Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment of time that her life was ruined. Perhaps it was when she was ten and her mother handed her a newborn.

"Your little sister, (Y/n)."

Perhaps it was later. When you cried so hard that it shook the walls, and she was the only one who could quiet you. Perhaps it was the way you clung to her - tiny fists clutching the fabric of her shirt like she was the only solid thing in your world.

Or maybe it was the day your mother disappeared, and suddenly she wasn't your sister anymore. She was your mother, your protector, your everything.

Kira could have handled that.

She could have handled the exhaustion. The hunger. The cold. She could’ve lived with selling scraps of herself to keep you warm. Her pride. Her name.

But what she couldn’t handle was the moment she stepped into that dark bar with desperate eyes and trembling hands clutching you tightly to her. 

"Kira?"

She shushed you, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. "Quiet. You're not supposed to be here. They'll take you away from me if they find you here. Do you want that?"

You shook your head violently, mouth tightly snapped shut. 

She felt bad. Really, she did. They wouldn't care. But you were eight years old. There was no way you deserved to see such horrible things. And the threat of being taken away . . .

It kept you compliant enough.

Kira adjusted the hood of her coat, the flickering neon lights outside bleeding through the grime-smeared window like dying embers. The bar reeked of smoke and old liquor, the kind of place where people came to sell pieces of their souls - and tonight, they were here to collect hers.

She was the adult. It was her job to care for you.

The man behind the counter didn’t look up when she entered. But the woman sitting near the back, legs crossed, eyes sharp as glass shards, did.

Her gaze flicked from Kira to the tiny figure half-hidden behind her legs.

“What’s this?” the woman asked, her voice lilting - almost amused.

Kira swallowed hard. “Nothing. My sister.”

“Cute.” A smirk. “You don't want her to hear?”

Kira nodded. Too quickly.

The woman didn’t press. Just gestured toward the door behind her. “Then come in. The boss is waiting.”

You tugged at Kira’s sleeve, whispering, “Can we go home after this?”

Kira crouched down, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. Her smile trembled. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll just… talk to them for a little while, okay? Wait right here. Don’t move. No matter what.”

You didn’t understand, not really, but the way her voice cracked made you nod anyway.

Then she went through the door.

And you waited.

You waited until the shouting started. Until the sound of glass shattering made you flinch. Until the door creaked open and Kira stepped out.

Her face was pale, her eyes wide and frantic as she rushed toward you. You barely had time to register the way her hand trembled when she grabbed yours, yanking you away from the bar.

"Kira?" you whispered, confusion lacing your voice.

But she didn’t respond. She just pulled you along faster, her movements jerky and erratic, like she was being chased by something far worse than the cold, shadowy alleyways she usually avoided. Her breath came out in sharp gasps, and her grip on your hand tightened, almost painfully.

"You have to stay quiet," she hissed, her voice trembling with desperation. "Don’t ask any questions."

But you were scared. More scared than you’d ever been in your life, and the fear was creeping into your bones. You could feel it. The air smelled like danger, like something bad was coming. Something that had already arrived.

Kira’s eyes darted over her shoulder, her body stiffening as if she could feel eyes on. You didn’t understand what was happening, but you knew something wasn’t right.

And then you heard it. The voice. A deep, resonant voice that rumbled through the alley.

"Kira."

Her pace faltered, her breath hitching in her throat as the shadows in the alley seemed to deepen, thickening around her.

She turned slowly, and you followed her gaze. There, emerging from the darkness, was a figure. Tall, cloaked in a long coat, his face hidden behind the mask of shadows. He stepped forward, and every step he took felt closer to suffocation. You wanted to run, but Kira’s hand on yours held you back, almost painfully tight.

The figure's voice was low, like a blade scraping against bone. "You think you can run from me?"

Kira took a step back, but her eyes were wide with fear, and for the first time in your life, you saw something in her - something you never thought you'd see. She was afraid. Afraid of this man.

"I wasn’t - I wasn’t going to -" Kira stammered, her voice shaking as she struggled to find her words.

The man stepped forward, his presence suffocating the space around them. You could barely make out his features in the dark, but the air shifted when he spoke again.

"You thought you could just leave us, huh? You think you could get away with that kind of debt? You’re a fool, Kira."

The word "debt" hung in the air like a poison, twisting everything it touched.

