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Chapter Text

Jayce took a deep breath and looked around as he walked down the aisle with his mom on his arm. He looked over and saw Caitlyn seated in the front row along with her parents. Next to her was Heimerdinger wiping his eyes with a tissue, and on the other side of him sat Mel beaming at him. Jayce turned to his mom and gave a huge smile. She turned and met him with one and teary eyes.

“Jayce, my baby boy, I love you so much,” Ximena whispered to him as they came to the altar.

“Mom, I love you too.” He whispered back. Ximena turned back and went to sit down. Jayce went up and stood by the pastor. Jayce was beaming from ear to ear and could not imagine being anywhere else. Viktor and Jayce had been through a lot but in the end, it had all led them here. To this moment. Jayce bit back a laugh at the thought, he was getting married to Viktor! The love of his life!

The music changed and in walked Viktor, in his white suit. Jayce only had eyes for him and everyone simply disappeared. Jayce’s mouth opened a little as he took in the sight of his soon-to-be husband. Viktor’s hair was slightly curled and his suit had a single red rose that matched Jayce’s. His face lit up when they met Jayce’s. Viktor looked beautiful. Once he arrived at the altar Jayce felt the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t care. Today was about him and Viktor, and he didn’t care who saw him get emotional about it. What only mattered today was Viktor.

The pastor started to talk but Jayce didn’t hear him. It was only when Viktor started talking that he became aware of other people again. “Jayce stop staring. People are starting to notice.” He said with a smirk.

“I don’t care. You are so fucking beautiful. I can’t believe I am marrying you right now.” Jayce whispered back. He took Viktor’s hand in his and kept staring. Viktor’s smirk softened into a smile and kept his eyes on Jayce. They stayed like that for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes without another care in the world. Before Jayce knew it was time for the vows.

Jayce cleared his throat, “Viktor, you are the love of my life. You complete me in every way. I don’t know where my life would be without you. When I first saw you in class I was immediately drawn to you and knew I wanted you in my life. I had no idea that we would end up here,” Jayce’s voice cracked a little, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You have been with me through the hardest times of my life, and also the best times. My promise to you is this: I will always be there to support your dreams, to be there by your side, to laugh and cry with you, and to be partners throughout life. I vow to love you for the rest of my days.” Viktor turned away and brushed tears from his cheeks.

Then he turned to Jayce. “Jayce, I always thought of myself as a logical person and had my whole life planned out. But when I met you five years ago my whole world changed. For the better. You help me find the fun in life and not to take everything so seriously. I know these last five years have been a long ride, but it led here. That is something that I will always be grateful for. Now I am ready to go through life with you and whatever life throws at us, I know that I can handle it because you will be with me. My husband, I promise to cry with you, to hold you, to laugh with you, to care for you, and to always love you.” Jayce was a mess by the end and used both his hands to wipe the tears on his cheeks.

Jayce turned to find Cait holding the rings. He took one and said, “With this ring, I thee wed.” Then took Viktor’s left hand and slid the ring on his ring finger. Cait gave the other ring to Vik.

Holding up the ring he said, “With this ring, I thee wed.” Viktor took Jayce’s left hand and slid the ring up his ring finger.

The pastor then spoke, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married!”

Jayce quickly met Viktor in the middle of the altar and they smashed their lips together. They barely heard everyone cheering. Viktor’s lips were hot and soft and Jayce’s moved around them like his life depended on it. His hand came around to the top of Viktor’s head and pulled him into deepen the kiss. Vik pushed his body closer until they were pressed up against each other. Viktor is my husband. Jayce thought in complete utter bliss. This moment was perfect, he was kissing the love of his life as a newlywed. They eventually parted and shared one look before they turned to the crowd. Everyone was clapping and shouting. Jayce looked over his shoulder and smiled at his husband one last time before they moved to the crowd.

Chapter Text

Victor shifted in bed and turned to look at his husband. After six months, he was still getting used to calling Jayce that. His husband. Victor smiled at his sleeping partner and took a moment to admire him. Jayce looked so peaceful as his whole face was relaxed smoothing out all the crinkles. He was so lucky. After a moment of watching Jayce, he pulled himself up, grabbed his cane by the bed, and shuffled out of bed. It was six in the morning and Victor wanted to get a start on the day.

He maneuvered around their room quietly and gathered things before he took one last look at Jayce and quietly shut the door. He then went and got a shower and started working on breakfast for Jayce and him. It wasn’t long after he started breakfast that Jayce walked into the kitchen.

“You could’ve woke me up when you showered,” Jayce grumbled, his voice thick with sleep. His hair was a wild mess, sticking out in every direction like he’d been wrestling with his pillow all night. His eyes, still heavy with the remnants of sleep, were glazed, and he covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned, revealing the faintest hint of stubble along his jaw. Viktor couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him—disheveled, still half in the haze of slumber, and utterly endearing. Viktor loved when Jayce woke up like this, reminding him that only he could see his husband in such a vulnerable, unguarded state.

“I figured you could use the extra sleep,” Viktor said, turning back to the eggs he was cooking on the stove. “Considering how late you got back last night.” Jayce had been at a party for something—Viktor wasn’t sure what exactly—but people always loved to chat with him about their projects, and Viktor was perfectly fine staying home. Even though Jayce would often try to convince him to join, some nights he’d go, but last night his leg had been bothering him more than usual. He knew walking around all night would only make it worse.

“But you know that I love to shower with you,” Jayce whined, his voice still thick with sleep. Viktor hummed in response, dishing out the eggs and balancing the plates in one arm. He grabbed his cane with the other and walked to the table, setting one plate down in front of Jayce. He took a seat across from him, glancing at his husband who was still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“I know, lásko,” Viktor sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But you need your sleep. And we can do that later tonight if you wish.”

Jayce leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head before taking his first bite of eggs. “Mmm, later sounds nice,” he mumbled, chewing. Viktor smiled fondly as he began to eat.

After a moment, Jayce swallowed and glanced at him, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

Viktor gave a small smile. “Well, it’s Saturday, so we could go work at the lab. But we do have some errands to run around town.” Jayce chewed slowly, his brow furrowing slightly. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We probably need to run errands, like the responsible adults we are,” he said with a smirk, rolling his eyes as he took another bite. “Plus, we need food for tomorrow.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow at his husband’s cheeky grin. “Right. We’ve been living off eggs and takeout for the past week. Our fridge is practically empty.”

Jayce snorted, nodding. “Yeah, I’m starting to miss vegetables. And you know how Mom gets with food. She’ll want a feast.”

Viktor chuckled softly, nodding. “I know, she’ll be expecting something special tomorrow. Well then, it’s settled. We’ll go grocery shopping.”

Jayce grinned, his eyes twinkling as he reached for more eggs. “Sounds like a plan. Just don’t expect me to carry all the bags this time.”

They finished eating, and Jayce helped Viktor clean up. They got ready and were out the door in an hour. Jayce drove while Viktor sat in the passenger seat, and they chatted about simple things on the way to the store. Jayce casually placed his hand on Viktor’s leg, rubbing it gently. When they first met and started working together, Viktor felt uncomfortable with the amount of physical touch Jayce gave him. Over time, though, he realized that Jayce was mostly unaware of it and simply didn’t mind. Now, married to Jayce, Viktor understood how important physical touch was to him—and he didn’t mind it anymore. In fact, he craved it. Jayce was the only person Viktor felt completely at ease with.

Viktor put his hand on Jayce’s and looked out the window. He watched the children playing at the park they passed, feeling a pang of sadness in his heart. His frown deepened. Viktor had never really considered becoming a father. It wasn’t something he had ever dreamed of, but recently, something had shifted. Lately, his life felt like it was missing something—something big. The idea of having a child, of raising a little one with Jayce, had started to consume his thoughts. It felt both foreign and familiar, a longing he wasn’t sure he was ready to face. He quickly brushed the thought away, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.

“Honey, what’s on your mind? You’re being quiet.” Jayce asked, glancing over his shoulder as Viktor turned to meet his gaze.

“Nothing of importance,” Viktor said and Jayce didn’t press him. They pulled into the parking lot and went inside the store. They walked through the aisles, gathering items and food for tomorrow and the week ahead.

Everywhere Viktor looked, there were little kids with their parents—running, laughing, being held. Each sight felt like a quiet reminder of something he didn’t have, something he hadn’t realized he wanted until recently. The aching thought crept back into his mind: what if he and Jayce could raise a child together? What would that be like? What would it feel like to have a child of their own to love and nurture?

Viktor had never talked to Jayce about having children. It had never come up before. They were both so focused on their careers and their work, but now Viktor couldn’t help but wonder if he was ready to make a change. What if Jayce didn’t want kids? What if he didn’t want to make that kind of commitment? He could imagine the exhaustion and the challenges—but also the joy of watching a child grow, the little moments of happiness, and the way a family could bond.

Life was so good right now. He knew that. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt a sense of urgency—a feeling that maybe they could be even happier if they had a child. But what if that ruined everything? What if he was just imagining something that wasn’t meant to be? He kept his thoughts to himself as they checked out, not daring to bring it up just yet. Viktor couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that this desire to have a child wasn’t something he could ignore forever. He couldn’t help wondering how long he would be able to keep it inside, and if he could ever gather the courage to talk to Jayce about it.

*****

Jayce knew that something was on Viktor’s mind. He had known for a while now. For the past couple of months, he would catch Viktor staring off into the distance or suddenly going quiet, as his thoughts had drifted somewhere far away. But Jayce didn’t want to press him. Viktor would tell him when he was ready.

But Jayce had something on his mind too, something that he wasn’t sure how to bring up. He wasn’t sure how Viktor would take it, considering they had never talked about it before. Before Viktor, Jayce had always assumed he would get married and have kids—it was just part of the plan, part of his idea of a future. But Viktor and he had never broached the subject. Jayce had always seen himself as a family man, but Viktor... Viktor didn’t seem like the type to want kids. He was so focused on his projects, his work, that Jayce had convinced himself the thought of adopting had never even crossed his mind.

For months, Jayce had buried the urge to bring it up. He kept it locked away, trying to convince himself it wasn’t that important. But now, every time they passed a family, every time he saw kids running around the park or laughing with their parents, a wave of sadness washed over him. It reminded him that he would never have that. It wasn’t Viktor’s fault; Jayce hadn’t even given him a chance to share his thoughts. He hadn’t said anything, so how could he expect Viktor to know? But still, Jayce hesitated. He wasn’t sure how Viktor would feel about it, or if it was even something they could talk about.

As they walked around the store, he found himself wondering if he would ever be here with a child of his own—pushing a cart down the aisles, picking out groceries for the week, laughing with a little one by his side. Would that ever be their reality? Or was it just a dream he’d have to bury? The drive home was filled with silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. Anything with Viktor was rarely awkward anymore. They knew everything about each other, their secrets laid bare over the years. Well, almost everything. There were still the things they were both refusing to talk about. The unspoken words lingered between them, thick and heavy, and it wasn’t fair.

As they drove past the park, Jayce glanced at the families, and at the kids. A lump formed in his throat. The longing in his heart seemed to swell, and he realized then—he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer. He needed to tell Viktor what had been weighing on him. This silent torture had to end. Even if Viktor didn’t share his desire to adopt, even if he didn’t feel the same way, they could figure out what to do next. Together. It wasn’t fair to Viktor. Not to keep him in the dark about something so important. Not to make him feel like he had to guess what was bothering Jayce.

