Wallis slumped over the armrest of the couch, a blanket cocooning her as her head hung limply, purely to feel some blood rush to it.

  “Hey, sit up,” Rosaline’s voice resounded from behind.

  With a groan, Wallis uncurled herself, sitting cross-legged on the cushions just as her mother set two steaming plates on the glass coffee table, which was still chipped from the earlier misfortune.

  “What’s wrong, Wizzie? You look a million miles away.”

  Wallis shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Across from her, her brother Wismel fanned himself with a folded pamphlet, oblivious to her chill. “The animal said I needed to do stretches,” she mumbled, picking up her spoon. “To work my muscles.”

  Rosaline grinned slightly, before tilting her head with concern. She could see the tension in her daughter's posture. “Oh. That again?” she said. “Is it that hard? It shouldn’t make you sick.”

  “I’m not sick, no,” Wallis shook her head, blinking. “He gave me a fright.”

  Rosaline paused, her eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

  “He looks awful,” Wallis shut her eyes with a sour look.

  After a short moment, Rosaline hummed quietly.

  “If there’s anything, tell me.”

  As the mother was turning back toward the kitchen, Wallis' hesitant voice stopped her. “Mom?”

  She turned. “Yes?”

  “When a person gets taller… does their head grow, too?”

  Her mother stared for a long, silent moment, this time. “Not really, no.” She stepped back to the couch and brushed a stray strand of hair from Wallis' face, her smile soft and warm. She was indeed her daughter. “Don’t you worry about things like that, love.” She kissed Wallis’ forehead.

  Wallis offered a small smile in return, then stared down at her meal: a mound of mashed potatoes, a boiled chicken leg, and a bowl of soup.

  “If the head doesn’t grow, where does the brain go?” Wismel asked, his fanning paused. “Shouldn’t it get bigger?”

  “I think the skull just makes room for what’s already there,” Wallis shrugged, scooping up some potatoes. “A healthy mind in a healthy body, or whatever.”

  Wallis swallowed the potatoes, the secret of the Rono sitting heavy in her chest. He hadn’t told her to lie, but explaining what had happened with an elephantine tethered monster to her mother felt like a one-way ticket to the hospital. It wasn't a lie, she told herself—it was just the ‘small picture.’

  Rosaline would find out sooner or later, anyway, and the sooner it is, the better for her.

  She pushed the worries aside; she wasn't going to give herself a headache tonight. Tonight was for resting, happily. Her mom had finally let them eat on the couch, a rare treat for the last day of school.

  “Hmm,” Wismel pondered. “I wonder if in the future we’ll have head-inflators to make people smarter. Can’t just take the skull off; that seems messy.”

  “You are very smart as is,” Wallis mumbled, smirking into her soup.

  “What lizard inspired you to continue thinking?”

  Rosaline returned with her own plate and settled beside her choking child, picking up the remote with a frown.

  “I thought you were gonna space out,” Wallis was coughing, snickering—both children were, in fact, but Wismel was only snickering because his sister was. “That was so random.”

  “What do you want to watch?” Rosaline asked, turning to Wallis, who was still wheezing.

  Wismel reached for his own plate as he put down the paper pamphlet, still chuckling. “You know, I’ve heard of a new movie.”

  “What?”

  “Dropping Rails,” he raised his eyebrows intuitively. “Better than news?”

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  Wallis finally cleared her throat. “I agree.”

  “Okay.”

  As Rosaline searched for the movie, Wallis saw an opportunity. She glanced at Wismel, then slowly slid her arm from under the blanket. With a faint, unnerving slickness, her elbow joint buckled backward at an impossible angle.

  “Hey, Wismel.”

  He turned, a wad of rice puffing out one cheek. “Mmph?”

  “You know how you said taking off the skull doesn’t give you more brains?”

  “Yeah?”

  She gestured to her grotesquely angled arm. “Turns out, dislocating your elbow doesn’t give you extra reach, either.”

  She folded it back into place and tucked it under the blanket, a faint smirk on her lips as she returned to her soup. Wismel swallowed and stared, chopsticks frozen mid-air. He slowly lowered his hand and pointed a finger at his sister, glancing at his mother.

  “OH!”

  Wallis inhaled peacefully, smirking.

