For a long moment, neither of them moved.

  Mira stood just inside the doorway, one hand still on the knob, her backpack sliding off her shoulder and nding softly against the wall. Her eyes were fixed forward, unblinking, trying to make sense of what was in front of her.

  On the bed was not her brother.

  There was a girl — small, shaking, clearly terrified — with white-silver hair spilling over her shoulders, fox ears fttened tight against her head, and tails. Not one. Not two. Ten long, fluffy tails wrapped around her like a living bnket, trembling with every breath she took.

  Mira’s brain stalled.

  Her mouth opened, then closed again. No sound came out.

  Eri felt it instantly — the weight of being seen. Her heart smmed against her ribs, panic exploding so violently she thought she might bck out. She shrank back instinctively, tails pulling tighter, ears pinned ft as far as they could go. Her hands shook as she clutched the fur around her, eyes wide and glossy.

  Neither of them spoke.

  Mira took a single step forward without meaning to — then stopped herself, as if afraid even the movement might make this shatter.

  “…Ethan?” she whispered.

  The name nded like a knife.

  Eri flinched hard. A small, broken sound escaped her throat before she could stop it — not words, not a scream, just a frightened, breathless noise. She shook her head frantically, curls of white hair slipping into her face.

  Mira’s stomach dropped.

  “No,” she murmured. “No, this isn’t— I’m—”

  She pressed her back against the door, suddenly dizzy. Her heart was racing now too, thoughts tumbling over each other too fast to grab hold of.

  I’m hallucinating.This is stress.I finally lost it.

  But the girl on the bed was still there.

  Breathing. Shaking. Very real.

  Mira swallowed hard and forced herself to look again — really look. The fear wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t posed. It was raw and animal, the kind that came from being cornered with nowhere left to run.

  “I’m not… I’m not going to hurt you,” Mira said quietly, voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady. “Okay? I swear. I just—”

  She stopped, rubbing a hand over her face.

  “I don’t understand what I’m seeing.”

  Eri’s ears twitched at the tone — softer now, not demanding, not loud. Her breathing stuttered as she tried to slow it down. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her throat felt locked shut, every instinct screaming danger even as part of her desperately wanted to believe Mira.

  The neckce rested warm in her grasp, hidden beneath fur. Mira hadn’t noticed it yet.

  Mira crouched slowly, deliberately, lowering herself to Eri’s eye level without coming closer. She kept her hands visible, palms open, like someone approaching a frightened animal.

  “You were in here,” Mira said carefully. “You made that sound earlier. The note… I thought—”

  Her voice cracked.

  “I thought my brother was hurt.”

  That did it.

  Eri’s eyes filled instantly. Tears spilled over before she could stop them, sliding down her cheeks and soaking into the fur of her tails. She shook harder now, shoulders curling inward as a quiet, broken sob escaped her despite her effort to stay silent.

  Mira’s chest tightened painfully.

  “Oh god,” she whispered. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

  She hesitated, then added, almost to herself, “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know how this is possible. But you’re clearly terrified, and I’m not going to make that worse.”

  Eri looked up at her then — just for a second.

  Silver eyes met Mira’s.

  There was recognition there. Familiarity. Pain.

  Mira sucked in a sharp breath.

  Eri froze.

  The silence stretched — heavy, fragile, filled with everything neither of them knew how to say.

  Outside the room, the house remained unaware. No footsteps. No voices. Just the quiet hum of a family holding its breath without knowing why.

  Inside, Mira stayed exactly where she was — kneeling, shaken, staring at something impossible.

  And Eri stayed curled in her ten trembling tails, caught between fear and a fragile, terrifying hope that maybe — just maybe — she wasn’t completely alone anymore.

  Mira stayed where she was for several long seconds after that look passed between them.

  She didn’t move closer. She didn’t stand up. She just breathed — slow, deliberate breaths — forcing her body to calm even while her thoughts screamed.

  Okay, she told herself. Don’t panic. Don’t run. Don’t shout. Whatever this is… she’s scared.

  Mira swallowed and spoke again, her voice quieter now, steadier than she felt.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “I’m Mira. You… already know that, I think.”

  Eri’s ears twitched at the sound of her name. They lifted a fraction before fttening again, as if unsure whether it was safe to react at all. Her tails shifted uneasily, the fur rippling like grass in a nervous breeze.