"I need to tell him," Jayce thought as the car coasted toward their driveway. He wasn’t sure how Viktor would take it, but he was certain of one thing: it was time to let him in.

*****

Later that night, Viktor and Jayce began to make dinner together. It had become such a natural part of their routine that it was almost like second nature. They moved around the kitchen in a synchronized dance, one that had developed long before they were married, back when they had been living together and learning how to share space and responsibilities. There was a rhythm to it now, a flow that didn’t require words. Jayce turned on some music, the upbeat melody filling the air, and started singing along. His voice, loud and carefree, rang through the room, and Viktor couldn’t help but smile.

Viktor began humming along, matching the tune, though his voice was quieter, blending in the background. He didn’t need to sing loud to enjoy the moment. As the meat finished cooking, Jayce shifted his focus, moving to set the table. Viktor chopped lettuce and tomatoes, slicing them carefully as he organized his thoughts. Just as he picked up the containers to take to the table, Jayce beat him to it.

Jayce flashed him a quick smile, still singing to the music as he carried the bowls, looking at Viktor with a playful glint in his eye. Viktor couldn’t hold back his laughter, the lightness of the moment making him feel warm inside. He smiled back, the simple joy of the evening settling in his chest. As Jayce continued to hum, Viktor walked toward the table, the two of them falling into their easy rhythm once again, content in the unspoken understanding that had come with years of shared meals and memories.

*****

At the beginning of their relationship, it had bothered Viktor when Jayce would help him. He thought it was because of his leg, the cane, and the way he limped. Viktor assumed that Jayce saw him as helpless, as someone who needed to be taken care of, and he resented it. He had always been independent, forced to take care of himself for years. To have someone step in and do things for him felt like an implication that he couldn’t handle it on his own.

But over time, Viktor realized he had been wrong. Jayce didn’t do it out of pity. He had watched Jayce with other people—holding doors open for strangers, offering his arm to his mother, helping a neighbor carry groceries. It was just the way Jayce was. It wasn’t about weakness; it was about care, love, and respect. It was simply how he showed that he cared.

One night, after they had been dating for a while, they were snuggled on the couch, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. Jayce’s head rested on Viktor’s chest, and Viktor absentmindedly played with Jayce’s hair as they relaxed together. The soft hum of the music playing in the background added to the intimacy of the moment, but Viktor felt a familiar weight in his chest—something he couldn’t shake. He hesitated for a moment before breaking the silence.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice was soft, a little uncertain.

“Hmmm…” Jayce mumbled, not lifting his head but looking up at Viktor with an almost sleepy expression.

“It bothers me when you do things for me,” Viktor confessed, his fingers still gently running through Jayce’s hair. He wasn’t sure how to say it, but it had been on his mind for too long now.

“What do you mean, Vik?” Jayce turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting Viktor’s. There was a slight furrow in his brow, concern in his gaze.

Viktor let out a heavy sigh and looked away, his gaze drifting to the window, watching the soft glow of the streetlights outside. “Like… when you offer your hand to help me get up or take things from me because you think I can’t hold them all. Or when you step in and defend me when someone says something stupid.” He slumped further into the couch, his arm pulling away from Jayce’s hair. His voice trailed off, a tinge of frustration in his tone. “It just… I feel like you think I’m helpless and weak. That I can’t do those things for myself. But I’ve had to do all of those things by myself for years, Jayce. And… I don’t know, it makes me feel like I’m not enough.”

His words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Jayce shifted beside him, moving with a quiet intensity. He gently reached for Viktor’s face, turning it toward him so that they were looking directly at each other. Viktor didn’t see pity in Jayce’s eyes, though. What he saw was something deeper, something far more reassuring—love. Not the kind of love that made you feel sorry for someone, but the kind that made you feel seen and understood.

“Viktor,” Jayce said softly, his voice steady but filled with warmth. “I don’t think you’re helpless or weak. In fact, you’re the strongest person I know. I’ve watched you take on so much, carry so much, all on your own. You’ve been doing it for years, and I admire you for it. I’m sorry that my actions made you feel like I didn’t see that. But I don’t do it out of pity. I do it because I love you. I care about you so much, and I want to show you that. I want to be there for you.” He paused, his eyes never leaving Viktor’s, before adding, “So damn much.”

Viktor tried to look away again, but Jayce’s hand was gentle but firm, keeping him grounded. Jayce leaned in, brushing his lips softly against Viktor’s, and in that moment, Viktor’s mind went blank. The world around them seemed to fall away as all the noise, all the confusion, melted into the simplicity of Jayce’s kiss.

When Jayce pulled back, Viktor felt a warmth spread through him. But then, he noticed something—his cheeks were wet. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. Jayce didn’t say anything, but with tenderness, he wiped away the tears with his thumb, caressing his face as he did so.

“Thank you,” Viktor whispered, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion. “I needed to hear that.”

Jayce didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turned around and positioned himself so that he was lying beside Viktor, his body a comforting presence. Then, as if instinctively knowing what Viktor needed, Jayce motioned for him to lie on top of him. “Baby, let me hold you for a second,” Jayce murmured softly, his arms already open, welcoming.

Viktor didn’t know how Jayce knew, but in that moment, he realized how much he needed this—needed to feel held, to feel safe. Without saying a word, Viktor moved into Jayce’s embrace, snuggling into his chest and burying his face there, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Jayce’s strong arms wrapped around him, and for the first time in a long time, Viktor allowed himself to break down. More tears fell, but they weren’t just tears of sadness—they were tears of release, of finally letting go.

Jayce started humming softly, a gentle, comforting melody as if to soothe Viktor, and slowly, the tears began to stop. After a while, Jayce’s voice, low and gentle, broke the silence. “I know you think you have to do everything, Viktor. I know you think you have to hold it all together. But with me… you don’t have to. It’s okay to be taken care of. It’s okay to let me take care of you, baby.”

Viktor’s heart swelled with emotion, and as he lay there in Jayce’s arms, he realized just how much love was there between them. Not pity. Not weakness. Just love.

*****

They sat at the table, the warm scent of tacos still hanging in the air as they ate. Laughter filled the room as Jayce made a few jokes about how Viktor could never seem to fold a tortilla properly, even though he always insisted on trying. Viktor rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound easy and relaxed. It felt like normal like it always did when they were together. But even in the midst of the comfort, Viktor felt a slight emptiness—something or someone was missing from the dinner. He tried to brush it off, focusing on the food and the lighthearted banter between them.

“Want to help me clean up?” Viktor asked as he stood to clear the table.

Jayce raised an eyebrow, “Oh, you’re just going to make me do all the work, huh?” He laughed, but he was already on his feet, walking to the sink. The dishes clinked as they washed up together, the sound of running water mixing with the soft hum of a song from the radio in the background. It was simple, but it felt like everything they needed at the moment. After the last dish was dried and put away, Jayce turned to Viktor with that mischievous smile he loved so much.

“So… shower?” Jayce asked, his voice light and teasing as he shot Viktor a quirky look, his eyes sparkling with playfulness.

Viktor smirked, the corners of his lips curling upward. “I suppose,” he replied, his voice laced with that familiar sarcasm, but his eyes softened as they met Jayce’s.

Jayce didn’t waste any time. With a swift turn, he walked down the hall toward their bedroom, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet house. Viktor watched him go, feeling a slight warmth fill his chest, but also a small knot of something unspoken. After a few seconds, Viktor heard the unmistakable sound of the shower turning on, the water running with a gentle hiss. Viktor lingered for a moment, staring at the doorway to their room. He could feel his heart beating a little faster, and yet, he moved slowly, letting the minutes stretch between them. He wasn’t in any rush, not tonight.

Finally, with a deep breath, Viktor pushed himself off the counter and made his way down the hall. He took his time, each step feeling heavier than the last as he thought about what was missing. He didn’t know how to bring it up, how to tell Jayce about the growing desire to be a father, about the longing he couldn’t shake. He hadn’t expected the weight of it to settle so heavily, not now, not when everything else seemed so perfect.

*****

Jayce felt the cold water on his skin as he stepped into the shower. The water sent shivers down his spine while he tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted to start the conversation while they were in bed and after the shower while they both were relaxed. Right now he felt tense and couldn’t stop thinking about what Viktor would say. The water became warm and steam started to curl around him. The door to their room was wide and Jayce could hear Viktor’s cane tapping in the hallway. Jayce turned his face to the shower head and let his face get covered with water. He heard Viktor grunting as he took off his clothes and he turned against the water trying to feel comfortable. He tried to push his thoughts from his mind and relax. He could overthink later. Viktor’s cane became louder but Jayce didn’t look at him. He clenched his fists together and took deep breaths, now was not the time to spiral!

The door of the shower opened and Jayce met Viktor’s eyes. Steam wrapped them in a cocoon of warmth, and the sound of the water filled the space between their shallow breaths. Viktor’s cane had been left just outside, propped against the wall, forgotten as he reached for Jayce.

“Lásko, what’s wrong?” Viktor asked softly, his fingers ghosting along Jayce’s cheek. The gentle concern in his voice made Jayce’s chest tighten. He wanted to say something, to put words to the tangled thoughts in his head, but now wasn’t the time. Not yet. Instead of answering, Jayce leaned down, pressing his lips to Viktor’s neck, letting his kisses speak for him. He felt the way Viktor tensed for half a second before exhaling a shaky breath, tilting his head slightly to give Jayce more access.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” Viktor murmured, his voice uneven, but Jayce could hear the way his breath hitched as Jayce kissed along the curve of his jaw.

“I want to,” Jayce whispered against his skin, his voice low, rough with something he didn’t know how to name.

Viktor’s eyes fluttered shut as Jayce captured his lips, slow and deep, their bodies pressing together, water running down their skin in rivulets. The heat between them built like a slow burn, spreading from where their hands roamed—Jayce’s fingers tracing the ridges of Viktor’s spine, Viktor’s hands clutching at Jayce’s shoulders, steadying himself.

Jayce backed him against the cool tile, his body a contrast of warmth against Viktor’s. The temperature difference made Viktor shudder, his fingers tightening against Jayce’s skin, pulling him closer. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, the kind that left Jayce breathless and Viktor gripping him like he was the only thing keeping him steady. Jayce traced his hands along Viktor’s sides, feeling every shift, every small tremble in response to his touch.

Water dripped from their hair, sliding down their faces, tracing the curves of their bodies as they lost themselves in each other. Jayce could feel Viktor’s breath stutter against his lips, his grip tightening on Jayce’s arms as he leaned in, pressing their bodies closer. Jayce groaned softly, running his hands down Viktor’s back, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before dipping lower, tracing kisses down his throat, tasting the warmth of his skin beneath the water. Viktor gasped, tilting his head back slightly, his fingers threading into Jayce’s damp hair.

Time felt strange, stretched out like the heat of the shower had melted away everything outside this moment. It was just them—just the way Viktor felt under his hands, the way his breath hitched at every touch, the way the water streamed down their skin, washing everything else away.

Jayce pulled back just enough to look at him, his breath still uneven. Viktor’s lips were swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded, and his chest rising and falling with each deep inhale. He looked beautiful like this, water droplets catching on his lashes, his damp hair sticking to his forehead.

