By noon the house had gone still.His mother had stepped out to run errands. Yui was at a friend’s, and Mira wouldn’t be home until ter.

  For the first time all week, Ethan was completely alone.

  He stood in his room, motionless, the faint tick of the hallway clock the only sound.The weight on his chest wasn’t just exhaustion anymore — it was pressure, building with every breath, with every hour he’d spent pretending.

  He looked down at the thin chain resting against his hoodie.The neckce shimmered faintly, catching the light.

  He hesitated.

  Every part of him screamed that this was reckless. That someone might come home. That he should wait.But the ache inside wouldn’t stop. The part of him that had been locked away was cwing to be free.

  He lifted his hands.

  For a moment, he just held the csp, heart pounding so loudly it filled his head.Then, before he could second-guess himself, he slipped it loose.

  A faint pulse of warmth rippled through him, soft and weightless — like a sigh after holding your breath too long. The air shimmered, light curling around him like wind through leaves.

  He closed his eyes.

  And when he opened them again, the reflection in the mirror across the room was no longer Ethan.

  Eri stared back — silver-eyed, luminous, alive.Every ounce of tension drained from her shoulders as she breathed out a shaky ugh. Her voice trembled, soft and bright, “I’m… here again.”

  Relief hit so hard she had to sit down. The world felt lighter, colors sharper. For the first time in days, her heartbeat didn’t feel wrong.

  She touched her hair, her ears, her tails — just to be sure, just to feel. And every motion came with a flood of warmth, familiarity, and something like peace.

  Eri smiled through tears she hadn’t noticed forming.

  The silence that had haunted the house all morning was still there, but now it was different — calm, steady, filled with quiet breath instead of dread.

  For the first time since the hospital, she wasn’t pretending.She was herself.

  again.

  For a long time, Eri didn’t move.She just sat there in the quiet, letting her breath come easy for the first time in days.

  The sunlight that poured through her window felt warmer now.Different.

  It danced across the pale strands of her hair and the faint shimmer of her tails where they draped over the edge of the bed, soft and steady like waves.She flexed them slightly — slow, deliberate — and a tiny ugh slipped out of her.

  She’d missed that sound.

  She’d missed the weight of her tails, the faint brush of fur, the feeling of movement that was hers alone. She’d missed how every breath didn’t feel like pretending, how every motion didn’t have to fit into someone else’s shape.

  Eri leaned forward, looking at her reflection again.The girl in the mirror looked back with tired but bright eyes — silver like moonlight on water.Her eyes.

  She touched her face, tracing the soft line of her jaw, then looked at her hands — delicate, steady, no longer trembling from trying to be something she wasn’t.

  “Hi,” she whispered to the reflection, a small, almost shy smile spreading.It was a ridiculous thing to say — but it felt right.

  For a moment, she thought of the past few days — the hospital, the endless exhaustion, the hollow mornings at the table — and it all felt so distant, so muted compared to this quiet relief.

  This was who she was.This was home.

  She pulled her legs up onto the bed and curled her tails around herself in a soft cocoon, warmth wrapping around her like a bnket. Her heartbeat slowed to something gentle, almost melodic.

  “Eri,” she said softly to the air, testing the name again, breathing it out like a secret.It didn’t feel foreign anymore.It just felt true.

  The house was silent, but for once that silence wasn’t heavy — it was peaceful.

  And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Eri let herself smile without guilt.