The quiet didn’t st.

  Eri felt it before she heard it — that subtle shift in the air, the sense that the danger hadn’t passed, only paused. Her ears twitched beneath the curtain of tails, picking up hushed voices moving down the hall again. Closer this time. More focused.

  “…We can’t just leave him in there,” Mira whispered.“I know,” their mom replied, trying to keep her voice steady and failing. “I just… I don’t know what else to do.”

  Eri’s chest tightened painfully at the sound of her. Not Ethan. Not Eri. Just her child. That was how her mom sounded — scared, helpless, grasping.

  There was a soft metallic clink.

  Eri’s ears snapped upright.

  “What’s that?” Yui asked quietly.

  “A paperclip,” Mira said. “I saw it in the junk drawer. Dad showed me once how to open a lock with one.”

  The words hit Eri like ice water.

  No. No, no—

  Her heart began to pound violently, so loud she was sure they’d hear it through the door. Her tails stirred restlessly, the cocoon loosening and tightening again as panic surged through her body. She scrambled upright, paws slipping slightly on the floor as she stared at the door like it might lunge at her.

  Outside, she heard the faint scrape of metal against metal.

  Click.Scrape.Click.

  Her breath hitched. She pressed a hand over her mouth, golden eyes wide, ears fttened hard against her head. The warmth of her tails suddenly felt inadequate — soft fur against a problem that was very solid and very real.

  “Mira,” their mom murmured nervously, “are you sure this is okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Mira admitted. “But if something’s wrong, we can’t just wait.”

  Another scrape. A sharper one this time.

  Eri staggered back from the door, tails fring slightly in her panic before wrapping tight around her legs again. Her mind raced.

  The neckce.It was still clenched in her hand — the only thing that could turn her back into Ethan. The only thing that could make this stop.

  Her fingers grasped it tighter… then stopped.

  If she put it on now, she’d be Ethan again. Trapped. Seen. Questioned. Broken open when she was already splintering.

  If she didn’t—

  The lock clicked faintly.

  Not open. But closer.

  Yui whimpered softly outside. “It’s moving…”

  Eri backed away until her calves hit the bed. She colpsed onto it, tails spilling around her in a chaotic spill of silver-white, breath coming in shallow gasps. Her ears rang. Her vision blurred.

  “Please,” she whispered to no one, voice shaking. “Please don’t open it. Please…”

  The paperclip scraped again. Harder. More desperate.

  Mira cursed under her breath. “It’s stuck. I almost— wait—”

  Eri squeezed her eyes shut, clutching her tails like they were the only solid thing left in the world.

  Every second stretched unbearably long.

  And then—

  Nothing.

  The scraping stopped.

  There was a long, tense silence on the other side of the door.

  “…It’s not working,” Mira finally said, frustration and fear ced together. “The lock’s old. I can’t get it.”

  Their mom exhaled shakily — a sound halfway between relief and despair. “Okay. Okay. Then we stop. We don’t force this.”

  Eri’s entire body sagged.

  Her tails loosened slightly, trembling as they settled back around her. She pressed her forehead into the fur, eyes burning, lungs aching as she tried to breathe normally again.

  Outside, footsteps retreated once more — slower this time, heavier.

  “But we’re not leaving this alone,” her mom said quietly. “Not anymore.”

  Eri heard every word.

  She y there shaking, heart still racing, knowing with painful crity that this wasn’t over. The lock had held — for now — but the world outside was closing in, and she was running out of pces to hide.

  Her grasped tightened on the neckce again.

  Not yet.

  She curled into her tails once more, clinging to the fragile, borrowed safety of being Eri — even as the pressure on the other side of the door continued to grow.

  The house quieted again — not the calm kind, but the fragile, strained silence that comes after panic has burned itself out.

  Footsteps retreated down the hallway. Eri heard Yui’s sniffles fade first, then her mother’s soft, exhausted voice murmuring something she couldn’t quite make out. The front of the house creaked as someone sat down heavily, the sound of a chair dragging across the floor.

  But not all the footsteps left.

  Mira stayed.

  Eri sensed it before she heard anything — that subtle awareness prickling along her ears, the feeling of eyes lingering on the door even through wood and distance. Her tails stirred uneasily, brushing against one another in slow, nervous movements.

  Outside, Mira exhaled sharply.

  “I’m not leaving him like this,” she muttered to herself.

  There was a pause. Then the faint metallic sound returned.

  Eri’s heart lurched.

  The paperclip.

  Mira crouched near the door again, quieter this time, more deliberate. She gnced down the hall once — making sure their mom and Yui were truly gone — then leaned in close to the lock.

  “Ethan,” she said softly, not knocking now, just speaking. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. I don’t know why you won’t talk. But I’m not trying to hurt you, okay?”

  Her voice wavered despite the calm words.

  “I just need to see you. Just to know you’re breathing.”

  Inside the room, Eri froze.

  Her ears fttened. Her chest tightened painfully. She pressed both hands against her mouth, biting back any sound, any whimper that might give her away. Her tails drew closer, instinctively wrapping around her legs and waist, but they couldn’t stop the tremor running through her body.

  Click.Scrape.Pause.

  Mira worked carefully now, slower than before. Less panic, more stubborn focus.

  “I know you hate when people push,” Mira continued quietly. “You always have. But locking yourself in and not answering anyone? That’s not you. Not really.”

  Another soft click.

  Eri squeezed her eyes shut.

  Please don’t. Please don’t open it.

  The neckce y against her chest, warm beneath the fur — a constant, terrible temptation. One movement. One decision. She could become Ethan again before the door opened.

  But the thought made her chest ache so badly she felt sick.

  She couldn’t do it. Not yet.

  Outside, Mira cursed under her breath — then went still.

  “…Wait,” Mira whispered.

  There was a sharper click this time.

  The lock turned.

  Inside the room, Eri’s world shattered into motion.

  Her eyes flew open. Her ears pinned back completely. Her tails fred outward in a reflexive burst of silver-white before snapping back toward her body. She scrambled backward on the bed, cws catching on the sheets, heart pounding so hard she thought she might pass out.

  The doorknob turned.

  Slowly.

  Cautiously.

  Mira pushed the door inward just a crack.

  “Ethan…?” she said, voice low, careful. “I’m coming in. I’m not mad. I swear.”

  The door creaked open another inch.

  Light spilled across the floor — then further, creeping toward the bed.

  Eri curled in on herself as tightly as she could, tails pulling close, wrapping around her shoulders, her head, her face — but there was only so much they could hide. The room suddenly felt enormous and exposed, every breath too loud, every movement dangerous.

  The door opened wider.

  Mira stepped inside.

  And whatever she was expecting to see — her brother curled under bnkets, maybe asleep, maybe crying — it was not this.

  Her breath caught sharply.

  “E—” she started, then stopped.

  Inside the room, the air felt frozen.

  Eri trembled, frozen in pce, eyes wide, ears fttened, ten silver-white tails gathered desperately around her as the st fragile barrier between herself and the truth.

  The door clicked shut softly behind Mira.

  And everything changed.