  Mira noticed everything.

  The way the girl flinched at sudden sounds.The way her hands clenched tight in the fur like a lifeline.The way she kept gncing toward the door, toward escape, even though she clearly had nowhere to go.

  “I’m not going to call Mom or Yui,” Mira said carefully, watching Eri’s reaction. “Not right now. Okay? You’re not in trouble.”

  At that, Eri’s breathing hitched — not worse, just… different. Like something tight in her chest loosened the smallest amount. Her head dipped in a barely-there nod before she could stop herself.

  Mira’s heart skipped.

  She understands me.

  “Thank you,” Mira murmured, though she wasn’t sure why. Then, after a pause, “You don’t have to talk if you can’t. Or don’t want to. We can just… do this slow.”

  She shifted her weight slightly, sitting cross-legged on the floor to make herself smaller, less threatening.

  “I just need to ask a few things so I don’t mess this up, okay?”

  Eri hesitated.

  Her fingers tightened in her tails. Her ears flicked again. Then, after a moment of visible internal struggle, she nodded once. Small. Reluctant.

  Mira let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  “Alright,” she said. “First… are you hurt?”

  Eri shook her head quickly.

  “Good.” Mira gave a faint, relieved smile. “Second… are you stuck like this?”

  That question nded harder.

  Eri froze completely. Her ears drooped. Her gaze fell to the bed, to the tangled white fur around her, to the neckce hidden beneath it. Her shoulders trembled, and for a terrifying moment Mira thought she’d pushed too far.

  Slowly, Eri shook her head again.

  “No,” Mira whispered. “So… this is something that happens?”

  Eri nodded. This time it was clearer.

  Mira’s pulse thudded in her ears. She pressed her lips together, grounding herself before continuing.

  “Okay,” she said. “Then… this might sound stupid, but I need to know.” She met Eri’s eyes gently. “Do you want to be like this right now?”

  Eri’s reaction was instant.

  Her head snapped up. Her silver eyes burned with something fierce and aching. Her ears lifted despite her fear, and for the first time since Mira had entered the room, Eri didn’t hesitate.

  She nodded.

  Hard.

  Once. Twice. Then again, like she was afraid Mira might miss it.

  Mira’s chest hurt.

  “…Okay,” she said softly. “That tells me a lot.”

  She sat there with that truth for a moment, letting it settle.

  Then she spoke again, even gentler than before.

  “I’m guessing… this isn’t something you wanted Mom and Yui or even me to see.”

  Eri’s face crumpled.

  She hugged her tails tighter and shook her head rapidly, a quiet, broken whimper escaping her throat as tears welled again. Her whole body curled inward, shame and fear radiating off her.

  “No, no, hey,” Mira said quickly, holding her hands up. “I get it. I really do. I promise — I won’t tell them. Not unless you say it’s okay.”

  That made Eri pause.

  She looked up slowly, searching Mira’s face like she was trying to decide whether this promise could be real.

  Mira didn’t look away.

  “I swear,” she said. “On everything.”

  Eri stared at her for a long moment — then, hesitantly, she lifted one shaking hand from her tails and pced it over her chest so the neckce rested against it.

  Mira noticed.

  Her eyes flicked to the motion, then back to Eri’s face.

  “…That’s important,” Mira said quietly.

  Eri nodded.

  Mira didn’t ask more. Not yet.

  Instead, she did something small — but deliberate.

  She turned her body slightly sideways, no longer facing Eri head-on.

  A sign of trust.

  “Okay,” Mira said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to stay here with you for a bit. Just us. I won’t touch you. I won’t ask anything you don’t want to answer.”

  She paused.

  “And when Mom or Yui come back, I’ll make sure they don’t come in. I’ll say… Ethan’s sleeping. Or sick. Or both.”

  Eri’s eyes widened.

  A silent question.

  Mira smiled faintly. “I’ve covered for you before,” she said. “You just don’t remember.”

  Eri let out a tiny, shaky breath — almost a ugh, but not quite.

  Her shoulders dropped a little.

  The room didn’t feel safe yet.

  But it didn’t feel like a cage anymore.

  And for the first time since the door had clicked open, Eri stopped shaking quite so hard — listening to Mira’s voice as it gently, carefully tried to build a bridge across the impossible.