Connor Duvall was walking with purpose. The kind of purpose that came with three hours of sleep, two classified briefings, one from a woman who never blinked, and exactly zero emotional preparation.

  He had hoped, with a fragile optimism, that he’d have at least a moment to gather his thoughts.

  To come up with some version of I’ve been secretly watching over you to prevent your soul from becoming a doorway to Hell that didn’t sound like a psychotic break in sentence form.

  I tried my best but they took pieces of you.

  There was a box somewhere he wasn't allowed to look at anymore.

  But as always, fate had its own design.

  And so it was in the park, the one too-close to the school, just barely hidden behind a row of trees and a graffitied bench-that he found her.

  On Kellan.

  Physically.

  Entirely.

  His baby sister, sitting on her handler like she was made of divine right and sarcasm. Her hands on his chest. His hands dangerously close to her hips. The air around them positively screamed with repressed attraction and questionable life choices.

  Connor stopped walking.

  His entire being paused.

  He stared at them like someone watching a house slowly collapse in slow motion.

  “Nope. Absolutely not. This is a hallucination. This is astral backlash from the flight. This is a false memory implanted by a rogue dream entity. This is not real.”

  Kellan looked up first.

  Made eye contact.

  Froze.

  Whispered, “Oh… fuck.”

  Monique turned, confused.

  And locked eyes with her brother.

  Connor made a noise like a window breaking in a windstorm.

  She blinked. “Connor?”

  He wanted to slam his face into the nearest wall.

  He wanted to never remember this moment.

  He was looking anywhere but her.

  At the tree behind her.

  The bench.

  The squirrel who was now his only safe ally in this world.

  He wanted to die.

  “Monique,” he said like he was actively dissociating “get off the boy.”

  She blinked, paused… then slowly slid off Kellan, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.

  Kellan was doing his best to vanish into the grass. He was not succeeding.

  Connor sighed.

  “My sister is not supposed to find people attractive,” he muttered to no one. “ She's supposed to have crushes on fictional vampires and morally gray AI constructs. Not on field agents.”

  He finally looked at her.

  “We’re going to talk,” he said. “And I am going to pretend I didn’t just see what I saw.”

  Monique crossed her arms " No. Im allowed to sit wherever i want, you're acting like this is somehow indecent. Also, He's not a field agent, because I remember your training took like four years.”

  He watched her, arms crossed, chin tilted defiantly, eyes blazing, but before Connor could say anything she continued

  “And child soldiers are a violation of the Geneva convention, which I know your kind” Monique spits on the ground, and that still hurts more than any wound could, his sister cutting right into the depths of his soul. “Thinks is somehow a bad idea but I still doubt they would have allowed that." She stomped forward. "So unless you want me to try if I can get arrested for public fornication, you know, actual indecency, start talking. “

  Connor froze.

  The words hit him like a flurry of precision strikes, fury, logic, and memory, all wrapped up in his baby sister’s voice.

  Suddenly she was right in his face.

  She hugged him.

  “And stop lying to me” she mumbled into his chest.

  Without fanfare. Without permission. Without restraint.

  Just wrapped her arms around him like a girl too small for the world but still trying to hold it all together.

  Connor didn’t move, couldn’t move.

  Because in that moment

  She was four years old again.

  Hiding under his blanket while the walls of their house shuddered from the shouting downstairs.

  Her little hands gripping his hoodie, her breathing shallow and terrified, asking over and over if monsters were real, not because she feared them, but because she wanted them to be.

  Because monsters made more sense than parents who hated each other.

  And he’d tried- heavens ,had he tried, to keep her safe. To distract her with stories, to promise that things would get better. That he’d make them better.

  Connor’s arms came up slowly. Wrapped around her. Held her tight.

  “I didn’t want this for you,” he whispered.

  “I didn’t ask for it,” she whispered back.

  He swallowed hard, voice cracking. “You’re right. About Kellan. He’s not a field agent. Not technically. They let me bend the rules to keep close, Because I knew he could handle you if you ever-” he stopped, couldn’t finish it. “If.” His original proposal had said “when” and he would never forgive himself for that.