Jayce lifted a hand, brushing Viktor’s hair back, watching the way he leaned into the touch. He traced his fingers down Viktor’s jaw, letting his thumb graze across his bottom lip before tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. A small, breathy laugh escaped Viktor as he exhaled, his lips curling slightly. He ran his fingers along Jayce’s arm, his touch lingering.

“Shower now” Viktor murmured, voice thick with warmth, his accent heavier than usual. Jayce let out a quiet chuckle, his forehead pressing against Viktor’s for a moment before he pulled back slightly, reaching for the soap. His hands found Viktor’s shoulders first, rubbing the lather into his skin, massaging the tension there with slow, steady pressure. He felt Viktor sigh against him, his body relaxing as Jayce worked his way down, his fingers moving over each ridge of muscle, each familiar curve of his body.

Viktor returned the gesture, his hands smoothing over Jayce’s chest, trailing down his sides, mirroring his movements. His touch was slow, and deliberate, not just cleaning but exploring, and memorizing. Jayce closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the feeling, the warmth of Viktor’s hands, the steady rhythm of water falling around them. They didn’t rush. They took their time, washing each other with quiet, unspoken affection, their hands lingering, their fingers brushing, their bodies still drawn together.

At some point, Jayce turned Viktor around gently, his hands sliding over his back, massaging along his spine before working down his arms, washing away the remnants of the day. Viktor sighed again, tilting his head forward slightly, letting Jayce take care of him.

Jayce pressed a kiss to Viktor’s shoulder before murmuring, “Turn around.”

Viktor did, his eyes meeting Jayce’s, something unspoken passing between them. Jayce ran his fingers over Viktor’s cheek one last time before tilting his chin up and kissing him again, slower this time, softer. By the time they finished, the tension in Jayce’s chest had loosened, the heaviness that had been weighing on him replaced by something quieter, something steadier.

Viktor reached for the faucet, turning the water off, the sudden silence leaving only the sound of their breathing between them. He turned back to Jayce, his fingers trailing along his arm before lacing their fingers together. Jayce exhaled, squeezing Viktor’s hand as they stepped out of the shower, steam still curling around them, the warmth lingering on their skin.

As they stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in warm towels, Jayce kept Viktor’s hand in his, their fingers loosely intertwined. The air was cooler outside the steamy bathroom, sending a slight shiver down Viktor’s spine. Jayce noticed and instinctively pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple as they made their way to their bed.

Just as Viktor was about to sit down, Jayce tugged gently on his hand, stopping him. Viktor turned, meeting his gaze, brows raised slightly in curiosity. Jayce took a deep breath, his thumb brushing over Viktor’s knuckles before he spoke.

“Thank you,” Jayce murmured, his voice soft but full of something raw and real. “For letting me take care of you. I needed to do that.”

Viktor blinked, his expression shifting into something softer, something knowing. He squeezed Jayce’s hand, running his thumb in slow circles along the back of it. “You always take care of me,” Viktor said, tilting his head slightly. “Even when I don’t ask.”

Jayce let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, but… tonight felt different.” He cupped Viktor’s face, his hands still warm from the shower. “I love you, Vik.”

Viktor’s breath caught, his eyes searching Jayce’s face for a moment before he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to Jayce’s lips. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against Jayce’s, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too, Jayce.”

They stood there for a moment, just breathing each other in before Viktor tugged him toward the bed. “Come to bed,” he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips.

Jayce followed without hesitation, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only came after a long, warm shower together, where steam curled in the air and tired bodies melted into each other’s touch. The soft hum of the city outside filtered in through the window, distant and unobtrusive. Inside, beneath the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Jayce lay against Viktor’s chest, his ear pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was calming, grounding. Viktor’s fingers idly ran through Jayce wet curled hair, slow and gentle, lulling him into a rare moment of complete ease. 

Jayce traced small, absent-minded patterns across Viktor’s bare skin, his fingertips gliding over old scars and sharp collarbones. He wanted to hold onto this feeling forever—the warmth, the quiet intimacy, the knowledge that, here, he was safe. 

But he knew it was time to tell Viktor what was on his mind.

He swallowed hard, debating whether or not to speak. He almost didn’t. But the thoughts that had been lingering for months now, creeping into his mind in the quiet moments, settling into the corners of his heart no matter how hard he tried to push it away. 

“…Viktor?” Jayce’s voice was barely above a whisper, hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to be heard. 

The fingers in his hair slowed but didn’t stop. 

“Yes, love?” Viktor murmured, his voice tinged with sleep but still attentive. 

Jayce exhaled shakily. He turned his head, resting his chin against Viktor’s chest so he could see his face. Their eyes met—soft brown and sharp amber—and Jayce’s resolve wavered. He looked away, biting the inside of his cheek.

He wasn’t even sure why he was nervous. This was Viktor. There wasn’t a single thing Jayce couldn’t tell him, and yet… he still hesitated. 

“I… I want to talk to you about something,” he finally admitted, his voice strained. “Something that’s been on my mind for a while now. And I know it might ruin the mood, so we don’t have to do this right now if you don’t want to.” 

Viktor hummed, tilting his head slightly. “If it is what has been troubling you, then we should talk about it.” His hand slid from Jayce’s hair to his back, rubbing slow, comforting circles. “You know you can tell me anything, miláček. We will figure it out together.” 

Jayce exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

This was it. 

He slowly sat up, shifting so he could face Viktor properly. His fingers curled around Viktor’s hand, squeezing it lightly as he gathered his thoughts. Viktor watched him patiently, no trace of frustration or worry on his face. Just quiet curiosity and the unwavering trust that Jayce had come to cherish more than anything. Jayce licked his lips and took a steadying breath. 

“Viktor, you have every right to feel however you want about this. But I need to tell you how I feel.” His grip on Viktor’s hand tightened slightly, grounding himself. “These last six months… they’ve been incredible. I love being married to you. I love the life we’ve built together. And I will never regret a single second of it.” 

Viktor’s expression softened, his thumb brushing over the back of Jayce’s hand in silent reassurance. 

Jayce swallowed again, his heart pounding. 

“But… something’s been missing,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “For months, I’ve tried to ignore it, to push it down. But every time I see a family—see a kid running down the street, laughing with their parents—I can’t help but want that. Us, having that.” He exhaled slowly, searching Viktor’s face for a reaction. “I want to adopt a child, Vik.” 

Viktor inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly in Jayce’s grasp. He didn’t pull away, but he also didn’t speak right away. 

Jayce forced himself to keep talking. 

“I know we’ve never talked about this before,” he continued, his voice steady despite the nervous knot in his stomach. “And I don’t expect you to have an answer right now. I want to know how you feel about it, whatever that may be. If this isn’t something you want, I will respect that. I promise. But I had to tell you. Because I’ve been carrying this for months, and I—I don’t want to keep it from you.” 

Silence stretched between them. 

Jayce held his breath, his thumb anxiously rubbing small circles against Viktor’s palm. His husband’s expression was unreadable, his golden eyes distant as he processed the words that had just been laid in front of him. 

Jayce didn’t push. Didn’t speak. 

This wasn’t a small thing. It wasn’t a question of what to have for dinner or what project to take on next. This was life-changing. And if Viktor needed time, then Jayce was willing to give him all the time in the world.

But the waiting—God, the waiting was agonizing. 

Finally, Viktor exhaled slowly, his shoulders lowering just a fraction. His eyes flickered back to Jayce’s, and there was something complicated in them—something Jayce couldn’t quite decipher.

“…You have been thinking about this for a long time,” Viktor finally said, his voice quieter than before. 

Jayce nodded. “Yeah. I have.” 

Viktor’s gaze flickered downward, his free hand idly running along the bedsheets, as if lost in thought. 

Jayce stayed still, waiting. 

*****

Viktor let Jayce’s words settle over him like the quiet hum of a distant storm. 

A child. 

Jayce wanted a child. 

Viktor’s mind reeled, wrapping itself around the weight of that realization. His heart pounded, but not with fear—with something else, something warmer. He inhaled sharply but didn’t dare to interrupt, instead keeping his mask carefully in place as Jayce spoke. He listened to every word, every confession, every moment of hesitation. 

And all the while, his heart soared. 

Because Jayce had been thinking about this for months. And so had Viktor. 

They both wanted the same thing. 

“Viktor?” Jayce’s voice was soft, uncertain, pulling him from his thoughts. 

Viktor blinked, his eyes meeting Jayce’s. He could see it—the way Jayce’s fingers twitched against his own, the way his body was tense despite his effort to appear calm. Jayce was nervous. He thought Viktor would say no. 

Viktor exhaled, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Jayce,” he started, squeezing Jayce’s hand lightly. “I want the same thing.” 

Jayce’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly. 

Viktor pressed on, letting the truth spill out. “I have been thinking about this as well—about how our lives have been missing something. Or rather… someone.” 

The tension in Jayce’s shoulders melted away in an instant, replaced by a look of relief so raw it nearly took Viktor’s breath away. 

“You have?” Jayce whispered, his grip tightening around Viktor’s hand. Viktor nodded, shifting so he could hold Jayce’s hands between both of his own. He traced small, reassuring circles with his thumb, grounding them both. 

“I love our life,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “Everything we have built together—it feels perfect.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly. “That is why I never brought this up before. I did not want to disrupt anything, to take away from what we already have. But… I have found myself thinking more and more about what it would be like to raise a child. To be parents.” His gaze softened as he looked at Jayce. “And I want that. With you.” 

Jayce let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Viktor,” he murmured, his eyes shining with something Viktor could only describe as love. “I love you.” 

And then he leaned in, capturing Viktor’s lips in a kiss. It was slow, and tender—less of a kiss and more of a promise. A quiet understanding passed between them, a silent vow that neither of them had to speak aloud. Viktor felt Jayce’s fingers slip into his hair, threading through the strands with a touch that was both light and firm. His fingertips grazed the nape of Viktor’s neck, sending a gentle shiver down his spine. Viktor exhaled against Jayce’s lips, his body instinctively leaning into the warmth of the man he loved. Jayce’s lips moved with a patience that made Viktor’s heartache—like he wanted to memorize every second, to make it last, as if this moment held the weight of all the things they had never said before. Their breaths mingled, slow and uneven, each inhale and exhale pulling them closer, grounding them in something real. 

Viktor melted into it, allowing himself to let go, to feel—the heat of Jayce’s mouth, the way his thumb brushed over Viktor’s cheek, the silent devotion in the way Jayce held him like he was something precious. The world beyond them didn’t exist. Nothing else mattered except for this—the gentle press of lips, the shared warmth, the unspoken we have each other lingering in the space between heartbeats. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, and Viktor could see the glow of happiness radiating from Jayce’s expression. 

“I was so worried about what you were going to say,” Jayce admitted, laughing softly. “I built it up in my head, convinced myself you wouldn’t want kids. I should have just talked to you right away.” Viktor chuckled, placing a hand on Jayce’s leg and rubbing small circles with his thumb. 

“I, too, should have spoken sooner,” he confessed. “And I also worried about your thoughts. But I am glad you said something. Now, we know what we want.” He gave Jayce’s hand another squeeze, smiling softly. 