And then, just like that, the tension in the air snapped. Kira’s back straightened as if she had made a decision, her hand still gripping yours, but her face now set with a sort of grim resignation.

"I-" She swallowed hard, and when she spoke again, her voice was colder, harder. "I’m sorry. But I don’t have a choice."

"You've borrowed money, Kira. And contrary to what you may have believed, money gifted is not done so out of kindness."

The man’s words were like cold steel cutting through the night air, each one deliberate, each one more suffocating than the last. He stepped closer, and despite the warmth of your sister's hand in yours, you felt an icy chill creeping up your spine.

Kira didn't move, didn't flinch. She stood still, like a statue, but her eyes - her eyes were different now. They were hollow, drained of the usual warmth that had once comforted you. There was no longer a hint of the protective older sister you had known. In her place was someone... else.

The man took another step forward, his dark coat swishing with each movement. His presence seemed to grow larger, engulfing the alleyway, closing in on both of you.

"It was a loan. Loans are paid back."

"I don't have the money."

The man clicked his tongue. "You've said that before. Where's the money Kira?" The man quickly surveyed your sister. "It's not gone to finery."

"Food. It went to food."

The man's face appeared to fall. His features twisted - not with anger, but with disappointment. "Food?" And it felt like the first time that he fully took note of the small being Kira kept tucked into her. "Is she yours?"

Kira didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out - not even a breath. Her arm curled tighter around your shoulders, your face now pressed fully into the threadbare fabric of her coat. You could feel her heart pounding through it. Fast. Wild. Terrified.

The man’s gaze sharpened. His eyes were a pale, glinting thing in the dark - like ice beneath moonlight. Calculating.

"She’s yours," he repeated, but this time it wasn’t a question. He said it like a sentence. A realization. 

Kira swallowed, throat bobbing as she forced out, "She’s my sister."

For a moment, the man was quiet. No movement. No sound. Just the static pressure of something about to snap.

Then he leaned in. Slowly. His voice dropped so low it was nearly a breath against the rain-slicked bricks. Then, he straightened. "Should have said that sooner." He rubbed his hand across his face. "Deadbeat parents?"

Kira’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. The silence said enough.

The man scoffed - low, dry, humorless. “Typical.”

He turned his gaze back to you, and this time, you saw it clearly - how his eyes lingered, how they weighed and measured. Then finally, he sighed.

"Fine. Keep the money. Debts waved."

Kira froze.

For a moment, the words didn’t register. They hovered in the air, strange and heavy, as though they belonged in another world. One without price tags on dignity. One where people were forgiven without consequences.

But that wasn’t this world.

“W… what?” she asked, her voice fragile, uncertain.

The man didn’t repeat himself. He simply watched her. 

“You heard me,” he said. “Debt’s gone. You’re clean. Walk away.”

Kira stared, suspicious. Her fingers twitched at your shoulder. “Why?”

The man tilted his head. “Does it matter?”

“It matters,” she bit back, harsher now. “Nothing comes for free. Not from people like you.”

He smiled at that - tight-lipped and cold. “True. But every now and then… we invest.”

“In what?”

His eyes flicked back to you.

“In our people.” He crossed his arms. "Children shouldn't go hungry. Now go home, Kira."

Kira’s breath caught in her throat.

It was a clean dismissal, wrapped in poison-sweet words and feigned mercy. A debt forgiven. A door opened. A future handed to her on a silver platter - one she didn’t trust for a second.

Because no one like him ever gave something without the means to take it back tenfold.

Still, her legs moved. Slowly. Cautiously. One foot, then the other, guiding you away from him. Her hand never left your shoulder, anchoring you to her. She didn’t dare look back.

Not until you were far enough that the alley narrowed, the shadows thinned, and the scent of cold smoke faded into the night.

Only then did she allow herself to exhale. Just once. Shallow. Bitter.

"Kira?"

Your sister dropped her gaze to you, dyed red locks falling in front of her eyes. "Yes?"

"You lied."

Kira froze.

Not because you were wrong.

But because you were right.

There, in the quiet between the buildings, beneath flickering streetlamps and the hum of a city that never stopped bleeding people dry - you looked up at her, eyes wide and tired in that way only children who’ve seen too much too young can be.

You weren’t accusing. Not really.

You weren’t angry.

You were just... hurt.

And somehow, that was worse.

