Leo shut the door behind him and slipped off his shoes.
The house was quiet—too quiet—except for the soft rustle of Luna's coat as she hung it by the door. She gave him a nod, her expression drawn with fatigue.
"I'm heading to my room. I'm too tired to deal with anything else today."
She said, brushing past him.
He raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Luna rarely elaborated when she was in one of these moods.
Leo watched her retreating back disappear up the stairs before glancing around the living room. Something didn't sit right.
Then he saw it—Nina's school bag, slumped near the couch like it had been tossed there in a hurry. She never left it behind unless she wasn't going out.
A faint frown tugged at his face as he turned to the kitchen, where their mother was chopping vegetables with a little more force than necessary.
"She didn't go to school?"
He asked.
His mother sighed through her nose.
"She said she was sick. Looked like death warmed over, honestly. Could barely stand."
Leo's concern deepened, but it twisted further when his mother added,
"Not that it matters. She's already useless, and now she's sick too? She's not even trying."
"Don't say that. Nina's doing her best."
Leo said, sharper than he meant to.
His mother gave him a look, half disbelief, half frustration.
"Sometimes 'best' isn't enough, Leo. You of all people should know that."
Leo didn't answer. He stood there, jaw tight, while something sharp and ugly brewed in his chest.
He hated this—this unspoken rule in their home where effort only counted if it led to results.
Where compassion was conditional. His hands curled at his sides as the thought formed, unbidden and bitter.
'If she weren't around... if she didn't treat Nina like this... maybe Nina would've taken her role more seriously. Maybe she would've cared more. Tried harder. Been more like us.'
But the guilt struck him immediately after. That was their mother.
She had done her best too, hadn't she?
She raised them in the ashes of a broken world, trying to keep them safe while surrounded by hunters, monsters, and loss.
Trauma had carved her into something brittle and impatient. Leo knew that. He understood that.
But that didn't make it easier to forgive her.
He forced himself to relax, loosening his fists as he stepped into the kitchen.
"I'll check on Nina."
He said, voice more even now.
Their mother handed him a tray—soup, some fruit, and cold medicine—then gave him a tired smile.
"You're a good son, Leo. I'm proud of you."
He nodded, not quite able to smile back. But before he could leave, she added, almost wistfully.
"I'm also glad I have at least one daughter who's normal. Someone I can relate to."
Leo froze. His expression didn't change, but something inside him cracked.
'Normal.'
That word carried weight in this house. Normal meant non-hunter. It meant weak. It meant safe, familiar. It meant someone who wouldn't leave.
He understood now. Nina—powerless, ordinary Nina—was the only thread tying their mother to the rest of them.
The only one who didn't remind her of everything she'd lost. The only one who made their presence tolerable.
Leo turned away and headed upstairs, the tray steady in his hands but his thoughts anything but.
______
Leo knocked on Nina's door, a little more firmly than usual.
"Nina, I'm here to talk."
He said, his voice calm but insistent.
A pause followed, thick with silence. Then her muffled voice came through, dry and frayed.
"I don't want to see your face right now."
He blinked, caught off guard.
"Excuse me?"
"I said, go away."
Leo felt something hot bubble in his chest. He hadn't marched up here with soup and comforting older brother energy just to be dismissed.
"Open the door."
He said, warning creeping into his voice.
"Don't feel like it."
"Nina, If you don't open this door right now, I will break it down."
He growled.
That got a reaction.
A slow shuffle followed, and then the door creaked open. Barely.
Just enough for Nina to slip through with the weariness of someone who'd aged fifty years overnight.
She didn't meet his eyes. Just turned around and padded back toward her bed like a ghost wrapped in a hoodie.
Leo stepped inside, letting the door close behind him.
The air in the room still carried the weight of yesterday's meltdown. Nina climbed back onto the bed and pulled the blanket around her knees, curling up like she was bracing for an impact.
"Well? What the hell happened?"
He asked, folding his arms.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? You look like you've been emotionally steamrolled. And I'm not even judging you—I just want to understand."
He echoed.
She glanced at him, then quickly looked away.
"Have you… read the book?"
Leo froze.
"Oh. That book."
Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile—more like the grimace you made when you knew the bomb was about to go off anyway.
"I just finished it."
She said.
Leo rubbed his forehead.
"Look… yeah. I'm aware of it. I've been aware of it. There have been dozens of those by now. About me, about the others, about Nero…"
He paused, giving her a pointed look.
"And now, apparently, about you."
Nina muttered something into her blanket.
"What was that?"
"I said, it's not just about me. I'm not even really in it. I think. It's about… you. And Nero. And it's… graphic."
Her voice dropped into a murmur.
Leo visibly flinched.
"I know. I've heard more than a few things about it by now."
He muttered.
Nina's voice was dry.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He raised his arms.
"Tell you what? 'Hey Nina, by the way, strangers on the internet are writing fanfiction about me and you?"
She glared at her knees.
"Would've been nice to have a heads-up."
"I didn't think you'd find it! Who told you?"
"My classmates. They were talking about it like it was the next great literary masterpiece. I thought it was about fighting monsters or something! Not… whatever that was."
She snapped.
Leo exhaled, long and slow.
"Yeah. Well. Welcome to my world."
Nina finally looked up at him, eyes bloodshot but fierce.
"You're okay with this?"
"Of course not! I hate it. But you can't fight the internet. You'll just lose your sanity trying. It's like—once you cross a certain level of popularity, people stop seeing you as human. You're just a character in someone's story."
Leo said, throwing his hands in the air.
Nina stared at him, expression unreadable.
"So your plan is to just ignore it."
"Yes. For my mental health. And now—for yours, too."
Leo said.
There was a beat of silence. Nina's Patron, quietly present, offered no commentary this time.
"You think they'll forget about me? Go back to talking about you and the others?"
She asked.
Leo shrugged.
"Eventually. People love mystery, and right now, you're a puzzle piece they don't know where to place. It'll die down once something more exciting happens."
"And until then?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Leo stepped closer and sat on the edge of her bed.
"Until then, you ignore them. You remember who you are. And you don't let strangers with keyboards define that."
Nina stared at him. For once, she didn't argue.
"…That book was so weird,"
She muttered.
"Right? Why did they think I'd wear that outfit?"
Leo said.
They both shuddered. A moment passed, quiet and unexpectedly warm, and then Leo stood.
"You gonna be okay?"
Nina nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I think so."
He smiled faintly.
"Good. Because next time, I'm not threatening your door. I'm breaking out the cold water."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
As he left the room, she called after him,
"Hey, Leo?"
He turned at the doorway.
"…Thanks."
She said.
He gave her a small nod and pulled the door shut behind him