Jayce exhaled softly, then shifted forward, his fingers curling gently around Viktor’s wrist as he tugged him down onto the bed. The movement was effortless, instinctive—like gravity pulling them together as they belonged in this quiet space with nothing but the sound of their breathing filling the room. Viktor barely had time to react before Jayce leaned in again, pressing another kiss to his lips—softer this time, fleeting, but just as full of meaning. It was a whisper of affection, a lingering touch that said stay with me, even though Viktor had never intended to be anywhere else. 

With a contented sigh, Jayce settled against Viktor’s chest, his arms slipping around him as he nestled in close. The weight of him was grounding, warm, familiar in a way that made Viktor’s heart slow to match the steady rhythm of Jayce’s breathing. He let his fingers drift absently along Jayce’s back, tracing soothing circles against his bare skin. Viktor let out a slow breath, pressing a lingering kiss to Jayce’s temple, his lips resting there for just a moment longer than necessary. He could feel everything in this—Jayce’s warmth, the way his body fit against his own, the unspoken comfort that settled between them like a blanket. 

“Goodnight, darling,” Viktor murmured, his voice low, edged with quiet fondness. 

Jayce hummed sleepily in response, shifting just enough to nuzzle against Viktor’s chest, his voice muffled but still full of warmth. 

“Goodnight, Vik.” 

And as their breathing evened out, the world outside faded away, leaving only the steady, quiet certainty of them. 

*****

Jayce woke to the feeling of warmth pressed against his side, Viktor’s arm draped loosely around his waist. He blinked blearily at the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, his mind still sluggish with sleep. For a moment, he just stayed there, savoring the quiet—the steady rhythm of Viktor’s breathing, the way their bodies fit so naturally together. It was peaceful. It was theirs. 

Then, as his thoughts began to clear, last night’s conversation settled back into his mind. We’re going to adopt a child. 

His heart swelled at the thought. 

Carefully, he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Viktor. He was still asleep, his expression soft, his hair tousled from the night. Jayce smiled, reaching out to brush a stray strand from Viktor’s forehead. The motion must have stirred him, because Viktor let out a quiet hum, his eyes fluttering open. 

“Mmm… morning,” Viktor murmured, his voice heavy with drowsiness.

“Morning, love,” Jayce said softly, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s forehead. 

Viktor exhaled, stretching slightly before blinking up at Jayce. Then, as if he too was remembering their conversation, a small, knowing smile formed on his lips. 

“Still want to adopt a child?” Viktor asked, voice teasing but gentle. 

Jayce let out a breathless laugh. “More than ever.” 

Viktor nodded, shifting onto his back and rubbing his eyes. “Then… where do we begin?” 

Jayce still lying down and running a hand through his hair. “I was thinking about that. We should probably start looking into agencies today—figure out the process, what we need to do, what kind of timeline we’re looking at.” 

Viktor hummed thoughtfully, still lying back against the pillows. “That sounds reasonable. We should also consider who we want to tell.” 

Jayce frowned slightly. “I don’t think I want to tell anyone yet—at least not until we have a better idea of what we’re doing. The only person I can think of telling right now is my mom.” 

Viktor nodded in agreement. “Ximena makes sense. She will be supportive.” 

“She’ll be thrilled,” Jayce corrected with a chuckle. “And I think she’d want to be involved, at least to some extent.” 

Viktor smirked. “You mean she will demand to be involved?” 

Jayce laughed, nudging Viktor playfully. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Viktor let out a soft chuckle before falling into a moment of thoughtful silence. “It is strange to think about,” he admitted. “By this time next year, our lives could be completely different.” 

Jayce reached for Viktor’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “A good different,” he murmured. 

Viktor squeezed his hand gently. “Yes. A very good different.” 

They laid like that for a few moments, the weight of their decision settling between them—not heavy, but real. This was happening. They were going to start a family. 

Jayce finally let out a deep breath, grinning as he turned to Viktor. “Alright. Let’s get started.” 

Viktor smirked. “After breakfast?” 

Jayce laughed. “Yes, after breakfast.”

They lingered in bed for a while, neither of them in a hurry to start the day. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, and they both savored the peaceful stillness of the moment. Jayce stretched lazily, his muscles still heavy with sleep, before rolling over to look at Viktor.

Viktor’s smile greeted him, bright and genuine, and there was something in his eyes—an unspoken connection—that made Jayce’s heart flutter. Without a word, Jayce returned the smile, a sense of calm settling over him as he watched Viktor’s expression soften.

Slowly, they rose from the bed, neither moving with urgency. Jayce pulled on a pair of comfortable pants, Viktor slipping into a shirt as they went about their morning routine. It was quiet and simple, a shared routine that felt familiar and comforting.

Once they were dressed, they stood for a moment, looking at each other. Viktor reached out, his fingers brushing Jayce’s, and they both smiled again. Without any words, they walked together, hand in hand, out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, ready to face the day but content to do so together.

As they reached the kitchen, Viktor released Jayce’s hand and lowered himself into a chair at the table, stretching his leg out slightly to ease the morning stiffness. Jayce, ever attentive, brushed a hand across Viktor’s shoulder before heading to the counter. He poured two mugs of coffee, the rich aroma filling the space, and then returned to the table, placing one in front of Viktor before sitting down beside him.

For a moment, they simply sat there, the warmth of their drinks seeping into their hands as they enjoyed the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The morning felt different—lighter, easier—like they had stepped onto a new path, one they were ready to walk together. The heaviness of the past few months, the uncertainty and worry, seemed to have evaporated with the decision they'd made the night before. Jayce, feeling lighter than he had in months, took a sip from his cup, letting the warmth of the coffee soothe him. He glanced at Viktor, who was already looking at him with a small smile, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of his mug.

“So, we’re really doing this,” Jayce said, his voice filled with both excitement and a touch of disbelief. It had been a long road to get to this point, and now that they were here, he couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief.

Viktor nodded, his expression calm and steady, yet the glint of happiness in his eyes couldn’t be hidden. “Yeah, we are. Fostering first, then we’ll see where things go. It feels right.”

Jayce couldn’t help but smile back, feeling his heart lift at the certainty in Viktor’s voice. This was the future he had imagined, but now that it was real, it felt almost surreal.

“And after fostering, if things feel right, we’ll move forward with adoption?” Jayce asked, his voice a little quieter now, more hopeful as he tested the waters again.

“Exactly,” Viktor replied, his thumb brushing the back of Jayce’s hand. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Focus on providing stability and love for a child, and from there, we’ll know what comes next.”

Jayce sighed a contented sound that filled the space between them. “It just feels so good to finally talk about this. To know that we’re on the same page. I’ve been holding onto this for so long, trying to make sense of it all, and now it feels… lighter. Like everything is falling into place.”

Viktor smiled warmly at him. “I’ve been thinking about it too, but I wanted to make sure we were both ready. It’s a big decision, and we’re making it together.”

Jayce let out a soft laugh, his fingers tracing the edge of his coffee cup absentmindedly. “And I feel ready now. I really do.” He paused for a moment, his heart swelling. “We want a child who needs permanent placement, right? Someone who really needs a home. Not just temporary care.”

Viktor nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s right. Stability is the key. We’ll make sure we’re ready for whatever comes, but I have no doubt we can handle it. We’ll go through the right channels, and take the time to prepare. It’s about being ready, together.”

Jayce’s eyes softened as he looked at Viktor, the man he’d spent so many years with now becoming the person he was ready to share this next chapter of his life with. “I’m glad I’m doing this with you. I really am,” Jayce murmured, his voice full of affection.

Viktor’s smile deepened. “I’m glad too.” He paused continuing to look at Jayce, “We start today. And we’ll take the steps needed to get started. Fostering first, and then we’ll see where it goes from there.”

Jayce felt his chest swell with a mix of joy and excitement. “Today. We’ll work on the adoption process today.” His voice grew lighter as the reality of their decision began to settle in.

The warmth in the room deepened as Viktor stood up, moving over to the stove. “How about we celebrate with pancakes? It seems fitting for a new beginning.”

Jayce smiled widely. “Pancakes sound perfect.”

As Viktor flipped the pancakes with practiced ease, Jayce sat back, a lightness in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a long time. They were starting a new chapter, a chapter they would write together.

And for the first time in a while, everything felt exactly right.

*****

The kitchen was warm, the rich smells of garlic and herbs filling the air as Jayce and Viktor worked side by side, preparing dinner. The day had been busy, filled with the flurry of phone calls and emails about their fostering plans, but now they had a rare moment of peace. Jayce hummed quietly to himself, chopping vegetables while Viktor moved around the kitchen with ease, assembling the casserole in the dish.

Jayce smiled as he glanced over at Viktor, who was focused on layering the ingredients just right. There was something so domestic about it, so comforting. They worked seamlessly together, like a well-rehearsed dance—one would chop, the other would stir, and they’d meet in the middle to share a quiet smile.

“Do you think my mom will be happy to hear about everything?” Jayce asked his voice light but with an undertone of nervous anticipation.

Viktor glanced up from the casserole dish, his brow furrowing slightly. “She’s always been supportive of us, Jayce. I don’t think there’s any reason for her not to be. She’ll be excited.”

Jayce nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. He reached for the seasoning and sprinkled a bit over the vegetables, then stirred. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just... a big step, you know? I want her to be part of it, to be excited with us.”

Viktor stepped behind him, placing a gentle hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “She’ll understand. She’s your mother. You’re her world. And she knows you’re ready.”

Jayce leaned into the touch, feeling the warmth of Viktor’s hand spread through him. He smiled softly, grateful for the way Viktor always knew exactly what to say.

“I know. It just feels like a lot sometimes,” Jayce confessed, setting the spoon down and looking at the casserole dish that was slowly coming together. “But I’m glad we’re doing this. We’re going to be good at it, right?”

Viktor’s eyes sparkled with a knowing look. “We’ve been good at everything we’ve put our hearts into. We’ll make a great team, Jayce. This is no different.”

Jayce’s lips twitched into a smile. “I like the sound of that.”

They moved together to set the casserole in the oven. As it baked, they worked together to finish setting the table. Jayce brought over the plates, while Viktor grabbed the wine glasses and poured a bit of red wine into each.

Once everything was ready, they sat down together, side by side, looking at the table they’d prepared. The soft golden light from the chandelier overhead cast a glow on the dishes, making everything look so warm and inviting.

“You know,” Viktor started, a playful glint in his eye, “I’m actually starting to enjoy cooking. I used to think it was just a chore, but now, I find myself looking forward to it. Especially when I get to share it with you.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, amused. “Really? You’re saying I’ve changed you?”

Viktor smirked, raising his wine glass. “Maybe just a little. But I think that’s a good thing.”

Jayce laughed softly and clinked his glass with Viktor’s. “I’m glad you’re not just in it for the casserole,” he teased.

Viktor chuckled, reaching across the table to squeeze Jayce’s hand. “No, I’m definitely in it for the company too.”

They shared a quiet moment, their hands resting on the table, fingers intertwined. The conversation shifted to lighter topics—movies they’d been meaning to watch, books Viktor had been reading, plans for the weekend—but the underlying current of their shared excitement for the future was always there.

When the doorbell rang, announcing Ximena’s arrival, they both jumped to their feet, exchanging one last smile before Jayce rushed to the door.

“Mom!” Jayce said, pulling open the door to reveal his mother standing there, a big smile on her face. “You made it just in time!”

Ximena stepped inside, pulling him into a warm hug. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, her voice full of affection. She looked past him at Viktor, smiling warmly. “Viktor, you’ve outdone yourself. I can smell that casserole from here.”

