The moment Umbra pulled away from the curb, Isaac's faint smile faded like it had never been there.
He leaned his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, watching the Boardwalk recede in the side window.
"Well," he thought, more to himself than to Ordis, "that was disappointing."
Sophia Hess wasn't just abrasive and angry. She was a walking excuse—someone who'd found a story that let her trample anyone weaker and ran with it so they could still look in the mirror. She thought only about predators and prey and her philosophy, if you could een call it that, boiled down to basic "might makes right."
A who bullied a girl into the ground, called that "nature," then had the gall to act like she was on the side of the strong when there was nothing more weak than bullying those who could not fight back.
Ordis cleared his metaphorical throat. "So… are you going to do something about her, Operator? Perhaps… help her? She is clearly—mm—unwell."
Isaac exhaled slowly through his nose, thinking it over for all of two seconds before letting the idea go.
"I'm already busy trying to rehabilitate Bonesaw," he said in his head. "I don't have the time, or patience to add a self-righteous sociopath to the list."
The car rolled past cracked brick, sun-faded billboards, rust and concrete. Basically Brockton Bay doing its best impression of a slow-motion collapse.
"And besides, Taylor's too valuable to risk," he went on. "If I start trying to 'fix' Sophia, the most likely outcome is I lose Taylor entirely because I decided the person stomping on her deserved a second chance more than she deserved a break."
Ordis hummed, thoughtful. "So you intend to simply… leave Miss Hess as she is?"
"I intend," the Operator shot back a bit defensively, "to let the PRT put her through whatever mental facilities and training they think will help. The investigation we'll nudge into motion will no doubt result in a punishment that should push her toward proper care with or without my direct help."
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the low rumble of the car smooth out the edge of his irritation.
"Listen, Ordis," Isaac said after a while. "I do want to help her. I can feel how angry she is. How much she's hurting. If Margulis were here, she'd try. It's what she did for us despite everything."
He opened his eyes again.
"But I can't help everyone. Not even with everything I've got. And especially not someone who wants to live and die by her predator-prey fairy tale."
Ordis was quiet for a moment as well, then said, very softly, "I understand, Operator. Even so… I believe in you."
Isaac arched an eyebrow slightly. "That so?"
"Of course," Ordis said, warming up. "You've always found a way to beat the odds. Remember when Ballas stabbed you in the chest and cast you into the Void. Yet you still managed to find your way back to us?"
Isaac sighed at the memory as his hand rubbed his chest where he had been stabbed. "That was… very situational."
"But you still did it," Ordis insisted. "A little Ward is not beyond you, if you ever decide she's worth the effort."
"Big if," Isaac muttered, but he didn't argue further because he considered that maybe Ordis was right.
The car rolled on. Conversation was scarce as crumbling neighborhoods gave way to cleaner sidewalks and nicer lighting. The city smell thinned out, replaced by manicured hedges and freshly cut lawns.
They pulled into the driveway of a two-story place in the rich suburbs—a neat lawn, tasteful brick, big windows. The kind of house realtors called "charming."
"I'm still saying the Docks would've been cooler," he muttered as Umbra shut off the engine.
"Absolutely not," Ordis said in his ear, scandalized. "The filth alone—"
Umbra shot him a look over the roof of the car that translated perfectly into: You're not living in a condemned warehouse, child.
They hadn't really "talked him out of it" the first time he brought it up so much as hit him with a unified, immovable wall of NO and refused to elaborate. He could have pushed, but he hadn't; their loyalty ran deep enough that once he made a call, they wouldn't argue it—and he didn't feel like abusing that on a dramatic address in the Docks so he went along with it.
They stepped inside, and the house greeted them with cool air and the faint scent of cleaning products. Simple, modern furniture. Neutral colors. Nothing personal.
A perfect incognito throw away base.
A soft hum preceded Ordis's sentinel body drifting in from the hallway—the familiar hovering shell of metal and ornamental cloth floating at chest level.