  Monique just nodded against his chest.

  “I love you,” he said softly, unwilling to let himself cry while she might still need him to be her rock. .

  “I know,” she murmured. “That’s why I’m still listening.”

  “Do I get a hug too, Brother Dearest~?”

  The voice drifted in like smoke, laced with honey and knives, Monique’s voice, but silkier, more playful. It came not from her lips, but from beside her, like it had slid out from her shadow while no one was looking.

  Like the woman behind the curtain had decided to interfere with the stage-play.

  Connors' frown deepened.

  “What?” he asked, voice suddenly cold and alert.

  Something just breached protocol and maybe reality itself, Military training intruding on this moment with his sister.

  Monique went rigid in his arms, jerking back to stare up at him wide eyed.

  “Y-you can hear her?!?” she screeched, voice jumping three registers in a second.

  Connor didn’t answer.

  He just slowly looked past her, to the space behind and slightly to the left of her.

  And Monique knew exactly where he was looking.

  Behind her, Shuyet shimmered into partial focus, like a processor struggling to load a new object. Eyes gleaming with a knowing light.

  Arms crossed, lips curled into a grin utterly delighted and utterly unrepentant.

  “Well, that escalated deliciously,” Shuyet said, purring. “I like him. He’s got the whole tortured protector thing. You never told me he was so…”

  She smirked, like a cat that learned about carbon monoxide detectors “..tragically repressed.”

  “You remember things better than I do, so why are you acting like you don’t know him?” Monique shouted accusatoryly.

  “Shut up, I’m trying to be mysterious!”

  Connor’s jaw clenched. “Wha- Who the hell is that?”

  “That,” Monique muttered, flailing her arms toward her living shadow, “is me. But also not me. Like, soul me. Goth horndog me. Cryptid therapist me. I don’t fucking know, we haven’t labeled it yet!”

  Shuyet raised an eyebrow “You haven’t labeled, what exactly it is you feel when Naomi looks cute in a dress, you have labeled me. Speaking of labels…”

  Shuyet waved sweetly at her brother. “Hi, Connor. I’m the part of your sister that knows how to flirt, holds grudges, and possibly remembers what the stars smelled like before humanity invented sin. That sounds cool right, Kellan tell me that sounds cool?”

  Kellan gave a deeply confused thumbs up.

  Connor took a slow, deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered something that sounded like “I am going to develop an ulcer.”

  “Cool,” Monique deadpanned. “So you’re saying we need to talk. I thought that was already established. ”

  Ignoring the emotional situation, Shuyet turned on her heel, eyes glittering, and locked onto Kellan like a predator who’d just spotted a gazelle with probable trauma and good bone structure.

  “Hey, big boy,~” she purred, taking a slow step toward him, hips swaying with the kind of exaggerated grace that would make pole dancers say tone it down. “Do you wanna see if we can fol-”

  Monique lunged, actually lunged, like a panicked teacher mid-field trip, because Kevin had lied and couldn’t actually swim.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  She slapped a hand over Shuyet’s mouth with enough force to make a sharp smacking sound, wrapping her other arm around the shadow’s waist.

  “NOPE,” Monique hissed through gritted teeth, face burning red. “We are not finishing that sentence. we are especially not sexually harassing the boy. It's bad enough that you poison my mind with this, you don’t get to poison Kellans as well” Don’t give him ideas, … or false hope, she didn’t say.

  Shuyet’s eyes sparkled above the hand clamped over her mouth, her muffled response somewhere between a snort and a giggle.

  Kellan had frozen several feet away, like a man who had just been almost propositioned by his girlfriend’s metaphysical twin and wasn’t sure if it counted as cheating, which to be fair to him, he was. It would probably be filed under another thing to add to his ever-growing list of Monique related fantasies.

  Connor looked done. Just fully done.

  Arms crossed.

  Eye twitching.

  Put me in a box and be done with this.