“I…” Kira's voice broke before she could catch it. She swallowed, hard. “I did.”

You blinked slowly, your hands still tucked into the sleeves of the oversized coat she’d wrapped around you. You looked small again. Smaller than she remembered. But your voice was steady.

“He said the debt was gone.”

Kira nodded once. Careful. “He did.”

“But you told me we were gonna be okay. That we didn’t owe them anything.”

A pause.

Kira’s throat tightened. “I know.”

"And you said we used the money for food."

Kira’s breath caught.

Her eyes met yours - too smart, too knowing for eight - and in that moment, she realized there would never be enough lies to soften the edges of the world she’d dragged you through.

She looked away.

The silence stretched thin between you.

“I said a lot of things,” she finally admitted, voice barely audible. “Some of them to protect you. Some… to protect myself.”

You didn’t respond right away. The wind picked up, tugging at the corners of your coat. She moved on instinct, wrapping it tighter around you like that could somehow fix it - fix everything.

But you didn’t let her.

You pulled back - not sharply, not with anger. Just… enough. Enough to make her feel the distance that had started to grow.

"You said it went to food," you repeated, quieter now. "But Rasha gave that to us."

Kira didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the truth was too ugly to hand to a child. Even a child like you - sharp-eyed and brave, hollowed out from watching too much too soon. She hoped you'd never noticed the resemblance you bore to him. Still, you waited. Because you always waited.

And when she didn’t speak, you just asked the question that lived behind your eyes: 

“Was it me?”

Kira closed her eyes.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much to hear. But it did. It felt like a knife in her ribs, slow and sure.

She shook her head, barely. And when she spoke, her voice was so thin, it almost disappeared into the night.

“No,” she whispered. “It wasn’t you.”

You frowned. “Then what?”

She hesitated.

Then, for once, she didn’t lie.

“I had a problem,” she said. “I still do. Cards. Dice. Machines. Anything that spun and promised more than it gave. I thought… I thought if I could just hit it big one more time - just once - I could fix everything.”

You said nothing.

“I didn’t want to use the money they gave us,” Kira continued, bitterly. “But I was scared. You were hungry. Cold. And I was already in too deep. I kept telling myself the next game would pay for the last one. That I could climb out.”

She let out a laugh, dry and full of regret. “But it just kept getting deeper.”

You blinked slowly, quiet.

And then you said, "So you bet everything?"

She nodded. 

Your mouth pulled into a small, tired line. “And you lost.”

“Every time.”

The silence between you stretched again - tight, cold, raw.

Then you asked: “So what do we do now?”

It was the most devastating thing Kira had ever heard.

Because you weren’t asking if you were safe. You weren’t asking if the nightmare was over. You were asking for the next step. Like survival was just a part of your routine now.

Kira crouched to your height. Her hands gently, carefully, found your shoulders.

“We leave,” she said. “We disappear. For real this time.”

-🕷️-

That night, Kira didn’t sleep.

Soft tears streamed down her face. Her hands were clasped firmly in her lap. The windowpane was cracked and cold air filtered into the room.

She didn’t try to block it out.

She let the cold bite.

Let the ache in her bones settle in.

Let the silence remind her of the cost.

You slept curled in the corner of the bed behind her, wrapped in every threadbare blanket she could find. Your breathing was soft - steady, rhythmic. The sound of someone who should’ve never had to witness the things you had.

And she knew.

She knew you were pretending to be asleep.

Because that’s what you did now. Pretended. Held still. Stayed quiet. Made it easier.

Kira’s shoulders hunched forward, arms trembling as they gripped her knees. She hadn’t changed out of her coat, hadn’t moved since locking the door behind her hours ago. Her skin still smelled like the bar - like smoke, like sweat, like desperation and ruin.

And underneath it all: the metallic sting of guilt.

Not just for what she’d done…but for how easy it had been to gamble with your life.

She was going to be better now. She had to be.

For you.

And in order to save you both . . . she needed to get you out of there.

Chapter Text

It was raining again.

It always rained when things went wrong.

The streets shimmered with puddles that swallowed the neon light, turning the city into a distorted reflection of itself - fractured, wet, tired. You pulled your coat tighter, the fabric heavy from the rain. The grocery bag in your arms dug into your wrist, cutting off the blood flow just enough to sting. 