"Welcome home, Operator!" Ordis chimed through the sentinel speakers. "Allow me—"
Tiny energy made manipulator arms extended. Before he could protest, Ordis plucked the school bag off his shoulder with surprising care and scooped up his shoes as he toed them off.
"Thanks Ordis."
"Any time Operator," Ordis replied.
The sentinel zipped away toward the hall closet.
"Since you're already on a roll," Isaac called after him, "you want to do my homework too?"
"Of course," Ordis answered without a moment's hesitation. "I'm confident I can replicate your handwriting to within a 0.0001% margin of error."
"Perfect," Isaac said with no shame. "You're the best."
And really, there was no reason to feel guilty about having Ordis do it for him. Aside from niche subjects like Parahuman studies, there was nothing a high school thousands of years in the past could teach a Tenno. Warriors and assassins they might be, yes—but they were also highly educated philosophers, scientists, and tacticians, with their own established schools to prove it.
Umbra tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
Isaac turned and Umbra pointed at the floor, then curled his hand into a fist.
"Gonna train in the basement?" Isaac asked for confirmation.
Umbra nodded once.
"Knock yourself out," the Operator said. "Try not to shake the whole house."
Umbra huffed and headed for the basement door, disappearing down the stairs.
The sentinel drifted back into the room without the bag. "Would you like a meal, Operator?" Ordis asked. "I have located several highly-rated recipes from this time period. There is one called 'mac and cheese' that people appear to find spiritually important—"
"Later," Isaac said, shaking his head. "As much as I'm enjoying the culinary dishes of this era, I've got something more important to run first."
He moved to the living room couch and dropped onto it, letting his body relax into the cushions. Then Isaac exhaled and let go.
The human shell slumped back against the cushions, eyes closing as the Operator stepped out of it. His true form slipping free in a wash of void light only he could see.
"Is the Captura connection stable?" he asked Ordis.
The sentinel hovered closer. "It is. Going to check on her, Operator?" Ordis asked.
"Yes," the Tenno replied. "I want to see if the treatment is working."
"Very well," Ordis said simply. The sentinel body drifted back a meter and settled into a stationary hover. The blue eye flared brighter.
"Transport in three," Ordis intoned. "Two. One…"
A narrow beam of blue energy lanced out, striking the Operator square in the chest. His form broke apart into a flurry of luminous particles, digitizing piece by piece.
"Transporting," Ordis finished, voice echoing faintly as the last of him was pulled into the beam and vanished.
____________________________________________________
Bonesaw woke up feeling wrong.
The bed under her was too soft. The air was too clean. No stink of blood, no metal, no chemicals from her work. For a second she thought she was dreaming or more likely about to have a nightmare of that day when the Nine first visited her. When Jack…
Thinking his name made the memories come flooding back.
Jack on the ground. His brains painting the earth as she desperately tried to gather the pieces of him. Jellyfish-face holding her while her own body came apart, turning into light in those arms. The sound of her own screaming cutting off when there wasn't enough throat left to scream with.
She sat up too fast, heart hammering as she looked around. Expecting a cell. A hospital. Maybe even fire and brimstone.
Instead, the room saw was none of that.
Pastel walls. Shelves with stuffed animals. A cheap plastic night-light in the corner. Posters. A low dresser with stickers peeling off the sides. And Glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. All of it was illuminated by early morning sunlight.
A little girl's room.
It all looked odd though, like someone had made everything a size too big.
No—she was wrong. Everything wasn't too big. She was too small. She took off the covers and looked at her legs and they didn't reach as far as they should. Her hands were also tiny and her finger stubby like she had gone back to being six.
It seemed Jellyfish-face had rolled her time back. It explained why she couldn't feel any of her augmentations.
But why a children's room for her holding cell and one with a window at that?
Bonesaw swung her feet off the bed slowly, toes brushing the carpet as she thought on why her captures would choose this place.
