The doorbell rang quietly—almost gently, like it didn't want to intrude.
Jane opened the door and found Tora standing there. He had returned from a long journey, one he hadn't spoken about before leaving and hadn't mentioned since. She didn't ask. She just stepped aside, and he walked in. Grey Owl and Falcon Empress were already in the backyard catching up in the shade. Timothy was still asleep upstairs. Tim wasn't home. Again.
Jane noticed. She always noticed now. He kept wandering toward the creek, and she hadn't found the right moment to ask why.
She had just gotten off the phone with the principal. Olivia was coming over. For once the timing worked in her favor. She didn't have to explain where Tora had been or why Grey Owl and Falcon Empress were staying with them. Olivia wouldn't ask the wrong questions. She never did.
The second knock came sooner than expected.
Jane opened the door, and her face softened.
"Olivia! Hi."
She pulled her into a brief hug. Olivia smelled like vanilla and summer air.
"You look good, sister," Olivia said, smiling.
"So do you." Jane stepped back and gestured her inside. "Come in, please."
Olivia followed her into the living room. Jane offered a plate of fruit and a glass of cold water. Olivia accepted both, taking a slow sip as her gaze moved across the room. The house was clean—not spotless, but cared for. The furniture was expensive without being showy. A few things sat in places that didn't quite make sense: a machine in the corner that looked medical, a shelf with books in languages Olivia didn't recognize. She noticed but didn't linger.
"You have a beautiful home, Jane. It's been a while." She set the glass down. "You look amazing for a mother of two."
Jane laughed softly. "Well, they're twins. It's not like I had one after another." She settled into the armchair across from Olivia. "How are your kids? They must be grown by now."
"They're good. Mike's in college. Sam too. Little Anna's still in middle school."
"That's wonderful. I'm happy for you."
Jane folded her hands in her lap. "When I heard you were coming on such short notice… I got nervous, honestly. I hope my boys haven't given you any trouble. And Alita too."
Olivia shook her head. "Quite the opposite. They're exceptional. Just six weeks in, and I've noticed a few things."
She paused to take a bite of apple.
"Alita—she reads social situations poorly, you know that. But academically? She's flawless. Not a single mark lost. I haven't seen anything like it since Sylvester in high school." Olivia grinned. "You two were destined to be together. Who would've thought your jealousy was admiration?"
Jane's smile tightened. She looked down at her hands.
"That was a long time ago," she said quietly.
Olivia caught the shift. She cleared her throat.
"Anyway. Tim and Timothy are just as exceptional. Not at Alita's level, but Tim is closer than Timothy is. I do get the feeling Timothy fails deliberately sometimes. That's just instinct, though." She leaned back. "You have an amazing family, Jane."
"I'm glad they're doing well. I'll try to help Alita with the social side. And I'm glad my sons aren't causing you trouble."
Olivia stood, took a final sip of water, and picked up an apple and a few grapes. She was almost at the door when she turned back.
"Oh. And… how do I put this."
She sighed.
"There was a parents' teachers meeting. You didn't show up, so I thought I should tell you myself."
Jane was on her feet. "Wait—what?"
Olivia swallowed. "It's why I'm here, honestly. Your kids scare the other students. Not Alita—she's different. But the boys." She paused. "Their eyes. At first I thought they were cosmetic contact lenses. But they're not. You said it was genetic, so I explained that to the parents. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't unsettle me too. A few students are fascinated, which surprised me. But most of them are frightened." She met Jane's gaze. "You need to get them normal contact lenses. Or shades. Please."
Jane sat back down slowly. She covered her face with both hands and stayed that way for a long moment.
"I'll take care of it," she said, voice muffled. "Thank you, Olivia."
She walked Olivia to the door. When she closed it, she leaned against the wood for a second, then crossed back to the couch. She sat staring up at the chandelier. The light caught in the crystals, scattering tiny rainbows across the ceiling.
She didn't move for a long time.
The house itself was built to keep secrets.
Jane was a neurosurgeon—one of the best—so people already expected odd equipment and unusual schedules. The house sat behind high walls, isolated enough that sound didn't carry far. The windows were thick. The gates were heavy. From the outside, all neighbors really saw was a strict mother, a quiet household, and children who seemed a little different. Most people didn't look twice at strange if it didn't directly affect them.
But inside, the house held more than anyone knew.