You shouldn’t have been home this early. The market had been emptier than usual - no line at the register, no talkative vendor trying to flirt with a discount. Just you, the sound of rain against the glass, and the steady rhythm of a city trying not to drown in itself.

Kira had been asleep when you left. She always was, lately. Her hair spilling across the arm of the couch, a half-finished cup of coffee on the table beside her, the news muttering quietly from

She’d smiled that morning - small, tired, but still soft. “Get something sweet, okay? We deserve it.”

You had. A little box of pastries tucked between the bread and rice. A stupid thing, really. But she’d sounded so hopeful when she’d said it.

Now, walking up the stairs, you adjusted the strap of your bag and tried to ignore the way your stomach twisted. It wasn’t unusual for her to nap. Not anymore. But sometimes - sometimes there was a certain silence waiting on the other side of the door that felt too much like déjà vu.

You paused outside the apartment.

The light in the hallway flickered once, twice, before giving up completely. The world went dim. Great. 

That was when you noticed it.

The door.

Unlocked.

Your fingers froze on the handle. The groceries shifted in your arms, the plastic rustling in the dark. Kira never forgot to lock the door. Never. She was ritualistic about it.

Something wasn't right.

You pushed the door open.

The first thing you noticed was the sound - low, quiet, deliberate. A voice.

Not hers.

Then another - Kira’s. Shaky, pleading, familiar in that old, dreadful way that made something inside you shrink.

You set the bag down carefully.

The apartment smelled like stale smoke and cheap perfume. It was usual. The scent drifted in from your neighbors. You hated it. It was the kind of smell that didn’t belong in a home.

Kira sat at the table. Her shoulders were hunched, hands wringing the edge of a damp napkin. Her hair stuck to her temples. Across from her sat a man you’d never seen before.

He looked out of place here. Not because of what he wore, but because of how he wore it - tailored coat, dark eyes, every movement slow enough to seem thoughtful.

He didn’t look up right away. Just tapped his fingers once against the tabletop, a slow, steady rhythm that made your pulse quicken.

Kira noticed you first. Her eyes widened, color draining from her face. “(Y/n)… go back outside.”

Her voice broke halfway through your name.

You didn’t move.

The man’s fingers stilled. Then - finally - he turned his head.

His gaze found you. Not harsh. Not kind. Just… measuring.

There was something in his eyes that felt cold and ancient - the kind of stillness that didn’t belong to people who feared consequence.

He smiled. Barely.

“Didn’t realize you had company,” he said, voice smooth enough to make the air itself feel thinner.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because somewhere deep inside you, something familiar stirred - a memory of another night, another man, another debt.

And the rain outside kept falling.

You stepped further inside. The floor creaked beneath your shoes - too loud, too human. Kira flinched.

The man didn’t move. Didn’t even look away. He simply leaned back in his chair, the motion so effortless it almost looked rehearsed. A book lay half-open on the table beside his hand, though you doubted he’d been reading it.

“(Y/n),” Kira tried again. Her voice was smaller this time, cracked around the edges. “Please.”

Please what? Leave her? Pretend you hadn’t just walked into this?

You glanced between them. The groceries sat by the door like an offering. Rain dripped from your sleeves.

“What’s going on?” you asked quietly.

Kira’s mouth opened - then closed again. She looked at the man, not at you. That alone told you enough.

The stranger exhaled softly through his nose, as though the situation bored him. “Your sister and I were discussing business,” he said. “Though it seems she’s been… less than transparent about certain details.”

Your jaw tightened. “Business?”

He tilted his head, studying you the way one might study an unexpected variable. “A debt, actually. A rather inconvenient one.”

Kira shook her head quickly. “It’s not what it sounds like. I can fix it, I just - I just need time-”

“Time,” he repeated, almost tasting the word. “An expensive thing to ask for, considering how much of it she’s already borrowed.”

Your pulse climbed higher in your throat. You didn’t know who this man was, but every part of him screamed danger in a way that didn’t need a weapon to prove it.

“What do you want from her?” you asked.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then his gaze flicked toward Kira - deliberate, pointed. “A contribution. A small task. She owes us, after all. It’s only fair she pays it back with something of value.”

“Value,” you echoed flatly. “You mean work.”

A smile ghosted across his face. “If you like.”

You turned to Kira. She was shaking her head, silent tears cutting through her mascara - a gift a friend had given her months ago. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“How much?” you asked.