  His face was blank in that very specific older brother way that said I’m going to file this memory under ‘repressed’ and never speak of it again.

  “Is this normal now?” he asked, deadpan. “Do you just… tackle your own shadow in public?” Monique didn’t release Shuyet.

  Shuyet managed to mutter, “It’s a Thursday, Connor. Anything goes.”

  Monique groaned and pressed her palm harder onto her shadows mouth.

  Shuyet licked her hand.

  “UGH-” Monique yanked her hand back, wiping it on her skirt. “You’re the worst version of me.”

  Shuyet blew her a kiss. “You’re just jealous I’m uncensored.”

  Shuyet yawned wide, like she’d just finished a long nap instead of nearly committing a public felony.

  She stretched her arms up overhead, shameless and smug as hell, then casually flopped backward into Monique like she was her own fainting couch.

  “Oh btw,” she said, voice lazy and full of shit-stirring glee, “one of the ones I mentioned? The ones who might get active if we get our... bissues- boy issues, sorted out?”

  She twirled her finger in the air, sing-songing, “They’re awake now~”

  Monique stiffened. “What? Who?”

  Shuyet grinned. “Not telling. Not while Big Brother’s here. Get it? Big Brother? Surveillance state? Older sibling? I’m hilarious.”

  Connor just stared at her like she was a subcritical nuclear reactor Monique’s jaw clenched. “You cannot just say that and not tell me.”

  “Watch me,” Shuyet purred.

  Then she blinked lazily and added, far more casually than the sentence warranted:

  “Oh, also the Sleeper? Big thing? Yeah. Dust in the wind.”

  Everyone stared.

  Kellan looked like he was about to spill his soda in fear.

  Connor’s whole being froze. “What do you mean, dust in the wind?”

  Shuyet just shrugged. “I mean it got eaten. Torn up. Probably by thing in our core. Y’know. The one Monique doesn’t remember yet. The one currently missing? No wait. The other one” She waved vaguely. “Anyway. It’s gone. For now. Probably.”

  Monique blinked. “You didn’t think that was important to mention before now?!”

  “I was busy!” Shuyet said, mock-offended. “There was lap-sitting, and thighs, and flirting, and internal screaming. I prioritize. Unlike you. It's not like there was a lot of time. And you don't even know anything so you don't get to complain. ”

  Connor ran a hand over his face.

  He wanted to reboot.

  “So,” he muttered, “to summarize: another one of your metaphysical soul fragments has activated, a proto-eldritch force has been devoured by your inner whatever and your shadow is making sex jokes in public.”

  “Sounds like a Tuesday,” Shuyet offered helpfully.

  It was friday.

  This was the second time Shuyet had used the day of the week as an explanation.

  “Also, Brother,” she said, and that word held weight coming from her, like a sacred key offered only once. “I’m the Shadow. I’m the echo of the person. The hole in which repression is stuffed and sealed and forgotten. The guide to the mystical truth or whatever. ”

  Her eyes gleamed-not with malice this time, but something deeper. Sadder.

  “So yes,” she continued. “My priorities are-in order-Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll. And by my very nature as a fractured part of Monique’s soulscape, I can’t do anything about it. I’m the part that feels everything she won’t let herself feel. Im l'appel du vide. The hunger. The rage. The desire. The grief. The regret. The inherent homoeroticism of showering with your best friend while you talk about what you find attractive and don't quite manage to look at each other. ”

  Monique didn't interrupt, because what was she supposed to say? So she just listened. Jaw tight.

  “And,” Shuyet added, softer now, voice catching just a little, “I would really like a hug though. Because I genuinely-genuinely-love you more than I love any other person alive right now.”

  She glanced at Kellan, then added, “Sorry, boyfriend. We’re not there yet.”

  Kellan held up his hands. “Fair.”

  Connor didn’t speak.

  Didn’t move.

  Just looked at her sharp-edged, distorted mirror of his sister-and saw her.

  Not as a threat. Not as a joke. But as something real.

  And then first awkward, stiff, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. It felt just like it did with Monique.