Did they think she wasn't a threat anymore now that they de-aged her or was it something more disgusting like thinking she would suddenly start playing house. Could these people actually believe she'd just snuggle into her sheets and forget how they'd murdered Jack in front of her. Forget how they'd turned her into confetti. Forget how they killed the rest of her family?
"Cute," she muttered, voice high and small again. The sound made her blink, then scowl. "Grrr. That bitch."
She forced herself to inhale. Exhale. Focus. Plan. Without augmentations and even with them, those parahumans were too strong to take in a head on fight. On top of that, they clearly weren't idiots even if they were stupidly merciful to her.
If she wanted any chance at avenging her family, she'd need to play dress up doll and family with them until she had an opening to either escape or cut them up into art.
She reached inward for her power, trying to see what in this room she could use to augment herself before someone came to check on her.
Nothing.
She dug deeper, like maybe if she pushed hard enough the blockage would crack. Still nothing.
Her power was gone. The realization made her chest hurt. Not like losing a hand. Pain like that was something she was accustomed to. It was more like losing half of her. Her power was what made her special and useful to Jack. Without it, she was just a useless Riley.
She swallowed a sob.
No, she wasn't useless. Even if she couldn't feel her power she could feel everything else. She could still think. Still move. She wasn't helpless. Just… de-fanged.
For now.
Once she figured out the extent of what they did to her, she could work on reversing it or trick them into giving her power back. That was all in the future though. All she could do now was…
Someone knocked.
Three light taps, just enough to rattle the door. Lower on the frame than she expected. Those capes had all been tall. Whoever was out there wasn't.
"Riley?" a boyish voice called. "You awake?"
The voice made her brain stutter.
Because she knew it. She knew that voice. Not from the Nine. Not from any of the villains or heroes who'd tried to kill her. From before.
Her mind threw up a picture without permission: a boy with messy blonde hair, grinning at her from the doorway of another room, saying her name like just seeing her made his day better.
His name followed next. Evan Grace Davis.
No, it couldn't be. That was impossible.
Her brother was dead. She'd watched his eyes go glassy. She'd heard the wet rattle when his lungs filled and he breathed his last.
…But if that really was Evan's voice outside the door—
She looked around again. Really looked, this time.
With dawning horror, she looked around again. Really looked around this time and realized she recognized everything.
The posters. That little scuff on the dresser where she'd rammed her tricycle into it. The same stupid flower curtains her mom had thought were "cheerful." The night-light in the corner, shaped like a moon. The arrangement of the stars on the ceiling that her dad helped her put up.
This wasn't just a kid's room.
This was her room.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head hard as panic set in. "No, no, no. This is a trick. A-a-a nightmare."
It had to be, there was no way she could be back…
Reality stuttered. The walls weren't pastel anymore, they were slick red. The carpet was dark and sticky and smelled like copper. Buttons—her little mutt of a family dog—was in the middle of the floor, opened up like a grotesque blossoming flower, tongue lolling out, fur matted with blood. Siberian smiled in the corner, teeth white and perfect even as she chewed on entrails.
Bonesaw squeezed her eyes shut until stars burst behind them. When she opened them again, the room was clean. No blood. No dog. No Siberian.
The knock came again. A little sharper this time.
"Riley? You okay?"
This time she couldn't contain her emotions, she had to see. Her feet moved before she could tell them not to. The carpet under her toes felt exactly like it had when she was six—cheap and thin, with that one wrinkle in the middle she used to trip on.
"Stop," she hissed at herself. "Stop it. It's fake. It's fake."
Her hand still reached for the doorknob.
It shook. Her fingers were so small around the cool metal it made her angry. But a single twist and this whole illusion would crumble. She could prove it wasn't her brother and laugh at her captures for thinking they could fool her. All with a single twist. That's all it would take.
Her breath became labored, her hands shaking with uncertainty. Yet even so, she turned the knob and pulled.
And there, like she had hoped and dreaded. Evan, her older brother, stood there.
