It spread without announcement.
No one gathered.
No one rehearsed it.
The words just… started landing.
"Big Sis, you want coffee?"
"Big Sis, heads-up—someone's asking questions downstairs."
"Big Sis, don't move, I'll get it."
Each time, Aria reacted the same way.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't sigh.
Didn't pretend she hadn't heard.
She answered.
Like it was normal.
Noah noticed first.
Not the title—but the rhythm.
They weren't saying it with awe anymore.
Or relief.
Or apology.
They said it the way people said home.
He caught her in the hallway later, leaning against the wall scrolling through her phone.
"You know," he said carefully, "it fits now."
She didn't look up. "You're pushing your luck."
"I mean it," he pressed. "Before, it was a role. A weight. Now it's just… you."
That made her pause.
She pocketed the phone. "Back then, it meant I'd clean up everyone's mess."
"And now?"
"Now," she said, "it means you don't make them alone."
They passed a window. Their reflections moved side by side—no ranks, no shadows looming behind them.
Scar-Jaw's voice drifted down the hall. "Big Sis, we're heading out."
"Be back before midnight," Aria replied automatically.
A beat.
"…Yes, Big Sis."
No sarcasm. No resistance.
Noah smiled despite himself.
Later, when things finally quieted and she sat alone on the balcony again, Aria looked out at the city and tested the words silently.
Big Sis.
Not a command.
Not a burden.
A connection.
She exhaled, something easing in her chest.
Yeah.
It sounded right.