  Shuyet froze for half a second, like she hadn’t actually expected it.

  Then she melted.

  No drama.

  No snark.

  Just arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed to his shoulder, a single breath released like an exorcism.

  Monique turned away, blinking fast.

  Kellan looked away, giving them privacy.

  Connor held her, and said, very quietly, “You’re part of her. So yeah… I love you too.”

  Shuyet whispered, “Thanks. I’ll go back to being insufferable in ten seconds.”

  He huffed a laugh. “Please do.”

  Shuyet wept.

  Not pretty, aesthetic crying-no delicate single tear sliding down her cheek while she smirked through it. No sarcastic commentary to deflect the weight.

  She wept like a child who had been holding everything in for far, far too long.

  Her whole body shuddered in Connor’s arms, and the sound she made, low, cracked, raw, rattled something deep in Monique’s chest. Something she'd locked away in a box labeled Too Much To Feel.

  “F-fuck…” Shuyet whispered, fingers curling into the back of his jacket. “I didn’t know it was that much.”

  Tears fell freely, weight, memory, pain. Not just water. They shimmered as they hit the earth beneath their feet, and where each one struck, it solidified.

  Transformed.

  Pearls.

  Small, perfect pearls.

  Beautiful impossible , heavy with emotion.

  They thudded softly into the grass like tiny truths given shape.

  Monique stared.

  Kellan stared.

  Connor held still, arms wrapped around her like he understood-not what she was, maybe, but what she carried.

  “That’s why she made you,” he said quietly “. . So she wouldn’t have to.”

  Wouldn't have to feel everything.

  Monique opened her mouth to argue, and found that she couldn’t.

  Because she felt it too now. In her chest. That ache. That pressure. That grief she never gave voice to. The rage. The loneliness. The love, so deep it terrified her.

  All poured into Shuyet. All locked inside. Not on purpose, not exactly unhealthy, but perhaps indulgence where moderation would have been better.

  And now it was coming out.

  Everything.

  In tears like pearls. In words like prayers.

  “I just wanted someone to see me,” Shuyet sobbed. “And not flinch.”

  “You’re seen,” Connor said. “You always were.”

  She believed him.

  Monique stepped forward and took her hand.

  Shuyet squeezed back.

  “Hello,” said another voice-light, firm, and unmistakably familiar.

  Three heads turned in unison-Monique, Shuyet, and Connor-and found themselves staring at yet another version of Monique.

  She stood at the edge of the park path, hands clasped politely in front of her, posture perfect, expression calm but radiating judgment like incense in a temple. Her hair was neatly brushed and pinned. Her outfit was soft pink, subtly floral, and gave off strong honor student energy.

  She was what Monique might’ve looked like if she’d leaned into bows instead of black lace, pastels instead of piercings. A version that wore lip gloss instead of smudged eyeliner. Classically feminine. Inoffensive, white suburban Housewife. Who knew what color hope was, and who knew what confidence in a better tomorrow felt like.

  “I’m Ib,” the girl said simply. “The Heart.”

  She looked from person to person with quiet control. “The others sent me.”

  Kellan whispered, “Oh my god, it’s Pastel Monique.”

  Ib gave him a look.

  Not mean. Not cruel. Just disappointed. Judging. Like a repressed housewife who has discovered her husband cheating yet again but divorce isn't legal and what about the children.

  Monique blinked, then rubbed her temples. “Okay. Okay. What part of my brain was so obsessed with Egyptian mythology that it decided to fracture my soul accordingly?”

  Ib walked closer, her expression unreadable. Her hands never left that perfect little folded position in front of her chest.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way sweetie, you can trust me. I promise.”

  She looked at Shuyet with something like quiet respect, or maybe it was disgust. Or perhaps jealousy.

  It was a very complicated emotion at the least.

  Then her eyes landed on Monique.

  “Do you want to become whole?” Ib asked, voice soft. “Because you’re closer now than you’ve been, in a long long time.”

