After a few more painful minutes, she shoves her plate away.
“I don’t want this.”
My tone is too sharp. “Nessa.”
She grips her cup and it creaks in her hand. The polyplastic bends visibly.
“I said I don’t want it!” she screams, slamming it down.
The cup doesn’t bounce. It shatters. Not into pieces—into shards. Like glass, though it's not. The force of her strength sends splinters skidding across the table.
I stand so fast my chair tips.
"Nessa!" I bark.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and wet and burning gold. Her lower lip quivers. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“Go to your room.”
“But—”
“I said go!”
She bolts. Her footsteps echo down the corridor, too fast, too loud. The door hisses shut behind her with finality.
And I collapse back into the chair, head in my hands.
The silence that follows isn’t static anymore.
It’s guilt.
Vael’s voice cuts through it, low and measured. “That wasn’t her fault.”
I clench my fists. “She’s out of control.”
“She’s scared. Same as you. Same as me.”
“I’m trying to protect her, Vael.”
“By yelling?” His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to.
My eyes sting. I hate crying. I’m too damn tired to stop it.
“She doesn’t know what’s happening,” I choke. “She doesn’t understand why I keep glancing at the door every five minutes or why I’ve been triple-logging her school data. She doesn’t know we’re about to vanish again. And I can’t—I don’t know how to help her stay calm when everything is falling apart!”
Vael stands. Walks around the table slowly. Then kneels in front of me, his massive hands gentle as they slide over mine.
“Then let me try.”
I look up.
His face is softer than I’ve ever seen it. Not smooth. Not relaxed. Just… open.
“Come with me,” he says.
Nessa’s curledon her bed, back to the wall, knees tucked under her chin. Her cheeks are wet but she doesn’t sob anymore. Just tiny, hiccuping breaths.
Vael doesn’t go in all the way.
