The room felt warmer than before.

  Not because the air had changed, but because the fear had eased just enough to let something gentler take its pce.

  Eri stayed on the bed, curled on her side amid her ten tails, watching Mira with cautious eyes. The tears had slowed, leaving her shes damp and clumped together, her breathing uneven but no longer panicked. She looked smaller now—not physically, but emotionally—like someone who had finally stopped bracing for impact and didn’t quite know what to do with the quiet that followed.

  Mira remained where she was, seated on the edge of the mattress. She hadn’t moved closer since asking permission, hadn’t tried to fill the silence with words. She let it exist.

  After a long moment, Eri shifted.

  It was subtle at first: a tail uncurled, sliding a few inches across the bnket. Then another. Her body loosened its tight coil, inch by inch, until she was no longer hiding completely behind her own fur.

  Her gaze flicked to Mira’s hands.

  Then back to Mira’s face.

  Mira noticed immediately—but she didn’t act on it.

  She waited.

  Eri swallowed, then slowly, tentatively, pushed herself upright. Her movement was awkward, uncertain, like she wasn’t used to choosing to be seen. The tails followed her, rising and settling around her hips and legs, their motion quiet and instinctive.

  She scooted closer on the bed.

  Just a little.

  Mira’s heart clenched.

  She didn’t smile—not yet. She kept her expression calm, open, non-threatening, as if Eri were a skittish animal deciding whether to trust a hand held out in the open.

  Eri stopped a foot away.

  Her ears twitched, rotating toward Mira and then away again, betraying her nerves. One hand lifted, hovered uselessly in the air, then dropped back to her p.

  She looked down, embarrassed by her own hesitation.

  Mira spoke gently. “You don’t have to do anything.”

  Eri shook her head once, small and quick.

  Then—surprising both of them—she leaned forward and rested her forehead lightly against Mira’s shoulder.

  It was barely any weight at all.

  But it might as well have been everything.

  Mira froze for half a heartbeat, then slowly, carefully, rexed. She let herself be still, letting Eri set the pace. She could feel the faint warmth of Eri’s skin through the fabric of her shirt, the soft brush of fur at her arm.

  Eri’s shoulders trembled.

  Mira lifted one hand—not touching yet—and asked softly, “Is this okay?”

  Eri nodded against her shoulder.

  So Mira let her hand settle gently at Eri’s upper back.

  The contact was light. Reassuring. Nothing more.

  Eri exhaled—a long, shaky breath she’d clearly been holding for a while—and leaned in just a little more. Her tails responded instantly, several of them curling inward, instinctively enclosing both of them in a loose, protective arc.

  Mira’s breath caught.

  They were… unbelievably soft.

  Not just fluffy, but warm, alive, faintly vibrating with quiet motion. She could feel them brushing her side, her arm, her leg—never tight, never trapping, just present.

  Eri seemed to realize what they were doing and stiffened slightly.

  Mira murmured, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  Eri hesitated.

  Then rexed again.

  They stayed like that for a while—no words, just shared space and steady breathing. Outside, the house creaked softly. Somewhere down the hall, a door closed. Life went on.

  Inside the room, time slowed.

  Eventually, Mira shifted her hand slightly, fingers brushing against the fur near Eri’s shoulder. She paused immediately, gncing down.

  Eri lifted her head just enough to meet her eyes.

  Mira asked, barely above a whisper, “Can I…?”

  Eri’s ears flicked, then tilted forward.

  She nodded.

  Mira’s fingers moved slowly, cautiously, until they brushed the base of one fox ear.

  The reaction was immediate.

  Eri sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening, her whole body going taut for half a second—then melting.

  A soft, involuntary sound slipped from her throat.

  Not a word.

  A purr.

  It was low and gentle, vibrating through her chest like a small engine finally allowed to idle. Her ears twitched beneath Mira’s fingers, angling instinctively into the touch.

  Mira’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  Eri flushed deeply, color flooding her cheeks as she realized what she’d done. She tried to pull back, mortified—

  —but Mira’s hand stayed, warm and steady.

  “It’s okay,” Mira said quickly. “That’s… that’s kind of amazing.”

  Eri froze, unsure.

  Mira smiled then. Soft. Genuine.

  “You sound comfortable,” she said. “That’s a good thing.”

  Eri hesitated, then slowly rexed again. The purr returned, quieter this time, as if she were trying—and failing—to suppress it.

  Mira adjusted her touch, gently stroking behind Eri’s ear, careful not to tug or startle her. The fur there was soft, and Eri leaned into it without even realizing she was doing so.

  Her tails reacted too.

  One brushed across Mira’s p. Another curled loosely around Mira’s calf, not tight, just resting there. A few of them swayed slowly, contentedly, like they were breathing along with Eri.

  Mira ughed softly under her breath—not out of humor, but wonder.

  “I can’t believe you’ve been carrying all of this by yourself,” she murmured.

  Eri’s purring deepened.

  She shifted, curling sideways so she was half against Mira’s side now, tails spreading more fully around them both. Her head tilted slightly, granting Mira better access to her ear as if by instinct.

  Mira followed the invitation carefully, her fingers moving in slow, soothing motions. When she let her hand drift down, brushing the base of one tail, Eri made a small, surprised sound—

  —but it wasn’t fear.

  It was pleasure. Comfort. Relief.

  The purr grew stronger, resonating through Eri’s entire body.

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to fully rex. Her shoulders dropped. Her jaw unclenched. Her breathing deepened into an easy rhythm.

  She felt… safe.

  Mira could feel it too—the way Eri’s body gradually stopped trembling, the way her tails settled into a gentle, rhythmic sway. Mira adjusted her position so Eri wouldn’t slip, bracing her slightly without holding too tight.

  “You’re okay,” Mira murmured. “I’ve got you.”

  Eri made a soft, contented sound and nuzzled closer without thinking, her forehead resting against Mira’s colrbone. Her tails shifted again, fluffing slightly, enclosing them in warmth.

  Mira stayed very still, letting Eri take whatever comfort she needed.

  After a while, the purring softened but didn’t stop. It became background noise, like rain against a window. Eri’s breathing slowed further, her body heavy with trust.

  Mira brushed her thumb gently along the edge of one ear, watching it twitch.

  “You know,” she said quietly, “you don’t have to disappear to be real.”

  Eri’s purr faltered for a moment.

  Then resumed.

  Mira smiled faintly.

  Outside the room, footsteps approached again—Mom’s voice, hushed and worried, drifting closer. Mira stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away.

  She whispered, “I’ll handle them. You stay right here.”

  Eri nodded, eyes still closed.

  Her tails tightened just a little, as if reluctant to let go.

  Mira gently eased herself free, careful not to disturb her too much. When she stood, Eri made a small protesting sound and reached out instinctively—

  —but Mira caught her hand.

  “I’ll be back,” she promised.

  Eri hesitated… then let go.

  As Mira moved toward the door, she gnced back.

  Eri had curled in on herself again—but not in fear this time. Her tails wrapped around her loosely, comfortably. Her ears twitched in contentment. The purr lingered, soft and steady.

  For the first time, she didn’t look like someone hiding.

  She looked like someone resting.

  And Mira knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever this was—whatever her sibling was becoming—it was something she would protect.

  No matter what.