  Monique stared, too stunned to answer. Monique squinted, finger up like she was trying to string logic through madness with about as much success as a roulette expert had at predicting the next result.

  “If that’s Shuyet,” she gestured to her brother and the woman in question, where the shadow in question gave a two-finger salute while wiping residual tears off her cheeks, “and you’re Ib-”

  “You already asked this question,” Shuyet cut in like a sassy Greek chorus, rolling her eyes.

  “Shut up, Shadow,” Monique snapped automatically, not missing a beat. “Anyway, if that’s Shuyet, and you’re Ib, does that make me the Khet? Or Ba? Or Ka? Or-god help me-Akh? Additionally, why do I even know so much about the bullshit a bunch of dead people believed five thousand years ago?! ”

  Ib nodded slowly, like a teacher pleased with her student’s tentative grasp on cosmological algebra.

  “Yes,” she said, as if that clarified anything.

  Monique scowled. “That’s not an answer.”

  Ib tilted her head slightly. “It is, though. I'm sorry I can't satisfy you honey.”

  Monique twitched.

  Kellan leaned in toward Connor, apparently the shock of a third Monique had convinced him that interacting with his pseudo-employer was fine now. “This is like if a personality quiz came to life and started gaslighting.”

  Connor muttered, “This is why we don’t give teenage girls access to soul constructs.”

  “I heard that,” Monique and both soul fragments said in unison.

  Ib stepped forward, her voice calm and firm. “You’re the vessel. Personality and vital force. You're the framework. The crossroads. What we orbit.”

  Ib’s expression changed just slightly-her eyes distant, her voice quieter.

  “Akh is what happens after.”

  Monique went very still.

  “Akh is what we become,” Ib said, “when all the parts are together. Whole. Awake. Aligned. When our name is true, our power is stable, and our purpose is realized.”

  She looked at Monique with something between reverence and warning.

  “It’s the moment you stop being a haunted girl with a half-broken soul, and become… something else.”

  Monique swallowed hard.

  Behind her, Shuyet murmured:

  “It’s the part where you stop being prey, and start being the storm. The storm, not the hunter. ”

  Monique pinched the bridge of her nose, mumbling as she started mentally categorizing soul pieces like she was studying for a metaphysical exam she definitely hadn’t signed up for.

  “It's so awesome that everyone seems to know more than me, and keeps just saying things. Even I apparently know more than me. “ Monique complained.

  It fell on deaf ears.

  “So by process of elimination,” she said, mostly to herself, “that means Sekhem, Ren, and Sah are still unaccounted for. Assuming there isn’t anything else hiding inside me.”

  There was a pause.

  A beat.

  The kind of silence that trembles before disaster.

  Then-

  “Yeah!” Shuyet chirped from behind her, voice bright,cheerful and full of sin. “You know what else I really want inside of me? Hey Kellan, how about-”

  SMACK.

  Ib, without a flicker of emotion, cracked Shuyet across the back of the head so hard the shadow girl yelped and face planted into the dirt with a startled grunt.

  “Uncouth Brat, I ought to…” Ib said frowning.

  A soft thud followed by a muted, outraged: “Rude.”

  Kellan stood frozen, mid-sip of his drink, which he was now holding at a forty-five degree angle, having narrowly avoided aspirating due to shock. Not avoiding the slow drizzle of liquid flowing down his shirt.

  Connor just sighed through his teeth. “I’ve arrested actual demons that caused less trouble…”

  Monique blinked. “...Why. ”

  “Yes,” Ib said flatly, dusting her hands off with the finality of a nun silencing blasphemy. “Because she needed it. A good and proper spanking does wonders for discipline. ”

  “I have rights! And several ways I could be into this. I might just start moaning.” Shuyet moaned from the grass.

  “No,” Ib said. “You don’t.”

  Monique stared at the broken soul family reunion that was happening in the middle of her after-school special.

  She sighed. “This is my life now. Fuck. ”

  Kellan very, very gently set his drink down before looking at her with the softest kind of horror. “Do you… do you need help?”

  Monique didn’t answer. She just looked up at the sky.