Same height difference. Same stupid dirty-blonde cowlick that defied gravity. Same faded T-shirt with some superhero logo on it that he'd worn until it practically disintegrated.
He smiled, and she remembered it was the same smile he always used when he wanted her to come outside or when he wanted to show her something cool. It hurt deep in her chest to see.
But his eyes were worse.
Those soft, stupid, kind eyes that had always looked at her like she could do no wrong. Even when she'd knocked over his stuff. Even when she'd cried and screamed and been difficult. Even when he'd been on the kitchen floor, guts spilling out, still trying to reassure her.
Now they just felt… wrong. Aimed at the wrong person. At somebody who hadn't turned others into art and monsters on Jack's order and for cruel fun.
She didn't deserve that look anymore. Those eyes didn't belong on her.
His mouth moved, she realized after some time—he was talking about what they should do today—but the sound cut out in her ears. Reality stuttered again and all she saw was the way his skin suddenly drained of color, the way his eyes clouded over, the way something slick and dark threatened to spill from the corner of his mouth—then it was gone.
Her stomach flipped hard. She staggered back a step.
She had to get away or he'd see it.
What she'd become.
She glanced down at her hands, and for a split second they weren't bare.
Thick gloves. Red up to the wrist with blood. Warm and sticky, soaking the fabric, dripping off the edges and pattering on the tile. Her apron heavy with gore, white turned brown-red in patches that never really came out no matter how hard she scrubbed.
Then it was gone. Back to pajama sleeves
If he saw, he wouldn't look at her like that when he did. He'd be disgusted. He'd hate her.
Evan kept talking despite her thoughts. She still could barely hear any of it. Something about the park. Or the backyard. Or a movie. All the normal things he should've gotten to do instead of dying in a sadistic initiation ritual.
Wait! If she was six again then that meant he would come soon for her. Then Evan would… Her mom would… Her dad and dog would…
Her breathing hitched and sped up, chest going tight.
No, no, no, no—
[HOST DETECTED]
[INITIATING RECONNECT SEQUENCE]
[ERROR: NO VALID PATH TO HOST]
[UNABLE TO RE-ESTABLISH CONNECTION]
By this point, It was all too much.
Riley's legs just… stopped. Her knees folded and hit the carpet, hard enough to sting, but she barely felt it. The hallway tilted sideways. Evan's outline blurred but she could still see him reaching out for her.
________________________________________
"The subject has been rendered unconscious. Vital signs are stable. Should I pause the simulation, Operator?"
The Operator stood in the Davis hallway, unseen, watching Evan haul Riley back to bed and scream for help.The mom rushed in, the dad right behind her, all panic and no idea what to do.
"No," he said. "This one's off to a good start. Though that's a pretty low bar."
"Indeed," Ordis said in affirmation. "In the last thirty-eight runs she either experienced a complete mental break, fled the home, or attempted familicide within the first week. Often within the first day."
Mrs. Davis fussed over Riley, Mr. Davis was already talking about hospitals, and Evan hovered in the doorway looking scared and helpless.
"Operator," Ordis said after a while, voice dropping a little, "I am not one to question your judgement—but is this not… cruel? Forcing her to relive this environment again and again. Why not simply use your Tenno powers? Take her to peace as you did for Umbra."
A sigh escaped the Tenno's lips before he could stop it.
"I tried, Ordis," he answered with frustration.
Riley's head lolled as Mrs. Davis cradled it, murmuring soft reassurances. Evan reached out like he wanted to touch her, then pulled his hand back, unsure.
"But her hate for me is too strong," the Operator went on. "In her head, I'm the monster that killed the only person who 'loved' her. So every time I reach out and offer peace, she rejects me. Violently."
The Operator and Ordis stayed quiet as Mr. Davis made the call: hospital. They carried Riley down the hall and out the front door. The house fell silent, leaving only the Operator standing in the empty living room.
"So before I can do that," he continued, "I need her to let go of him. Of that fake 'family' she built around the Nine. Because as long as she's still worshiping Jack Slash, Riley Davis will never live again."