“(Y/n)-”

“How much?”

The man’s eyes slid back to you. “Money isn’t the issue anymore,” he said. “She’s already spent more than she can return. We prefer alternative arrangements.”

You felt your stomach twist. The same old pit - the one that came with overdue bills and broken promises - yawned open again.

“Then take me instead.”

The words came out before you could stop them. They hung in the air, heavy and irreversible.

Both of them froze.

Kira’s chair scraped the floor. “No. No, (Y/n), don’t-”

You didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Your eyes were locked on his, trying to read the quiet calculation behind them.

He didn’t react at first. Just watched you, his fingers returning to that slow, rhythmic tap against the table.

“Brave,” he murmured eventually. “Or foolish.”

“Does it matter?” you asked.

Something flickered in his expression - interest, maybe. Or amusement. “Perhaps not,” he said. “Though I’d like to know what makes you so eager to bleed for someone else’s mistake.”

You swallowed. “She’s all I have.”

A beat of silence. The rain against the window filled the room again, steady and indifferent.

He leaned forward slightly, folding his hands. “What’s your name?”

You hesitated. Then: “(Y/n).”

He repeated it quietly, as though committing it to memory. Then he stood - unhurried, composed, and impossibly tall up close. His coat shifted, and for a moment you caught the faint glint of a chain around his wrist.

“Chrollo,” he said simply. “We’ll be in touch.”

He started toward the door, and you stepped aside. His sleeve brushed yours - soft, deliberate.

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room seemed to expand again, color returning to its corners.

Kira buried her face in her hands. “Why did you do that?” she whispered.

You looked at the pastries still in the bag by the door. The rain hadn’t stopped.

“Because you wouldn’t have survived it,” you said.

And for the first time in five years, you realized - you’d just invited something terrible into your life.

-🕷️-

"I don't understand the interest there, Chrollo."

"No. I've explained it poorly." Chrollo pinched the bridge of his nose. "It was odd. The first thing she did was clench her fist."

Pakunoda scrunched her brows together. "Many people have tried to fight you. That's not new."

"She didn't fight me."

"That's also not new. People size you up. Realize it isn't worth the fight."

“I’m aware.” Chrollo’s voice was mild, almost distracted. He turned the page of the small book in his hand, though it was clear he wasn’t reading it. His gaze lingered somewhere beyond the text - far away, thoughtful.

“She clenched her fist,” he repeated, softer this time, as if trying the words again. “But not because she was preparing to strike. It was… instinctive? Protective.”

Pakunoda leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Protective? Over the sister?”

“Yes.” He closed the book, thumb holding his place. “But that’s not what interested me. It was what came after. The moment she saw me - really saw me - she didn’t flinch.”

“That’s unusual,” Pakunoda admitted. “Most people do.”

“Exactly.” He smiled faintly, eyes still lowered. “Fear is predictable. She wasn’t fearless. She was…” He paused, searching for the word. “…measured. Like someone deciding what kind of monster was standing in front of her.”

“Maybe she’s used to monsters.”

“Perhaps.”

Silence hung between them for a moment. The faint hum of rain against the warehouse roof filled the space, rhythmic, steady.

Pakunoda tilted her head. “You think she’ll actually do it? Take her sister’s place?”

“She already has,” Chrollo replied simply. “She made the offer, and she meant it. That sort of conviction doesn’t come with hesitation.”

Pakunoda frowned. “And what do you plan to do with her?”

He finally looked up, his eyes catching the dim light. “We’ll find out.”

“That’s not much of a plan.”

Chrollo’s smile deepened, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “On the contrary. Sometimes curiosity is the plan.”

He set the book aside, rising from his chair. “Have someone keep an eye on her. Quietly.”

“Which of us?”

“Whoever’s closest.”

Pakunoda gave a soft sigh. “She’s not going to like this. No one likes their privacy invaded.”

“She doesn’t have to,” he said. “But I suspect she’ll understand it eventually.”

Pakunoda studied him for a moment, something skeptical flickering in her gaze. “You talk about her like she’s more than a name on a list.”

Chrollo’s expression didn’t change, but the air seemed to. Something thoughtful, nearly reverent, passed over his features.

“She offered herself without hesitation,” he said quietly. “In my experience, people who do that rarely do it just once.”