Viktor chuckled, walking over to greet her with a gentle hug of his own. “It’s a team effort. Jayce helped.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Ximena said, her smile lingering as she stepped into the kitchen. She surveyed the table, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “This looks lovely. You two really know how to make a meal.”

*****

The soft clink of silverware on plates and the hum of quiet conversation filled the air as Jayce and Viktor cleared the dishes from the table. Ximena had been in town for a couple of hours now, and the dinner had gone smoothly—comfortable, easy. But now came the moment they’d been waiting for, the moment Jayce knew he had to share what had been weighing on his heart.

After the dishes were cleared and the kitchen was tidied, Jayce sat down at the table with Ximena and Viktor. Ximena, always perceptive, could tell that something had shifted in the air—a subtle change. Jayce wasn’t his usual relaxed self, his posture slightly stiff, though the warmth of Viktor sitting beside him provided a quiet reassurance.

Ximena looked between them, a small smile on her face. “You two have been acting all secretive all night,” she teased gently. “I feel like I’m about to be the one in the hot seat here.”

Jayce smiled, his nerves bubbling to the surface. “No, it’s just…” He glanced over at Viktor for a moment, then met his mother’s gaze. “We’ve been thinking about something. Something important.”

Ximena leaned in, her eyes kind and open. “What is it, Jayce?”

Viktor spoke before Jayce could, his voice steady but warm. “We’ve been talking about starting a family, Ximena.” He reached over and gave Jayce’s hand a gentle squeeze as if to give him strength. “We’ve decided to foster a child, with the intention of adopting when the time is right.”

Jayce felt his heart skip a beat at Viktor’s words. It was all real now. He looked at Ximena, waiting for her reaction.

Ximena didn’t say anything immediately. She was quiet, her eyes softening as she processed what they had said. Then she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Foster a child,” she repeated slowly as if to feel the weight of the words. “And eventually adopt?”

Jayce nodded, his voice a little unsure but filled with hope. “Yes. We’ve been talking about it for a while now, and we’re ready. We know it’s a big step, but we both feel like it’s the right time.”

Ximena studied them both closely, her expression thoughtful. There was a pause before she spoke again, her tone softer now. “I can see how much this means to both of you. And I think… I think it’s wonderful.” She smiled, her eyes glistening with emotion. “You’ve always wanted to share your love with someone else, and I know you’ll be incredible parents.”

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat, a sense of relief flooding him as his mother’s words sank in. He had worried, unsure of how she would react. But her acceptance, her immediate embrace of their plan, made everything feel right.

“You really think so?” Jayce asked, his voice thick with emotion.

Ximena nodded, her smile unwavering. “I do. I’ve seen how you two support each other, and how much you care. A child will thrive in a home like yours. And I’ll be here, every step of the way.”

Viktor’s hand tightened on Jayce’s in a silent gesture of gratitude, and Jayce felt his heart swell with love for both of them—his mother and his husband. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Their journey was no longer just a dream; it was something real, something tangible that they could hold onto together.

“Thank you, Mom,” Jayce whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That means the world to me. To both of us.”

Ximena reached across the table and gently squeezed his hand. “Of course. You two are my heart. I just want to see you happy, and if this is what makes you happy, then I’m fully behind it. I’m proud of you, Jayce. And proud of both of you.”

Viktor smiled softly, the weight of the moment settling in. “Thank you, Ximena. We wanted to share this with you because we want you to be a part of it.”

Ximena smiled warmly at Viktor. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll help in any way I can.”

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with unspoken understanding, as all three of them sat in the warmth of that shared promise. It was the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, and with Ximena’s support, Jayce felt lighter than he had in days.

“So,” Ximena continued, her voice lightening as she shifted in her seat, “when do I get to meet the lucky child?”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a look, a shared smile tugging at their lips. “Soon, we hope,” Jayce said, feeling a surge of excitement. “We’re going to start the process soon, and then we’ll see where it takes us.”

“Well, I’m excited,” Ximena said, her voice full of affection. “I can’t wait to meet the little one. And don’t worry, I’ll spoil them just as much as I spoil you two.”

Jayce laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing even more. “I’m sure of it, Mom.”

The three of them spent the rest of the evening talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. The path ahead was uncertain, but it was no longer intimidating. They had each other, and with that, everything else would fall into place.

*****

Powder sat curled up on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the door. The lock clicked into place hours ago, but she wasn’t waiting for it to open. She knew it wouldn’t. Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow either. 

They’d locked her in again—this time for a couple of snide remarks at dinner. Nothing major. Just a few sharp words when they told her she should be grateful to be here. She should appreciate the roof over her head, and the food on her plate. But apparently, disagreeing meant she didn’t deserve to eat at all. Not until she learned her lesson.

Her stomach twisted in hunger, but she ignored it, wiping angrily at the tears slipping down her cheeks. 

Another home, another family that couldn’t stand her. 

It was only a matter of time before they sent her away, just like all the others. She could already hear them whispering when they thought she wasn’t listening—talking about how difficult she was, how she had an attitude problem, how maybe she just wasn’t a good fit.

Powder clenched her fists in the fabric of her hoodie, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

She didn’t want to be difficult. She didn’t want to keep ending up in places where people barely tolerated her. All she wanted—all she ever fucking wanted—was for someone to love her. To stay. 

But no one ever did. 

Her parents. Her sister. They were gone. They left her. Everyone leaves. 

Powder squeezed her eyes shut, her breath hitching as the thoughts swirled, relentless and heavy. I’m too much. Too broken. Too much of a fucking mess for anyone to love. 

A burst of laughter rang from outside, and she turned her head toward the window. The backyard was filled with the sounds of kids playing—a few of the other foster children chasing each other around, their faces lit up with easy smiles, carefree and happy in a way she knew she never could be. 

Her chest ached. 

The tears spilled over again, blurring her vision as she watched them. 

I wish I was dead. 

The thought hit her like a slap. 

Her breathing grew uneven, her hands trembling. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and suddenly, it was too much. It was all too much. 

Powder shoved herself off the bed and stumbled toward the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with shaky fingers. She dug through it, pushing past random junk until her fingers brushed against cold metal. 

Her dad’s pocket knife. 

She swallowed hard and pulled it out. 

Sitting back down on the bed, she pushed up the sleeves of her hoodie, exposing pale, scarred skin. Some old, some fresh. Some just barely healed. 

Her breath hitched as she flicked the blade open. The silver edge gleamed in the dim light. 

No one wants me. I’ll always be alone.

Her hands trembled as she pressed the blade against her skin. Then, in a swift motion, she dragged it across her arm. 

A sharp sting. A slow, seeping warmth. The red line deepened as blood welled up, dripping down in thin trails. 

The pain didn’t make her cry this time. It made the noise in her head quiet. 

So she did it again. And again. And again—until the weight pressing down on her chest finally loosened. 

For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the crimson streaks trailing down her arm. The sight was almost comforting in a way she couldn’t explain. 

You deserve this.

Powder exhaled shakily and reached for the paper towels she kept stashed in the desk. She’d learned early on to be careful—to clean up properly, to hide it well enough that no one would ask questions. They never paid much attention to her anyway, but she couldn’t risk them finding out. Not now. 

She wiped away the blood, pressing down on the cuts until the bleeding slowed. Her hands were steady now, movements precise. Routine. Once she was satisfied, she pulled her sleeves back down, covering the marks before slipping her hoodie back on. 

Her stomach growled, a sharp, twisting reminder of her punishment. But she ignored it, curling into herself as she lay back down. 

She shut her eyes tight and hugged herself as if that could somehow make up for the warmth she never had. 

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and the world faded into darkness.

Chapter Text

After months of training, paperwork, and careful preparation, Jayce and Viktor were finally ready to take the next step. The long process of becoming foster parents had tested their patience, but now, the real journey was about to begin. They had attended hours of mandatory training sessions, learning about trauma-informed care, attachment styles, and the challenges children in the foster system often faced. They underwent home studies, answering deeply personal questions about their relationship, their childhoods, and their motivations for fostering. Their home had to be inspected, safety measures put in place, and every detail scrutinized to ensure it would be a secure, loving environment. The process had been long, sometimes exhausting, but they never wavered. With each step, they grew more certain that this was what they wanted—that they were ready to welcome a child who needed them.

So here they were, looking at children’s profiles to pick one to foster. They had been looking for a couple of days. But it wasn’t until they found her that something clicked—something that made them both pause.

“Powder,” Viktor read aloud, scrolling through her profile. “A seven-year-old girl. She’s been in the system for years and has bounced from home to home. No one’s been able to stick with her. And her last foster home... well, they weren’t good people. Sounds like she’s had a rough time.”

Jayce looked at the photo of the girl—blue hair in a messy braid, bangs covering her forehead, her expression defiant. There was a hardness in her eyes that told the story of someone who had learned to protect herself. “That poor kid,” Jayce muttered. “How many homes has she been in?”

Viktor clicked on more details. “Too many. She’s been through so many bad situations. Her parents died when she was four or five. She was separated from her sister because the system thought it was better for them to be in different homes. But no one’s really stuck around for her. Her last foster parents... it says they got tired of her. They were abusive. That’s why she was sent back to the system.”

Jayce felt his heart tighten as he processed the information. “She’s been through so much already. I don’t know how anyone could treat a kid like that.”

Viktor rubbed his temple. “Yeah, it’s tough. But... this could be a chance to turn things around for her. Maybe we’re the ones who can give her the stability she needs. It’s not going to be easy, but I think we can help her.”

Jayce leaned in, his chest tightening. He scanned the details—severe trust issues, struggles with emotional regulation, and a history of neglect. He exhaled slowly, gripping Viktor’s hand without realizing it.

“She needs a permanent placement,” Viktor murmured. “Someone who won’t give up on her.”

Jayce swallowed, his heart pounding. They had looked at so many profiles, but none had made him feel the way this one did.

“I think we found her,” he said softly. Then the phone rang. It was Vander, their caseworker.

“Hey, Vander,” Jayce answered.

“Hey, Jayce, Viktor,” Vander’s voice was calm but with a sense of urgency. “I’ve got an update for you. There's a seven year old girl named Powder who was just brought back into the system after being taken out of a bad placement. Her last foster parents were terrible—abusive, neglectful. They’ve had enough, and she’s been placed in a temporary shelter for now. I think this is your chance.”

Jayce’s stomach sank. “I can’t believe that’s what she’s been through. Are you sure she’s ready for a new placement?”

Vander sighed. “I can’t promise she’s ready for anything, but she needs stability. She’s been hurt so many times, and she doesn’t believe anyone’s going to stick around. But I think she could be a good fit for you two if you’re up for the challenge. She’ll test you, she’ll push you away, but I’ve seen kids like her turn things around when they have the right people behind them.”

Viktor looked at Jayce, his voice steady. “We’re in. Let’s meet her.”

Vander’s voice softened with approval. “I’ll arrange the meeting. Just... be prepared. She’s not going to trust you right away.”

*****

A few days later, Viktor and Jayce stepped into the shelter, the air around them thick with anticipation. The building was quiet, but there was an underlying tension—a feeling of lives caught in limbo within these walls. The faint hum of voices and distant footsteps echoed down the halls as a staff member led them forward. Jayce’s palms were slightly damp, his nerves betraying his usual confidence, while Viktor kept his hand clinched tightly to his side, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with quiet determination. Neither of them knew exactly what to expect from their first meeting with Powder. Would she be wary? Distant? Angry? All they knew was that somewhere in this building was the little girl they had chosen—the little girl who, if she let them, would soon have a home with them.