The world flickered as Ordis shifted the simulation viewport. The house dissolved, replaced by the bland, too-bright misery of a small-town hospital room. Riley lay on a bed, monitors tracing out her heartbeat in green lines. Evan sat in a plastic chair nearby, swinging his legs, answering the doctor's questions with a lot of "I don't know."
The Operator stood at the foot of the bed, watching the tiny rise and fall of her chest.
"But if this simulation therapy works and she actually latches onto her real family, even this reconstructed version of them… then she's choosing Riley over Bonesaw on her own. Only then can I interfere."
"…Understood, Operator," Ordis said at last. "Ordis is sorry for doubting you. I will maintain parameters and monitor for deviation to ensure Riley recovers fully."
The Operator gave a small nod, turning his eyes from the girl and the family clustered around her to the sky to the giant cracked hexahedron form of Ordis in the sky that only he could see.
"Thanks. I know you will," he said. "Now let's speed things up."
_____________________________________________________________
Nearly a month had crawled by since Riley woke up in this… whatever it was.
The past. A simulation. The last dream of a dying brain.
She still didn't know which.
Right now, she mostly didn't care. Whatever it was, it needed to stop before she snapped.
She was a mess. Worse than a mess.
Because everything felt so real, so believable, so good. She couldn't stand it.
It made her hope. Hope she could be Riley Davis again.
Her family didn't help. Despite looking at them like a stranger, calling them fake, and threatening to kill them openly. They did anything they could to help her anyways.
Her dad took time off work to be home more. Her mom hovered, making her favorite snacks, fussing with blankets. Evan spent every minute he wasn't in school glued to her side, asking if she wanted to play, if she wanted to watch something, if she wanted to talk, and cracking jokes that almost made her laugh.
They were the only reason she was still breathing as well.
She had tried hurting herself multiple times to induce a trigger after mental breaks didn't give her any. The first time they caught her, she'd been mixing bleach, ammonia, and several other cleaning supplies to try to recreate the right kind of stress without killing her.
If she could just trigger again, maybe she'd wake up back in the "real" world. Or get a power that let her see the seams in this one.
Her mom walked in, saw the cup, saw her, and screamed for her dad. The chemicals went down the drain. The cabinets got locked. Every bottle in the house with a warning label vanished.
After that, the baby-proofing went into overdrive.
No more knives in drawers. No more scissors left out on counters. No more cords dangling where a kid could wrap them around her neck and her dad walked the house like it was a crime scene and she was the suspect.
He wasn't wrong.
Bonesaw tried again.
She sat at the top of the stairs one afternoon, staring down at the bottom until the edges of her vision shook. If she fell just right. If she landed on her neck. If she broke something important…
Buttons sat two steps below her, tail thumping, tongue out, like it was a game.
"Move," she whispered.
He didn't. Just wagged harder.
She stayed there thinking of ways to get him to move, most brutal and cruel but none ever implemented even as her legs went numb and enough times passed that her mom found her.
She kept thinking of new ways. New angles. New trigger events.
It didn't work. None of it worked even when she succeeded in carrying out the self-inflicted torture.
And when the "wake up" plan started feeling pointless, her thoughts went somewhere worse.
If this was the past…
If this was really before the Nine came to her home.
Then Jack was coming.
Part of her was happy at that. The loyal Bonesaw part that still heard his voice when she closed her eyes. Jack, with his easy smile and gentle hands patting her head when she put people through her surgeries. Jack, who told her she was special and brilliant and love Bonesaw for all the art she made.
Bonesaw wanted to see him again so badly it made her shake.
But if he came, the house would end up like it had the first time. Blood on the walls. Buttons on the floor. Riley's dad's arm in the wrong place. Her mother's face—
She cut that thought off every time. To try not to think of that.
Because when she did, her mind started pulling in two directions at once. She wanted her family alive. She wanted Jack to come. Yet she knew she couldn't have both.
