Kai nods, his gaze steady. “Yeah.”
Dawn’s mouth opens, like she wants to say something, but then she just—staresat him. Wide-eyed, completely at a loss.
I glance at Lilia, who is biting the inside of her cheek, staring at this all unfold in complete shock.
Dawn swallows. “Oh.”
Kai raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips, and I stare at the dimples it leaves. “That’s all?”
Dawn nods, then violently shakes her head, then just stares at her own shoes. The poor kid looks absolutely mortified.
He straightens, slipping his hands back into his pockets, and looks toward the door again. “You should get some sleep, kid.”
Dawn is still too dazed to reply.
Kai turns back once more before he leaves, eyes moving between her and the rest of us. He gives a small nod, and then just as the door swings open, Dawn manages to squeak out, “Y-you too.”
Kai pauses, just for half a second, and then he walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Dawn remains frozen in place, hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Lilia lets out a low whistle. “Okay.Who are you?”
Dawn blinks, looking up at her. Her face still red as a tomato, but she seems confused by the question. “What?”
“That!” Lilia gestures wildly at where Kai just was. “Who are you and what have you done to my sister?”
Dawn’s brow furrows. “He seemed nice,” she says.
Lilia leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Blink twice if you’ve been replaced by an alien.”
Dawn lets out a tiny, flustered squeak, her face getting redder. “Stop it.” Then, suddenly, without warning, shewhimpers—a tiny, overwhelmed sound—and bolts for the stairs.
Lilia turns to me, still looking utterly dumbfounded. “Did that just happen?”
I nod slowly, stunned. “I think so.”
Lilia stares at the stairs, then exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Dawn. Dawn of all people. I can’t—I just—” She lets out a hollow laugh. “I need to sit down.”
“Youaresitting down,” I point out.
“I need to sit downharder.”
I lean back against the wall, rubbing my face. “Lilia, maybe we could—”
Lilia interrupts, nods solemnly. “The world isn’t ready for a bold Dawn.” Lilia exhales dramatically, still shaking her head. “Come on,” she says, reaching for my hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I hesitate. My fingers twitch, but I don’t move.
Lilia tilts her head, waiting.
“I don’t have any of my things,” I murmur, barely loud enough to hear myself. “They’re all at home.”
Excepthomeis a word I stopped believing in a long time ago. Of course, it’s easy to say the word. Easy to describe. A building, a structure, four walls and a roof. Right? Except home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.
And I lost that feeling before I even got a chance to hold it. After a while, you learn not to accept it back.
Because hope when you have nothing is a dangerous thing. Keeps you dreaming of open doors and soft voices calling you inside—when deep down, you know better.