As they walked through the door, their eyes immediately fell on her. The room was dimly lit, the shadows stretching across the walls, making the space feel even lonelier than it already was. Powder sat in the corner, legs crossed beneath her, her posture small and withdrawn. She was drowning in an old, worn-out hoodie that was far too big for her, the sleeves nearly swallowing her hands. The fabric was frayed at the cuffs, and there were faint stains on the hem—signs of a life spent in places that never truly felt like home. She didn’t even look up when they entered. It felt like she was already preparing herself for the inevitable—the rejection, the distance, the feeling that no one would ever truly care.

Vander was standing by the door, his face somber. He gave them a single, understanding look, as if to say be patient without words. Viktor exchanged a quick glance with Jayce before they walked toward Powder. The tension in the room was palpable, thick and uncomfortable. She didn’t move, her body rigid, as if she was bracing for something, expecting it to hurt.

“Hey, Powder,” Jayce said, his voice quiet and tentative. “We’re not here to make you do anything. We just wanted to introduce ourselves.”

Viktor could see her fingers, restless, picking at a loose thread on her hoodie. She still didn’t acknowledge them, her silence hanging in the air like a barrier they couldn’t cross. Viktor tried not to let the silence get to him, but it felt suffocating.

After what felt like an eternity, Powder’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and guarded. “Why?” Her eyes flickered up to meet theirs for a brief moment, but there was no warmth, no recognition in her gaze. Only coldness. “Why bother?”

Viktor’s heart ached, but he tried to stay calm. “We just wanted to meet you,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “We’re here to—”

She interrupted him, her voice rising just a little, frustration and anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Yeah, well, that’s what they all say, isn’t it?” Powder’s words came fast now, her eyes narrowing. “Everyone comes in, all full of smiles like they’re going to save me. But they never stick around. They never do.”

She shrugged, pulling the hoodie tighter around her shoulders as if trying to make herself disappear into it. “Kids like me aren’t worth sticking around for.”

Jayce took a step forward, his voice soft, trying to soothe the storm inside her. Viktor could see the pain in his husband’s eyes, and it mirrored his own. "That's not true, Powder. We're here because we want to help. We're not going anywhere."

Powder let out a soft bitter laugh, her head dropping as she pulled herself further into her hoodie, her shoulders slumping under the weight of everything she’d been through. “Yeah, sure. Not going anywhere until I’m too much to deal with, right? Until I get in the way of your perfect little lives.” Her voice turned bitter, filled with years of pain. “I’ve heard it all before.” Viktor could feel the shift in the air, the way the anger in her words started to morph into something else — something more vulnerable, more dangerous for her. “You don’t want kids like me. You just want to feel good about yourself, like you’re making a difference. But you won’t care when it gets hard. You never do.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but Powder wasn’t finished. She was letting everything out now, the walls coming down just a little. But only to let the hurt pour out in a steady stream.

“My parents didn’t want me,” she muttered, bitterness thick in her voice. “They couldn’t even stay long enough to keep me safe. They left, and now they’re gone.”

Viktor’s heart tightened, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. It felt wrong to interrupt her, even though he wanted to tell her that wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t the one who had failed.

She wiped her eyes quickly as if to hide the vulnerability, but Viktor saw it — the briefest flicker of someone who had been hurt too many times, someone who had learned to fight for survival rather than trust anyone.

“My sister? She doesn’t care. She’s out there somewhere, and I don’t know where, and maybe that’s for the best.” Powder shook her head, her voice thick with pain. “I don’t need her.”

Viktor’s throat tightened, but he stayed quiet, watching her with a quiet intensity. She was so close to breaking, but she wasn’t ready yet. She wasn’t ready to let anyone in. Suddenly, she stood up her back to them. Viktor saw the stiffness in her movements, the way she tried to maintain control even as the emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

“I’ve been through enough foster homes to know how this goes,” she said, her voice hard and defensive. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m different. You won’t be. No one ever is.”

Jayce stepped forward again, his voice soft and steady. “Powder, we’re not here to fix you. We just want you to know that we care. That we’re here for you.”

Viktor felt the weight of her words, her pain. Why do I feel like I’m failing her already?

Powder whipped around suddenly, her face flushed with frustration, her anger bubbling over. “Care? You think I don’t know what that looks like? You think I don’t know when people are just pretending? I’m not stupid.” She took a few agitated steps, pacing the small room as if trying to outrun the feelings.

“I’m just a kid,” she muttered, her voice cracking, though she quickly wiped away the tears. “I don’t matter to anyone. No one’s ever going to adopt me. I’m too much of a mess. Too broken.”

Her voice wavered again, the walls cracking just a little more, but before Viktor could say anything, she turned away, trying to hold it all together. “I’m just too much,” she whispered, more to herself than to them. “I know that. So don’t waste your time.”

The silence that followed hung in the air like a fog. Viktor could feel Jayce’s pain, but he didn’t know how to respond, how to bridge that gap. Powder had built her walls up so high, and she was so terrified of letting anyone in. She had been abandoned by everyone who was supposed to care, and now, even the smallest crack in those walls felt like too much.

Viktor took a small step toward her. His voice was gentle, steady. “Powder, we’re not asking you to change. We’re not asking you to be someone you’re not. We just want you to know that you don’t have to be alone.”

But Powder wasn’t listening anymore. She wiped her eyes again, more aggressively this time, as if trying to push away the weakness she feared showing. “I’ve been alone for so long, I don’t even know how to let someone in,” she whispered, more to herself than to them. “I don’t know how to trust. I can’t... I can’t do that again.”

Her body shook as she turned her back on them, fists clenched at her sides. She looked like she was about to explode with all the emotions she was holding back, and Viktor felt helpless to stop it.

The door clicked open behind her, and she stopped, her back still to them. “No one stays,” she said softly, barely audible. “I’m fine. I’ve always been fine.”

With that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Viktor could hear her footsteps echo down the hallway.

The silence was suffocating.

He looked at Jayce, who stood still, a thousand thoughts flashing across his face. Neither of them said anything, but both of them knew the truth: Powder was miles away from trusting them, and they had a long, hard road ahead of them. But they were here to stay. No matter how long it took.

*****

The drive home was quiet, the weight of the visit still heavy in the air between them. Jayce couldn't shake the feeling of unease, of helplessness. Powder's walls had been so thick — impenetrable, really. And as much as they’d tried to approach gently, as much as they’d tried to offer something, anything, she had shut them out almost immediately. Her silence spoke volumes, her bitterness even more so.

Jayce glanced over at Viktor, his husband still looking lost in thought, his eyes distant. It had been their first visit to the shelter, and they had been greeted with so much more resistance than they’d expected. Powder was so closed off — she barely acknowledged their presence when they walked in. And when she did speak, her words were sharp, full of anger, hurt, and distrust. Her bitterness ran deep. Jayce could see that. But he wasn’t sure how to reach her.

“She’s been through so much,” Viktor said softly, breaking the silence. “No one’s really been there for her. Not the way she needs.”

Jayce nodded, but the lump in his throat made it hard to respond. The image of Powder sitting there — so small, so fragile, but also so fierce — lingered. Her voice, filled with such raw emotion, still echoed in his mind. "Kids like me aren’t worth sticking around for. No one ever stays."

It cut through him. That was what she believed. That was what she expected from everyone. That they’d leave her just like all the others.

As they reached home, Jayce parked the car with almost mechanical precision, too distracted by his thoughts to think about the usual evening routine. He could tell Viktor was in the same headspace. They entered the house, the quiet was almost a relief after the tension of the shelter. Viktor made his way to the kitchen with practiced ease, beginning to prepare a quick dinner, the sounds of chopping vegetables filling the silence. Jayce sat down at the counter, elbows propped up, his head resting in his hands. He felt exhausted. Physically and emotionally.

“That was... something, wasn’t it?” Jayce said, more to himself than to Viktor. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words escaped him before he could stop them. He couldn’t get Powder’s cold eyes out of his head — how she looked at them as if they were just another pair of strangers passing through her life, destined to leave her the same way everyone else had.

Viktor didn’t look up from his work but nodded slowly. “Yeah. She’s been through a lot. It’s going to take time.” He let out a long breath. “I think she’s testing us.”

Jayce frowned, shifting in his seat. “Testing us? What does that even mean? She’s already convinced we’ll leave.”

Viktor paused, looking over at him for a moment, his brow furrowed. He set down the knife carefully, then walked over to the counter where Jayce was sitting.

“We’re not going anywhere, Jayce,” Viktor said, his voice firm but kind. “You know that, right? We keep showing up. That’s all we can do. One day, she’ll see that we’re different. That we’re not going to leave her.”

Jayce nodded slowly, though the weight of Viktor’s words felt heavier than they should have. He wanted to believe that. He really did. But it felt like a fight against something bigger than them. How could they break through to her when she didn’t even trust herself?

“I just... I can’t shake the feeling that we’re failing her already,” Jayce confessed, his voice soft, almost fragile. “We’re supposed to be making a difference. And yet, I feel like we’ve barely made a dent. If anything, we just made her wall go up even higher.”

Viktor gave him a small, understanding smile. “You’re not failing her. You’re doing what you can. And it’s more than anyone else has done.”

Jayce looked at his husband, the quiet strength in Viktor’s gaze a little comforting but also making him feel like they were walking a tightrope. Could they truly make a difference in Powder’s life?

“I hope so,” Jayce said, his voice quiet.

Viktor squeezed his shoulder and walked back to finish preparing dinner. “We’ll just have to keep showing up, Jayce. That’s all we can do.”

Jayce sat there for a while longer, the house now filled with the sounds of Viktor working, the familiar rhythm of their life together. But tonight, it felt different. Tonight, there was something more. A quiet determination, a sense of purpose. They would keep trying. They had to.

*****

The tall guy and the one with the cane showed up in the afternoon a couple of days after their first visit. She heard them coming before she saw them, their voices low, murmuring to each other. They were probably trying to figure out what to say as if it would make a difference. It wouldn’t. She kept her head down with her hood over her head when they walked in, arms wrapped tight around her knees, fingers gripping the fabric of her pants. She wasn’t going to make this easy for them. Maybe if she stayed quiet, they’d get bored and leave. They always did.

Vander hesitated by the door, then left without a word. That meant she had to sit through this.

The tall guy and the one with the cane sat at the table—not too close, but close enough that she could still feel them watching her. They were waiting for her to speak first. She wouldn’t.

After a while, the tall one spoke. “Hey, Powder. We’re not here to make you do anything. We just wanted to check in, see how you’re doing.”

She barely flicked her eyes up before looking away again. She wasn’t going to give them anything.

The guy with the cane leaned forward slightly. His voice was softer, almost careful. “We understand if you’re upset. We know we haven’t earned your trust. But we’re not going anywhere.”

Her jaw tightened. Of course, they thought that. They all did. They thought if they said the right words, she’d just believe them. Like she hadn’t heard it all before.

“You don’t get it,” she muttered, voice flat.

The tall guy exhaled, like he was expecting that answer. “No, we don’t. But we’re trying.”