Jack wouldn't let her keep them. Not like this. Not as they were. The first time around, he'd made her prove herself using them.
He'd want that again.
So her mind, already cracked, fractured more and did what it always did when it couldn't solve a problem cleanly.
It found a messier solution.
If Jack was going to take them from her, if they were going to die anyways, she should do it first.
She'll put them to rest peacefully, without any pain so they wouldn't suffer like last time.
No more what-ifs. No more wondering if this was real. No more looking at those loving eyes which should never be directed at a monster like her.
Bonesaw would kill them tonight.
She waited until everyone went to bed. Listened to the entire house go quiet except Buttons who curled up on the rug in her room, snoring.
She hopped off the bed and despite landing softly, the dog woke up.
"Stay," she whispered to him as she went towards the door.
He lifted his head, blinked, and then followed her anyway. Of course he did. He hadn't really been trained much as a pup so it had always been 40/60 on whether or not he'd listen to commands. But that was okay, it didn't change the plan.
The kitchen was dark, but she knew the layout even with only moonlight to help. They'd hidden the knives in one of the many locked kitchen cabinets. For a normal six-year-old, that would've been enough.
She dragged a chair over, climbed up on the counter and shakily picked the lock with her hair pins as Button watched.
When the cabinet finally opened with a click of the lock disengaging,her fingers closed around the handle of a carving knife. Heavy. Familiar in a way that made her hate herself and relax at the same time.
She hopped down. Buttons watched from the floor, tail wagging slow like she was going to give him snacks.
Her grip tightened on the knife.
"First you," she told him, quietly. "Then Mom. Then Dad. Then—"
The words caught. Evan's name stuck in her throat.
But If she started with the dog, it'd be easier. That was the logic. Warm-up cut. Build momentum. Get numb enough that by the time she reached the bedrooms she'd be able to do it without thinking.
Her arm lifted. Blade point wobbled.
Buttons' ears perked. He stepped in so close his nose almost bumped the handle as he licked her hand.
He didn't see it. He didn't flinch from it. He just looked at her, eyes dark and soft and stupidly trusting.
Like Evan had.
Like her parents did.
Like Jack never had.
"Stop," she whispered. "Don't look at me like that."
He didn't listen, obviously. He never listened. He just stared up at her like she hung the moon, like she hadn't spent another lifetime elbow-deep in people's chests.
"Don't," she whispered, and she didn't know if she meant him or herself. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not— I'm not—"
Good. Worth it. Riley. Any of the things those eyes said.
The knife shook harder. Her fingers slipped on the hilt, slick with sweat. She could see the angle. The depth. The way the blade would slide between ribs. She just needed to swing.
To kill this stupid—
The knife clattered when it hit the floor. The sound was loud enough in the quiet house to make her flinch.
She didn't even realize it had slipped from her hands just as she barely registered that her vision got blurry and her cheeks wet.
She was crying, she realized. For the first time since she got here, her tears were flowing.
Like that, the wall holding back Riley Grace Davis broke.
Her knees lost strength and she barely registered them hitting the floor. Buttons was on her in an instant, whining with concern and licking the tears on face as she choked out small sobs that built into ugly ones.
Her arms locked around his neck as she buried her face in his fur like it was the only safe place in the world.
"I can't," she choked out, voice breaking. "I can't, I can't, I can't—"
Buttons whined louder in concern, shifting closer, practically trying to crawl into her lap.
"How am I supposed to kill them?" Riley sobbed into his fur. "How can I be Bonesaw when I can't even kill you?"
The words ripped out of her, raw and real in a way nothing had felt since the Nine took her.
She stayed like that, kneeling on the kitchen floor, arms wrapped around a mutt who loved her for no good reason. Her throat burned. Her nose was clogged. Her eyes hurt. Yet she couldn't stop crying.
Footsteps thundered down the hall.
"Riley?" her dad's voice, panicked. "Riley!"