  “OH!” Wismel frowned, struggling to form a sentence. “That… That’s a medical concern! Mom.”

  “Ignore her, dear,” Rosaline exhaled heavily, deciding not to look.

  “I’m medically accomplished,” Wallis nodded sagely. She continued cradling her soup.

  The family ate while the movie played. Though Wallis was acting as if they were sitting on ice, the quiet ritual of their gathering was a comfort. Two hours later, the credits rolled. Just as they were about to scatter, Rosaline held up a hand.

  “Wait right there.”

  She slipped out of the room and returned a moment later, holding a white plastic bag behind her back. Wismel, sensing an event, put his phone away. Rosaline sat beside Wallis, a genuine, excited smile on her face.

  “Here. Open this.”

  Wallis took the bag, curiosity finally cutting through her chill. She reached inside and pulled out a small, rectangular box, sleek and white, with a single word printed in elegant, minimalist font. Her breath caught.

  “Mom… is this a Pinestro?” she whispered. She looked from the box to her mother’s beaming face. “It’s a Pinestro!”

  The blanket fell away as she launched herself at her mother, wrapping her in a fierce hug. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou, thank you so much!” The words tumbled out in a rapid, breathless rush, far faster than the slow, deliberate pace she normally forced on herself for the benefit of others.

  “Oh, my love, of course.” Rosaline hugged her back tightly. “You lost your phone; it was only right that I got you a new one. Weasel even helped me pick it out.”

  Wismel rolled his eyes.

  Wallis pulled back, her brow furrowed. “But Mom, these are so expensive. How?”

  “You let me worry about that,” Rosaline smiled. “Besides, your birthday is in a few weeks. Think of it as an early present.”

  Wallis chuckled and picked up the white box, turning it over in her hands. “Okay then.”

  The next hour was spent setting up the new device, a welcome distraction for all three of them. Rosaline confessed she’d bought it that morning, worried her daughter would be crushed by the sudden isolation—being treated like a person of interest, confined to her home, cut off from her friends. But her worries had been for nothing. Wallis and Wismel were creatures of habit and home, content with each other’s company.

  Finally, Wallis gathered her blanket and new phone. “I’m going to my room.”

  “Alright, sweetie,” her mother said. “Remember, we have to be at the branch by six tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

  “Okay. At least it’s not four, like for school,” Wallis said, shuffling away. As she walked, her mother’s eyes narrowed.

  “Wallis, what is that on your feet?”

  Wallis glanced down. “Oh, these? I made them. They’re like sock-covers.” She pointed to the thick, striped green and purple heaps of wool she’d stitched together.

  “You made them? That’s… creative. But I bought you new socks. And why aren’t you wearing slippers?”

  “I’m wearing these over the new socks,” Wallis explained, stopping at her bedroom door. “And none of my slippers fit anymore.”

  “Use your brother’s. He has plenty.”

  “They’re not comfortable,” she said, turning the knob.

  “Wallis, you don’t wear those to bed, do you?” Rosaline called out.

  “My ears must be failing me,” Wallis mumbled, slipping into her specially heated room and closing the door.

  The rest of the evening passed in a quiet haze. She played games on her phone, cleaned her turtle’s bowl, and drifted through the small routines that kept time from collapsing in on itself. Rono was gone, leaving her with a universe of questions spinning in her head.

  She crawled into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. The questions circled in the warm darkness. Was she really the fifth host? Were people watching her right now? She thought of the ‘entanglement’ Rono mentioned and the hypothetical war. Who were the Nevarids, intelligent, and why was water—something so basic—now a threat?

  However, she forced the questions away, for only one truly mattered.

  Reaching for the new phone on her nightstand, she typed a quick search: Are citizens allowed in forests?

  She knew the search was probably being flagged by whatever ghost of those watching her was in her hardware, but she didn’t care. She needed to know.

  With her answer secured, Wallis put her phone on airplane mode, anticipating a restful night. The screen's glow receded, plunging her room into a profound darkness that, paradoxically, revealed more than it concealed. The soft, pervasive warmth from the vents seemed to give form to the air itself. Her blanket remained over her shape. The chair by the door held a faint, lingering heat where her jacket had been, a subtle outline in the cool night. She turned over and closed her eyes.