She looked at her hands and whispered, “That’s the problem. People like you try. And when it gets too hard, you leave. That’s how it works.” Her fingers curled tighter around her knees. Her voice came out harsher than she meant it to, but she didn’t care. They needed to hear it. “People say they want me, but they don’t know what they’re actually getting into. They think they can fix me. And when they realize they can’t, they give up.”

She felt them watching her, waiting for her to say something else. She hated it. She hated them. Not because they’d done anything yet, but because she already knew how this would end.

The guy with the cane finally spoke again. “We don’t want you to be anything other than who you are.”

She snorted. “Yeah? You say that now.” The room was quiet for a while. She could feel the weight of their stares, but she didn’t look up. She just kept talking, her voice quieter now. “I don’t know what it’s like to belong anywhere. And I don’t think I ever will.” That was the truth, wasn’t it?

The tall guy leaned forward slightly. “You don’t have to figure that out right away. But you don’t have to do this alone, either.”

She didn’t answer. Her hands shook slightly, so she clenched them tighter, willing herself to stay still. She stood up suddenly, shoulders hunched. She didn’t look at them when she walked toward the door. But just before she reached it, she stopped.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t think I ever will.”

She left before they could say anything else, her footsteps echoing down the hall. She didn’t need them. She didn’t need anyone. And if she kept saying that, maybe one day it would feel true.

*****

The car was quiet. Not the comfortable kind of quiet, but the kind that sat heavy between them, filled with things neither of them knew how to say. Viktor leaned against the passenger-side window, watching the city blur past in the evening light. The visit had gone exactly how he’d expected, and yet, somehow, it still felt worse. Jayce’s hands were tight on the wheel, his knuckles pale. He hadn’t said a word since they left the shelter. That alone told Viktor everything.

“You’re brooding,” Viktor muttered, shifting slightly to stretch his bad leg. The brace pinched when he sat too long.

Jayce let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “Yeah? And what are you doing?”

“Thinking,” Viktor said. “Which, unlike brooding, is actually productive.”

Jayce shook his head but didn’t argue. The silence stretched again, long and uneasy, before he finally spoke. “She hates us.”

Viktor sighed. “She does not hate us.”

“She literally said she doesn’t believe a word we say.”

“She also stayed long enough to tell us that,” Viktor pointed out. “She could have left the moment we walked in.”

Jayce frowned, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “I just… I don’t get it. I know she’s been through a lot. I know that. But why won’t she just let us try?”

Viktor turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. “Because, Jayce, she is not waiting for us to try. She is waiting for us to fail.”

Jayce’s grip on the wheel tightened. He didn’t answer, but Viktor knew he was listening.

“She has seen this before,” Viktor continued. “People coming in, saying all the right things, making promises they cannot keep. If I were her, I would not trust us either.”

Jayce sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So what do we do?”

Viktor was quiet for a long time before answering. “We do exactly what we said we would. We keep showing up.”

Jayce let out a long sigh. “And what if she never lets us in?”

“Then we keep showing up anyway.”

Jayce glanced at him, searching his face for doubt. He wouldn’t find any.

“Do you really think that’ll be enough?”

Viktor turned back toward the window, watching the lights flicker past. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think it’s the only thing that might be.”

*****

Jayce sighed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they pulled up to the shelter. The past few weeks had been nothing but dead ends. Powder barely spoke to them, barely looked at them, and most days, it felt like they were talking to a brick wall. A stubborn, angry, heartbroken brick wall.

“Are we wasting our time?” he muttered, staring at the entrance.

Viktor, sitting in the passenger seat, adjusted his cane before glancing at him. “If we stop now, then we definitely are.”

Jayce exhaled sharply, leaning back against his seat. “It just feels like we’re getting nowhere.”

Viktor shrugged, resting his hands over his cane. “Maybe that is because she is still waiting for us to leave.”

Jayce frowned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. That’s probably true. Powder had spent weeks keeping them at arm’s length, making sure they never got too close, and if they were being honest, she was doing a damn good job at it.

They walked inside, going through the usual check-in, expecting today to be just like all the others. But then one of the shelter workers, a kind woman named Mara, pulled them aside.

“You know it’s her birthday today, right?” she asked softly.

Jayce blinked. “Her what?”

“Her birthday,” Mara repeated. “She hasn’t mentioned it?”

Jayce felt a knot form in his chest. Of course she hasn’t.

She probably figured no one would care.

Viktor, to his credit, kept his voice even. “Has anyone done anything for her?”

Mara’s lips pressed together, guilt flickering across her face.

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t even think the other kids know. She never talks about it, and well… no one ever asks.”

Jayce ran a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

It made sense. Powder kept her walls high, and even though the shelter provided a roof over her head, it wasn’t a home. Not really. No one here was going to throw her a party or make sure she had a cake. If she didn’t bring it up, it was just another day.

Jayce exchanged a glance with Viktor before pulling out his phone. “Alright, we’re making a stop.”

They didn’t have time for anything big, but they weren’t about to walk in empty-handed either. A quick detour to a nearby store got them what they needed—a small stuffed bunny, soft and floppy-eared, along with some candy. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something just for her.

By the time they got back, Powder was already in the usual quiet room, curled up in the corner like she always was, knees pulled to her chest with her usual hoodie up over her head, staring at the wall. She didn’t acknowledge them when they walked in.

Jayce cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Hey, uh… we got you something.”

Powder barely looked up. “Why?”

Viktor set the small gift bag on the table. “Because it is your birthday.”

Her body tensed, fingers twitching slightly around the hem of her hoodie. For a moment, she just stared at them like they had spoken another language. Then, slowly, she sat up and reached for the bag. She pulled out the bunny first, her fingers brushing over the soft fur. Then the candy. She didn’t say anything. Jayce expected her to toss it aside, maybe scoff and mutter something about how they didn’t need to bother. But instead, she just… stared at it. And then, to his complete shock, her lip trembled.

She swallowed hard, gripping the stuffed bunny tighter, her shoulders hunching inward. “No one’s given me a present since my parents died,” she whispered. Then, after a beat, her voice cracked as she added, “No one even remembers.” Jayce felt something deep in his chest tighten painfully.

“We do,” he said softly. Powder didn’t respond. Her hands gripped the bunny so tightly her knuckles turned white. She stared at it like she didn’t know what to do with it.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jayce added, rubbing the back of his neck. “We just thought… you should have something. It’s not much, but—”

“It’s mine?” she interrupted her voice barely above a whisper.

Jayce frowned. “Yeah, of course. It’s yours.”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she quickly ducked her head, her hair falling into her face. But Jayce saw the way her shoulders trembled, how she turned the bunny over in her hands, brushing her fingers against its ears over and over again.

Viktor shifted, his voice gentle. “Do you like it?”

Powder swallowed thickly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Whatever you want,” Viktor said simply. “It is yours.”

She nodded slowly, still not looking up.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the faint crinkling of the candy wrapper as she absentmindedly traced her fingers over it. Then, so soft Jayce almost didn’t hear it, she whispered, “Thank you.”

It was quiet, barely a breath, but it was real. Jayce felt something in his chest loosen. She still wasn’t looking at them, but she wasn’t pushing them away either. That was enough.

For the first time in weeks, Jayce thought maybe—just maybe—they were getting somewhere.

****

The day had started like any other—quiet, heavy with the weight of unspoken tension. Powder had been keeping to herself, as usual, retreating into her shell, staying away from the other kids. She was used to being alone, after all. But today... today felt different.

It started when she noticed Mylo hanging around the hallways. His presence always set her on edge, but today he was acting strange. He wasn't just taunting her from across the room or passing by with a smirk. He was following her, watching her from the corners of his eyes.

She tried to ignore him, keeping her eyes fixed on the small, flickering television in the corner of the common room, but it didn’t work. The weight of his stare was unbearable. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer and decided to leave the common area, heading down the narrow hall to her room, hoping to shut herself in and hide away from everything.

But Mylo followed.

He was always there. Always in her space. Always making her feel small.

“Where are you going, Powder?” His voice was too loud in the empty hallway, echoing off the walls.

She didn’t answer, but her pace quickened as she tried to get away from him. She reached her room and slammed the door behind her, locking it in one swift motion. She wasn’t going to deal with him. Not today. But it didn’t stop him.

“I know you’re in there!” Mylo shouted, his voice growing more and more agitated. Powder could hear him pacing outside the door, his footsteps heavy with frustration. “You think you’re better than everyone, huh? You think you can just hide away? You’re not even real.”

Powder’s heart started to race. Her breath caught in her throat, and her skin prickled with anxiety. She tried to block out the words, but they dug deep. You’re not real. That’s what they always said. That’s what they always made her feel like. A loud bang against the door jolted her from her thoughts, and the handle rattled violently. Mylo wasn’t stopping.

“Open the door!” He shouted. “You think you can just hide away forever? You’re not better than any of us. You’re just like the rest of us!”

Powder stood frozen in the middle of the room, her back against the door. Her hands were shaking, and her legs felt like they might give out any second. She could hear Mylo’s voice becoming more erratic, more unstable.

Suddenly, there was a crash. The door splintered as the handle gave way, and Mylo shoved it open, his face twisted with anger and something darker. Powder stumbled backward, her heart thundering in her chest. The space around her seemed to close in. She could barely think, barely move. Her body was frozen, her mind screaming for her to run, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“See?” Mylo sneered, stepping inside the room. “I knew you’d break. You can’t hide forever. No one cares about you here.”

At that moment, something inside Powder snapped. She couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t care about his words or his anger. She didn’t care about any of it. Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, she shoved him hard, knocking him back into the hallway. The crash of his body against the wall echoed in the silence of the hallway. But Mylo didn’t stay down for long. He lunged at her, grabbing her by the hand, his fingers digging into her skin like claws.

“Don’t you dare touch me again!” Powder screamed, her voice wild and frantic. She struggled against him, but he was stronger, and she was weak with fear. The sound of his breath, heavy and labored, filled her ears.

The door to the hallway swung open with a crash, and Vander stormed in, his face pale with alarm. “What the hell is going on here?” Mylo let go of Powder’s wrist in an instant, but his eyes were still burning with rage. He stood there, chest heaving, as if daring Vander to do something.

Powder stood there, trembling, her hand pressed to her wrist where Mylo had grabbed her. She could feel the heat of the bruise already beginning to form under her skin, but it didn’t matter. Her mind was reeling. Why had she let it get this far?

Vander turned to Mylo, his voice cold and firm. “You’re done here. Go to your room. Now.” Mylo didn’t fight back. He turned, eyes still seething, and stormed off down the hallway without another word.

Vander’s attention shifted immediately to Powder. He took a few cautious steps forward, his voice softer now, but still full of concern. “Powder, are you alright?”

She didn’t respond. Her body was trembling too much to speak. She couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t process what had just happened. She felt raw, exposed, like something had been ripped away from her, and now she was just... vulnerable.

“Powder...” Vander said again, stepping closer. “We can’t keep you here. Not anymore. The shelter is no longer a safe place for you.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She didn’t know what to say.

Vander’s voice softened further. “I’m going to have to get you out of here. Jayce and Viktor... they’re ready to take you in. You need to leave now.”

She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to be around people, especially not Jayce and Viktor, who she barely knew. But the thought of staying here, of facing Mylo again, made her sick. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in. She couldn’t stay.

“Please,” she whispered, barely audible, her voice cracking. “I can’t be here anymore.”