Summer break had started. One week in, Grey Owl, Falcon Empress, and Timothy had already lived eight weeks and two days since the fight with Virus. The heat pressed down without mercy. At first none of them cared much—they had durable skin, high endurance, bodies trained to take more than ordinary people could. But the heat kept building. Water disappeared faster. Thirst started creeping into conversations.
One morning Jane called Tim down.
He followed her through the house, down a narrow staircase he'd never noticed before, into a room beneath the ground. When he stepped inside, he stopped.
It was massive. Medium-sized, like a hockey stadium. Machines lined the walls. The ceiling arched high above them, crisscrossed with pipes and wires he couldn't identify. He had no idea this place existed.
Jane watched his face and smiled.
"Your father used it to test his inventions," she said. "He spent hours here back in the day."
Tim turned. His gaze landed on a board against the far wall—the same board from his vision at the creek. The writing was still there. He looked away quickly.
"Mum, why did you call me here? It's six in the morning."
Jane folded her arms. "I haven't had a you-and-me time in a while. I thought we could catch up while we clean the place out."
Tim smiled, small but genuine. He nodded.
They worked. Tim carried the heavy machines and lengths of metal. Jane pulled out old wiring and brushed dust from the corners. At one point ash from a broken filter settled in her hair. Tim laughed. She chased him with the same ash, smearing a streak across his face. They both laughed too hard to stop, then went back to work.
"I haven't seen Andrew in a while," Jane said after a stretch of silence. "How's he holding up? Since the divorce?"
Tim kept his eyes on the machine he was lifting. "He's been doing badly, Mum. It's rough on him. I'm the only one he opens up to." A pause. "But he's still one of the strongest people I know."
Jane's voice softened. "I'm glad you're there for him. But please—stop sneaking out at two in the morning to see him. And yes, we all know you do it."
Tim froze. "Oh. Yeah. That. I'm sorry."
She nodded. They kept working.
Before nine they had finished. The underground space was clean, empty, silent. Jane sent Tim upstairs to wash up while she started breakfast.
When she was alone she lay flat on the smooth white floor and stared at the lights above.
"I hope you're safe and alive, Sylvester," she whispered.
Her throat tightened.
"This wasn't part of the agreement, you idiot."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"It's all too much for me."
She stayed there until the tears stopped, then rose and went to the kitchen.
Breakfast was ready. Everyone gathered in the living room. Tora was sitting with them for the first time—with the whole family, in the same space, not off to the side or in the backyard. It made the room feel different. He wasn't the talking type. Even with Grey Owl and Falcon Empress, he only spoke when he needed to.
Timothy leaned forward, eyes bright.
"You're so cool, dude. I'm a bit rough at my sword skills in general. Won't mind taking some lessons from you."
The room went quiet.
Tora looked at him. Something about the boy's voice reminded him of Falcon Empress when she was younger. A faint smile touched his face.
"No!" Tim cut in. "I want you to teach me."
Timothy blinked. "You could ask Empress. She's a blade user. Her blade work is beautiful."
"No!" Falcon Empress's answer was flat, but the corner of her mouth twitched, like she was trying not to smile..
Grey Owl lifted her head. "Well… I could teach you younglings if you want. I'm good with swords too."
Tim reacted instantly. "No! No way! I'm not learning shit from you."
"Language, Tim," Jane said.
Tim shut his mouth.
Timothy looked back at Tora. "I'm sorry for how rude my underling was, but I'd really love to take your classes."
Tora shook his head. "I'm not accepting any students anymore."
His accent was quiet, the words careful. He was younger than Grey Owl but just as tall, and the kind of face that would make people stare if he walked into a room.
Timothy didn't give up. He turned toward Grey Owl. "I'm sorry for earlier. I'd still like to learn from you, my kiddo was just being dumb."
That was enough for Tim.
He sprinted forward before anyone could react, fist already pulled back. Timothy caught his wrist, turned, and threw him. The fall should have been hard. For one second Tim hung in the air—floating, weightless—then landed face-first on the ground. He pushed himself up immediately, breathing hard.
Jane's voice cut through the room. "Enough. Get along, or you'll see my bad side."
Both boys went still. Tim couldn't decide which bothered him more: the humiliation of being thrown, or the strange, thrilling fact that he had almost flown.
Grey Owl sighed. "Fine then. We start next week."
Timothy's face lit up.
Tora was still watching Tim. The boy's eyes shone with something close to tears, though he was trying hard to hide them. Tora looked at him for a long moment, he understood this feeling, he's been there before.