-🕷️-

"What do you owe?"

The words hung between you and Kira long after he’d gone.

Kira didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her breathing came out in uneven bursts, the same way it used to when she lied to your mother while she was around. You’d learned the sound of guilt early - learned what it did to people who didn’t know how to stop losing.

You picked up the groceries from the floor. The bag had split where it hit the corner of the doorframe; the milk was leaking, a slow white trail across the tiles. You set it on the counter, wiped your hands on your coat, and turned back to her.

“Who is he?” you asked.

Kira didn’t look up. Her hands were trembling again, twisting the napkin into nothing. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered. “You don’t understand what they are.”

“They?”

She pressed her palms over her face. “It’s not just him. There’s… there’s a group. They-” her voice cracked, “they don’t just lend money at high interest. They take things. People. Whatever fits the debt.”

You stared at her. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space between words.

“How long?”

“I thought I could fix it before you found out,” she said. “I thought-”

You exhaled, the sound sharp. “You thought wrong.”

Her shoulders crumpled inward, and you hated yourself for the edge in your tone. She wasn’t built for this. She never had been. Not the way you were.

You crossed to the table, sitting across from her in the same seat he’d just occupied. The wood still felt faintly warm. “How much did you take?”

Kira’s eyes finally met yours. They were red-rimmed, glassy, hollow. “Enough,” she said. “Enough that there’s no paying it back.”

You stared at her. Then, quieter: “So it’s me now.”

She shook her head violently. “No. No, you’re not getting involved in this.”

“I already am.”

“(Y/n)-”

“Do you really think he would’ve left if I hadn’t said something?” you interrupted. “Do you think he was ever going to walk out of here empty-handed?”

She didn’t answer. You didn’t expect her to.

The rain kept time against the window, soft and endless. Somewhere below, a car door slammed. The sound made Kira jump.

You watched the reflection of the hallway light flicker across the puddles on the floor. “They’ll come back,” you said. “You know that, right?”

Kira wiped her face, nodding once.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling the weight of it all settle in your chest. “Then we prepare for it.”

Kira blinked. “Prepare how?”

" . . . Well I was hoping you'd come up with that."

Kira gave a watery laugh - small, brittle, gone before it even reached her eyes. She rubbed her temples, streaking her mascara across her skin. “Prepare? (Y/n), you can’t prepare for people like them.”

You tilted your head. “You mean people like him.”

Her hands froze.

You hadn’t meant for it to sound like an accusation, but it did. The image of his piercing eyes lingered at the back of your mind like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing on. It unsettled you.

He unsettled you.

Kira finally spoke, voice low. “His name’s Chrollo. He’s… he runs them, I think. Or close enough to it that it doesn’t matter.”

You didn’t move, just watched her. “Tell me again, what did you borrow?”

She hesitated. “Money.”

You said nothing. Just waited.

Kira’s breath shuddered out of her. “At first. Then… it became favors. Introductions. Deliveries. I didn’t even know what I was moving until it was too late.”

You stared at the water dripping from your sleeve, the small, rhythmic patter filling the silence. “So you worked for them.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she snapped, then immediately softened. “I was trying to keep the apartment. Keep us. I thought it was just one thing. Then another. Then-”

Her voice cracked.

You pushed the bag of pastries across the table. “Eat something.”

She blinked, confused.

“Eat,” you repeated. “You’ll think clearer.”

Kira looked at the box, at you, then at her trembling hands. She didn’t reach for it.

You sighed and leaned back, eyes flicking toward the door - half expecting him to still be standing there, waiting. The silence he left behind felt like another presence in the room.

After a while, Kira whispered, “He’ll come back for you.”

“I know.”

Her head shot up. “Then why-”

“Because it’s done,” you said simply. “He made his choice. So did I.”

Kira swallowed hard. “You think he’ll actually let you take my place?”

You thought about the way he’d looked at you - not with pity, not with anger, but with that same quiet curiosity that belonged to someone who’d already decided you were interesting enough to keep.

“He will,” you said finally. “Because he wants to know why.”

Kira frowned. “Why what?”

You met her eyes. “Why I didn’t flinch. People like him are all the same.”

Outside, thunder rolled in the distance - slow, deliberate, and far too close to the sound of a door closing behind you.

The rain didn’t stop.

Not that night.

Not for a long time.