already changed—white gown, glasses perched on her nose, laptop open on the bed.
She looked… softer.
"Wow," Mira said, teasing despite herself. "Are you some kind of model?"
Kayla opened her mouth to reply—
The doorbell rang.
Mira hurried downstairs.
"Mom!"
Kayla followed more slowly.
"Whose shoes are those?" her mother asked from the doorway.
"A friend," Mira said quickly. "We're working on an assignment."
Her mother smiled knowingly. "I hope it isn't a boy."
Kayla stepped into view.
"Mom—no. She's a girl!"
"Oh," her mother said brightly.
"Nice to meet you."
"Greetings. My name is Kayla."
"Then call me Auntie Clara," the woman said warmly.
Kayla nodded.
Mira grabbed Kayla's sleeve and pulled her upstairs.
"I'm making your favorite for dinner!" Auntie Clara called after them.
Kayla paused.
"Where's your sister?" she asked quietly.
"With my grandparents," Mira replied. Then, hesitating, she glanced at Kayla. "Do you live around here?"
"Something like that," Kayla said.
They didn't push further.
They worked in silence until dinner.
They ate together with Auntie Clara, who talked easily while Kayla answered briefly, politely, never offering more than necessary.
Afterward, Kayla washed dishes with Auntie Clara while Mira stayed upstairs.
"I'm glad," Auntie Clara said gently, "that Mira finally has a friend."
Kayla didn't respond right away.
Then, softly: "Good night."
She slept in Mira's room.
Surrounded by photographs of a life she had never been allowed to have.
And for once—
she didn't dream of blood.
Night settled gently over the house.
Too gently.
Kayla lay awake on the floor beside Mira's bed, eyes open, counting breaths that weren't hers. The house made normal sounds—pipes ticking, a distant car, the hum of a refrigerator. Ordinary noises that should have meant safety.
They didn't.
Normal places were where people let their guard down.
Mira turned in bed.
"Kayla?" she whispered.
"Yes."
A pause. Then, quieter, "You don't sleep."
"I rest," Kayla replied.
Mira exhaled. "Figures."
Silence stretched again, but it wasn't empty. Mira sat up, hugging her knees.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she asked finally.
"The bruise," Kayla said.
"And the paper."
Kayla didn't answer immediately. When she did, her voice was steady. "You didn't bring your lunch."
Mira's fingers tightened in the blanket.
"I wasn't hungry."
"That's a lie."
Mira flinched—not at the accusation, but at how gently it was said.
"My dad used to work in finance," Mira murmured. "Everyone thought he was brilliant. Trustworthy." Her laugh was brittle. "Turns out he was just good at hiding things."
Kayla sat up slowly.
"The day they arrested him," Mira continued, "people started looking at us differently. Teachers.
Neighbors. Even family."
Her voice dropped. "Some of them still come around. To 'check in.'"
Kayla's jaw tightened.
"That bruise," Kayla said. "Wasn't an accident."
Mira shook her head. Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
Kayla reached out—then stopped herself.
Permission mattered.
"May I?" she asked quietly.
Mira nodded.
Kayla's fingers barely brushed Mira's wrist. The touch was precise, careful.
"They shouldn't touch you like that," Kayla said.
Mira gave a sad smile. "You say things like it's simple."
Kayla met her eyes.
"It is."
Kayla woke to the soft glow of the alarm clock.
5:48 a.m.
Early.
She lay still for a moment, listening to the house breathe—pipes humming faintly, the quiet creak of settling wood. Mira slept on, turned toward the wall, her breathing even.
Kayla sat up.
Maybe I should make breakfast.
The thought surprised her.
Her mother had always appreciated small gestures like that. Acts that said I noticed. I stayed. I tried.
The memory surfaced too quickly.
Kayla paused—then shoved it back where it belonged.
She stood, slipped quietly out of the room, and headed downstairs, switching on the lights as she went.
The Kitchen
Kayla studied the kitchen like unfamiliar terrain.
Clean. Organized. Lived in.
"It's been a while since I touched a kitchen," she thought.
She opened the refrigerator and gathered ingredients, laying them out carefully. Pancakes. Simple. Familiar. Her favorite—once.
She moved stiffly at first, overthinking every step, measuring when instinct should have guided her.
The batter splashed. A utensil slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor.
Kayla bent down to retrieve it.
Mira woke to the noise.
Heart pounding, half-asleep, she grabbed the mop stick beside her door and crept downstairs.
The kitchen light was on.
A figure moved.
"Mom?" Mira whispered.
Kayla straightened—
Too late.
The stick came down hard against Kayla's head.
Crack.
The mop stick snapped cleanly in two.
Silence followed.
Mira stared in horror as a thin line of blood traced down Kayla's temple.
"I—I'm so sorry!" Mira sobbed, dropping the broken stick. "I thought—"
Kayla blinked rapidly, still holding the fallen utensils.
She stared at Mira's face—tear-streaked, shaking.
It was supposed to be a surprise breakfast, she thought numbly.
Mira rushed off. "I'll get the first aid kit!"
"I'm fine," Kayla said automatically.
But Mira tripped on the stairs.
And didn't get back up.
She carried Mira to the couch and laid her down gently, checking her pulse. Steady. Unconscious—but safe.
Kayla turned back to the stove.
She continued cooking.
The pancakes burned.
She flipped them anyway.
Auntie Clara
"What are you doing?"
Auntie Clara stood in the doorway, staring at the mess—the broken stick, spilled batter, the… pancakes.
Kayla turned, blood dried on her forehead.
"I made breakfast," she said evenly. "Though it wasn't how it was supposed to look."
She glared at the burnt pancake like it had personally betrayed her.
Auntie Clara blinked.
Then sighed.
"Well," she said gently, "why don't you and my daughter go get ready for school while I handle this?"
She smiled softly. "But thank you for trying."
Kayla nodded.
She woke Mira carefully.
"Let's get ready," Kayla said. "We'll be late."
Mira mumbled incoherently, leaning against her as Kayla helped her upstairs.
Behind them, Auntie Clara shook her head with a fond chuckle.
"Kids these days," she muttered, picking up a sponge.
Kayla didn't hear her.
She was too busy holding Mira steady—
and wondering why something as simple as pancakes felt harder than surviving everything else.