Tim's shoulders eased after seeing Tora looking at him with a smile. The tension left his face all at once.
Jane watched without smiling. She didn't want her children learning swords. But given everything that had already happened—given what she had already lost—she didn't want to lose another one. Not again.
At noon Jane returned to the underground facility alone.
She crossed to the sealed cooling system in the corner—a massive machine that looked like advanced AC, condensation pipes, and experimental temperature-control tech all combined. Something of Sylvester. She'd installed it months ago, preparing for the heat. The air it blew out was cold enough to raise goosebumps on her arms.
"Two days," she murmured. "It'll take just two days."
Two days later the house felt different.
Outside, the heat still burned. Inside, the air had dropped below freezing. Jane called everyone down to the underground facility. When they stepped inside, they stopped.
It was snow.
Real snow. Ice covered the floor. The walls were coated in frost. The whole space looked like a snow globe that had somehow expanded to fill the room. Jane handed out thick winter clothes. She wore an even heavier coat herself—unlike the others, she was normal down to the last bit. She still felt the cold.
They stepped inside.
Tim and Timothy weren't talking, but the competition was still there. They moved in parallel, each building a snowman on their side of the room, both trying to finish first. Tim was about to win when a snowball hit him from the side.
He spun, already certain who had thrown it, and threw one back. It hit Timothy square in the chest.
"Heyyyy!" Timothy scooped a larger chunk, packed it tight, and threw. Tim dodged. The snowball hit Falcon Empress instead.
The room went quiet for a second.
Then Falcon Empress picked up a handful of snow and threw it straight at Timothy with surprising force. He went down. Tim and Falcon Empress both burst out laughing.
Two more snowballs came flying back. Falcon Empress dodged the first, but the second hit Tim. The third landed on her face. Timothy laughed out loud.
She answered by scooping more snow and throwing it—and missing Timothy entirely. It hit Jane instead.
Jane stood still for a moment. Then she bent down, gathered her own handful, and threw. Not at Falcon Empress. At Grey Owl and Tora.
They both got hit.
Tim caught Timothy from behind and shoved a pile of snow down the back of his jacket. Timothy yelped, spinning around with his eyes wide, already scooping snow for revenge. But instead of throwing it at Tim, he paused, then dumped it gently on his own head, laughing at himself. For a second his smile was real. Not guarded. Not practiced. Just real.
Before long everyone was laughing. They skated on the ice. They played. They made snow angels. The underground facility, which had once been a place of secrets and inventions, became something else entirely.
Falcon Empress left the others to get warm water.
Halfway across the ice her foot slipped.
She tried to turn in the air and land on her feet. For a moment it looked almost graceful—like she might actually pull it off. Then she hit the ice hard, head first. The crack echoed through the facility—sharp, wet, wrong.
The impact was sharp enough to make Jane's breath stop.
Falcon Empress pushed herself up slowly. For a moment Falcon Empress saw nothing but white static. Her ears rang so loud she couldn't hear her own breath. She tasted copper, thick and warm on her tongue. The ice was cold against her cheek. She tried to move, but her body felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. The room felt distant, dreamlike. She could smell blood. She touched her nose—it was wet, warm. Her fingers came away red.
And then the memory came.
A hand. A man in an expensive suit, reaching toward her. His fingers were stained with blood. She tried to jump back, but there was nowhere to go. The memory held her in place.
Then Tora was there. Grey Owl was there. Everyone was around her, voices low, hands careful. She touched her nose again. More blood.
Jane pressed a tissue into her hand. "Are you alright? Let me see—"
Falcon Empress stood up quickly. Too quickly. She walked out of the facility without a word, through the house, up the stairs, into her room. She closed the door.
Jane took a step after her. Grey Owl's voice stopped her.
"Let her be."
It was 8:43 p.m. on the pandemonium clock.
Timothy stared at the numbers for a moment, then climbed the stairs. He slipped through the window and pulled himself onto the roof. He brought his new headset, a packet of cookies, and a bottle of water.
Falcon Empress was already there.
She was sitting with her knees drawn up, staring at the sky. It looked like she had finished crying.
Timothy hesitated. He almost turned around. Then he muttered under his breath, "Damn me," and walked over.
He sat a short distance away.
"What do you want, King Kong?" she asked. Her voice tried for toughness and didn't quite reach it.