The kitchen light flipped on. She squinted against it, still clutching Buttons like a lifeline as her parents appeared in the entrance.
Her mom gasped at seeing the knife. "Oh my God—Riley!"
They were on her in seconds. Her mom dropped to her knees beside her, hands hovering like she didn't know what to touch first—her face, her hair, her shoulders. Her dad crouched on her other side, one hand steady on her back.
"What happened? Are you hurt? Did you cut yourself?" he asked in a rush, eyes scanning for blood, for wounds, for anything.
Evan appeared a heartbeat later in the doorway, woken by the noise, hair sticking up from sleep. His eyes went wide at the sight of her on the floor and the panicked expressions of her family.
"Riley?" he said, voice small as ran close to her to do his own inspection. "You okay?"
She tried to answer them and just made a broken noise.
Her mom pulled her in, trying to hug her and failing because Buttons was wedged there, refusing to move. So she just wrapped her arms around both of them. Her dad did the same from behind, arms going around her shoulders and over her mom's. Her brothers smaller arms also joined in.
Buttons, squeezed in the middle of all of it, didn't try to break away. If anything, he wriggled happily, tail thumping harder, tongue still trying to lick any face he could reach.
Riley let herself get pulled into the warmth. She clung to her mom's shirt with one hand, to Buttons' fur with the other, and sobbed until the worst of it started to burn out.
"It's okay, baby," her mom murmured into her hair. "You're okay. We've got you."
"We're right here," her dad said. "You're safe princess, nothing bad is going to happen."
Riley squeezed her eyes shut. The words hurt, because they were exactly the ones she wanted to hear and exactly the ones she didn't deserve. She was Bonesaw, after all. She'd torn families just like this apart.
Even so, she wanted them to love her like they always had.
Her voice came out as a shaky whisper.
"If I was bad," she managed, "really bad… would you still love me?"
Her father answered immediately, voice steady and certain.
"Always, Princess.."
Her mom kissed her head. "There is nothing you could ever do that would make us stop loving you. Nothing. Do you hear me?"
Riley tried to protest despite how much it made her heart swell with love. She wanted to tell them they were wrong. That if they knew, really knew, they'd run. But the words tangled and died in her throat.
Evan bumped his forehead lightly against head.
"You're my sister," he said, like it was the simplest fact in the world. "And I'll love my sister forever."
Riley cried harder at that but managed to force out the words she'd been choking on since the moment she saw them.
"I love you guys. I love you so much. I missed you every day and I'm sorry for being a bad girl."
Her family didn't question her, didn't push for any explanation. They just accepted it and whispered how much they loved her back. They stayed there longer than made sense—on the cold tile, under too-bright lights, holding each other while Buttons panted happily.
Eventually, her parents had to get her to bed. This time they all piled into the big bed in their room. Her mom and dad on the sides, her in the middle near her mom as Buttons curled against her chest, Evan lying right across from her next to dad.
The siblings whisper-talked across the blankets, her parents pretending they couldn't hear them. Eventually, Evan couldn't keep his eyes open anymore and drifted off mid-sentence. Riley followed a few minutes later happily.
As the clock struck 12, a month had passed since Riley woke up in this place.
The past. A simulation. The last dream of a dying brain.
She still didn't know which.
But whatever this world was…
She didn't want to leave.
___________________
A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
Quick announcement: the first side story for the fic is almost wrapped up over on Patreon!
It's a three-part special covering the world's first around-the-world superpowered relay:Brockton Bay's boardwalk is the starting line as the Triumvirate—Eidolon, Alexandria, and Legend—go head-to-head with Ten-Zero's speed demons—Gauss, Volt, and Titania—plus a few surprise guests from 1999.
The third and final chapter, dropping Sunday, will feature select members of hex tussling with Leviathan.
If you want to help decide what the next side story is or what kind of chaos I throw at everyone next, consider supporting me on Patreon—your votes there directly steer what I write.
That's enough out of me for now. Peace everyone. Author out!