"It's not what I want," Timothy said. "It's what I need. And I need to eat this cookie with you, or I'll be hearing from Santa real soon."
She didn't react. Her face stayed blank.
"Why are you here?" she said. "You're meant to focus on your messed-up life. Not pretend you're okay and bleed into other people's problems."
It hurt. Timothy felt it in his chest.
He was quiet for a moment. "That hurt," he said calmly. "But I'll stay anyway."
"If you'll stay, I'll leave."
Her voice was cold. Flat. Like she was speaking to a brick wall.
Timothy stood up. He set the cookies down beside her.
"I'm sorry for bothering you."
He climbed back through the window and went to his room.
Falcon Empress stayed on the roof for a while. Then she reached over, took one cookie, and ate it slowly. She stared at the sky, chewing without expression.
Timothy sat on his bed in the quiet.
He was thinking about his own life— about the fight earlier—when he heard a knock on the door.
It was soft. Careful.
He got up and opened it.
Falcon Empress stood there.
For a second neither of them moved. The moment felt slightly unreal.
"Can I come in?" she asked. Her voice was small. Polite in a way he hadn't heard from her before.
Timothy blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. You can."
She stepped inside slowly.
The room felt smaller with her in it. Not because she was doing anything—just because both of them knew how strange this was. Her eyes moved first to the posters on his wall, then to his bed, then to the floor. She was nervous. She was trying hard not to show it, and the effort showed anyway.
She stood there for a moment too long. Her hands were folded loosely in front of her. Her shoulders were tight.
Then, instead of sitting on the bed, she lowered herself to the floor like she didn't deserve to sit on the bed.
Timothy noticed immediately. "You can sit on my bed if you'd like."
She didn't move.
That made him nervous too. He sat on the bed, facing her, giving her space without making it obvious.
Falcon Empress kept her gaze lowered.
"I didn't mean it," she said at last. Her voice was careful. "What I said earlier… I meant I was afraid."
She swallowed.
"Mum always tells me to own up to my mistakes." A tiny pause. "And I'm here to—I mean… what I'm trying to say is…"
She stopped. Looked away. Took a breath.
"I came to say I was wrong."
Her fingers curled together tighter in her lap.
"What I said was cruel."
Another breath.
"I was just—"
Her voice caught. She forced it through.
"I was upset. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry."
The room went quiet after that. Not empty. Just quiet.
Falcon Empress stared at the floor like it might give her the words she needed.
Then, softer than before, like the words had to fight their way out of her, she added:
"I didn't mean to hurt you. I just… did. And I hate that I did."
Timothy looked at her for a long moment.
"You really got me with that one," he said. His voice was low. Honest. "That was low."
A pause.
"I'm not even mad. Just… yeah. That was harsh."
He looked at her again, without the edge this time. Then he sighed, shifted on the bed, and moved aside just enough to make room.
"You're here now," he said. He nodded toward the bed. "It's fine. Sit."
She wanted to. He could see it.
But she didn't stand.
The silence between them turned awkward again. Not badly—just enough to feel real. Timothy opened his mouth once, then closed it. Falcon Empress kept staring at the floor.
Then Timothy spoke again, quieter.
"Hey."
She looked up a little.
"I don't mean to push," he said. "But… mind telling me why you were crying on the roof?"
He paused.
"It's okay if you don't want to share. I was just worried. You remind me of myself a little, and I don't want that for anyone." His voice softened. "I just want to know you're alright."
Falcon Empress didn't answer right away.
Timothy didn't push.
He let the silence stay where it was, soft and awkward and honest. Not empty. Just there.
After a moment, she lifted her eyes to him.
Her voice came out smaller than before.
"Can.. I stay with you for a bit?"
Timothy looked at her for a second.
Then he shifted over on the bed and made room without making a big thing of it.
"Yeah," he said. "you can."
She hesitated, then moved from the floor to the edge of the bed, careful like she was still learning whether she was allowed to take up space here.
Timothy reached for the extra pillow beside him and set it between them. He gave a small shrug, already looking away, as if it was nothing at all.
They sat like that for a while.
Outside, the heat pressed hard against the house.
Inside, the room stayed cool.
Falcon Empress drew her knees in a little, her fingers resting lightly against the pillow. Her shoulders, little by little, loosened.
Timothy leaned back against the wall, half-lidded and calm, not saying anything else.
And for a while, that was enough.