Vander nodded, his eyes soft with understanding. “You won’t be. We’ll get you out of here. It’s for the best.”

*****

The lab was quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery and the occasional rustle of paper as Viktor flipped through a data sheet. The air smelled faintly of metal and chemicals, a familiar scent that had become a constant in their daily routine. Jayce sat at his desk, absentmindedly tapping his pen against the surface as he scanned through notes on his latest experiment. Across the room, Viktor was hunched over a monitor, his eyes sharp with focus, his fingers moving steadily over the keyboard as he analyzed a new set of data. It was just another ordinary afternoon in the lab—until Jayce’s phone buzzed, the sharp vibration slicing through the stillness.

He glanced down at the screen, his brows pulling together as he saw the name flashing across it: Vander. That was unusual. Vander rarely called him out of the blue, and the weight in Jayce’s chest told him this wasn’t just a casual check-in. Straightening in his seat, he quickly answered, his voice steady despite the sudden tension coiling in his stomach.

"Hey, Vander. What’s going on?"

"Jayce, Viktor," Vander's voice came through, sounding tense and strained. "You need to listen to me. Powder’s leaving the shelter. It’s not safe for her there anymore."

The words hit Jayce like a brick. He straightened in his seat, giving Viktor a look that mirrored the concern in his own eyes. "What happened? Is she okay?"

Vander took a breath, his voice tight. "It’s Mylo. He cornered her again. I don’t know what set him off, but this time, he got physical. Powder tried to fight him off, but it was bad. She’s scared, Jayce. She can’t stay there anymore."

Jayce’s stomach turned. "Is she hurt?"

"Physically, no," Vander replied quickly. "But mentally, it’s a different story. She’s already been through so much, and this pushed her over the edge. She’s terrified, and I’m pulling her out of there. I can’t keep her there any longer. I need you both to be ready. She’s coming to you."

Viktor was already standing, moving to Jayce’s side, his eyes focused on the phone. "What do we need to do?" he asked, his voice calm but with an edge of urgency.

"Just be ready," Vander said. "I’m getting her things together right now, but she’ll be at your place soon. You have to understand, she’s not going to trust you right away. She’s been hurt too many times, and she’s scared that anyone who gets close will leave her too."

Jayce squeezed the phone tighter, his jaw clenched. "We’re ready. Just tell us when she’s on her way."

"I will," Vander said, his voice softer now. "But be prepared. She’s going to need a lot of space, but she’ll also need to feel like she’s not alone. Do your best to show her that."

"We’ll do whatever it takes," Jayce replied. "Just get her here safely."

After a few more exchanges of reassurance, Vander ended the call. The silence in the lab was suffocating as both men stood still, processing the gravity of the situation.

Jayce finally spoke, his voice low and determined. "We need to get home and get everything ready for her. Now."

Viktor nodded, his expression serious. "We need to make sure she’s comfortable. She’s going to need more than just a safe place; she needs to feel like she’s part of something."

Jayce quickly stood, gathering his things. "Let’s go. The sooner we can make her feel safe, the better."

Without hesitation, the two of them exchanged a single glance before moving in unspoken agreement. They left the lab in a rush, their usual careful routines abandoned as they hurried to the car. The drive home was cloaked in heavy silence, neither of them needing to voice the thoughts weighing on their minds. Powder wasn’t just coming to stay with them—she was coming because she had nowhere else to go. That reality settled over them like a quiet storm. They had made this choice, taken this step, but now it was real. They were responsible for her, for making sure she had a home that didn’t turn into just another stop along the way.  

When they arrived, Jayce wasted no time. He moved through the house with purpose, pulling out extra blankets, fluffing pillows, and making up the spare bed with fresh sheets. He double-checked the pantry, making sure they had enough food—did she have favorite meals? He’d have to find out. Meanwhile, Viktor set to work in the corner of the room, quietly arranging a small space with books, a few stuffed animals, and an old wooden puzzle they had picked up just in case. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a small attempt to make the space feel warm, to show her that, this time, someone wanted her to stay.

"I’ll make sure to have a warm meal ready for her," Viktor said, his tone gentle. "It’s small, but it’s something."

Jayce nodded. "She needs to know that we’re here, that we’re not going anywhere." He glanced toward the door, as though he could sense when Vander would be arriving. "Let’s hope she believes that soon."

Chapter Text

The car rolled up the driveway, its headlights slicing through the night as Vander eased it into park. The soft hum of the engine faded, leaving behind an eerie quiet. In the backseat, Powder sat rigid, her small hands clenched in the fabric of her oversized hoodie. The sleeves, worn thin from years of use, swallowed her fingers as she gripped them tightly in her lap. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest she was sure Vander could hear it.

Through the window, she stared at the unfamiliar house, her stomach twisting into knots. It wasn’t the biggest house she’d ever seen, not the fanciest. But it was warm. Inviting. A soft glow spilled from the porch light, illuminating the steps leading up to the front door. Inside, past the glass of the front window, flickering light from the kitchen hinted at life beyond the walls. And something else—something she hadn’t expected. The scent of food. Not microwaved leftovers or stale cafeteria trays, but real food. The kind someone actually cared enough to cook.

Vander’s voice was quiet, steady. “You’ll be alright, kid. They’re good people.”

Powder didn’t move. Didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t sure if she believed that.

Vander let out a small sigh and pushed open his door. He rounded the car, pulling hers open, but he didn’t rush her. He just stood there, waiting. Powder hesitated before her fingers slowly curled around the strap of her battered backpack—the only thing in the world that was truly hers. It was lighter than it should’ve been. Everything she had ever owned had either been taken from her, lost, or left behind in places she never wanted to return to.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she forced herself to move. One foot in front of the other, out of the car and into the night. The cool air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. Her focus was locked on the figures waiting at the door.

Jayce and Viktor stood side by side, their faces unreadable in the dim light. Powder’s grip on her backpack strap tightened as Vander gave her a small nudge forward.

“They’re not gonna bite,” he murmured. “Go on.”

The steps felt impossibly long. Each one was heavier than the last, like her body was already preparing to turn around and run before she even made it inside. Viktor moved first, stepping aside and pushing the door open a little wider. The warmth of the house spilled out in waves, wrapping around her like a thick blanket. The scent of whatever they had cooked was even stronger now—savory, rich, something she couldn’t name but made her stomach clench with an ache she hadn’t expected.

“We made dinner,” Viktor said, his voice calm, measured. “You’re welcome to eat with us.”

She hesitated.

They were offering. Just like that. No conditions. No expectations.

Slowly, Powder set her backpack down near the door, her movements cautious, waiting for the moment someone would tell her to stop. To take it back. That she had to earn this first. But the words never came.

She stepped toward the table, her eyes darting to the plates of food. A casserole, some bread, a plate of roasted vegetables—things she hadn’t had in years. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

“I can eat with you guys?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jayce smiled, like it was the easiest question in the world. “Of course.”

She sat down stiffly, her back straight, hands hovering over the plate like she wasn’t sure if she was actually allowed to touch it. She picked at the food in silence, listening as Jayce and Viktor talked about their day. They weren’t forcing her into the conversation. They weren’t watching her like she was some fragile thing ready to shatter. They just… talked.

It felt strange. Too normal.

And it made her chest ache.

She remembered this. The way her parents used to talk at dinner, casual and easy, like the rest of the world didn’t matter as long as they were together. She could almost hear their voices if she closed her eyes.

Her vision blurred.

Not now. Not here.

But the tears came anyway.

They slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them, silent at first, then harder, faster. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening. She curled in on herself, her fork slipping from her trembling fingers and clattering against the plate. Her arms wrapped around her knees before she even realized she had pulled them up, her body instinctively folding into the smallest shape possible, like she could disappear if she just made herself small enough.

Chairs scraped against the floor. Movement.

A hand—warm, steady—settled on her back. Not heavy, not demanding. Just there.

Jayce.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want them to see her like this, falling apart, breaking open in a way she hadn’t let herself in years. She should run. Lock herself in her room like she always did, shove everything back down where it belonged.

But she couldn’t.

She was too tired.

Before she could stop herself, she turned and buried her face in Jayce’s chest, gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

Maybe they would leave her. Maybe they’d get tired of her, just like everyone else had.

But right now, she needed someone.

And Jayce just held her.

Her body shook with each sob, every breath uneven and raw. She didn’t know why she was clinging to him so desperately, why she hadn’t just pushed him away. But something had cracked wide open inside her, and there was no stopping the flood.

Viktor was close—she could feel him nearby, not touching, but present. He wasn’t telling her to stop. He wasn’t telling her she was too much.

Neither of them were.

Eventually, the sobs faded, leaving her breathless and drained. But her fingers still clutched Jayce’s shirt, like if she let go, everything would disappear.

“I—I don’t get it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Jayce’s voice rumbled against her cheek. “What don’t you get?”

She swallowed hard. “Why you’re still here.”

Viktor’s voice was quiet. “Because we told you we would be.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before she could stop it. “That’s what they all said.”

Jayce tensed slightly, but his arms never loosened. “Who?”

She hesitated, then the words came before she could stop them.

“Mylo—he said he’d always watch out for me.” Her throat tightened. “Said he was my friend. But then he hurt me.”

She clenched her fingers into a fist. “My parents… they said they’d always be there too.”

But they weren’t.

The tears burned again, but she pushed forward. “My last foster family… they said they wanted me. They smiled a lot. Said nice things. But it was a lie.” She clenched her fingers into a fist, hating the memory, hating how fresh it still felt. “They didn’t want me around. If I was too loud, if I messed up, they’d lock me in my room. For hours. Sometimes days.” 

She barely noticed how tense Jayce had gone, how Viktor’s hands had curled into fists. 

“And sometimes… sometimes they just forgot to feed me.” 

There was silence. A heavy kind. 

“They made me feel like I was nothing,” she whispered. “And then one day, they just sent me back. Like I was broken. Like I wasn’t even a person.” 

Jayce exhaled slowly, like he was trying to stay calm. “Powder…” 

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His face was steady. Real. No pity, no hesitation.

“So what makes you different?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jayce didn’t even blink. “Because we’re not going to give up on you.”

Powder searched his face, waiting for the lie. Waiting for the hesitation. But it wasn’t there.

Viktor spoke, quiet but firm. “You deserve better than what you’ve been given.”

Her lip trembled. “I don’t know how to believe that.”

“That’s okay,” Jayce said. “You don’t have to believe it right now.”

Powder stared for a long moment. Then, slowly, she leaned back against him, pressing her face into his chest again.

Jayce’s arms stayed around her. Viktor stayed close.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Powder wasn’t alone.

*****

The house was quiet now, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards as Jayce and Viktor moved through their nightly routine. Powder was finally asleep—at least, they hoped she was. It had taken a while, her body tense under the covers as if she was waiting for something to go wrong. But eventually, exhaustion had won out. 

Now, in the dim light of their bedroom, Jayce sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with both hands. Viktor stood by the dresser, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate movements, his mind clearly elsewhere. 

Jayce let out a long breath. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this.” 

Viktor glanced over. “Do what?” 

“All of it.” Jayce looked up at him, his brow furrowed. “She’s been through so much. More than we even realized. I mean… that foster family? Locking her up? Not feeding her? How does someone do that to a kid?” His voice was tight, anger curling around the edges of his words. “And Mylo—whatever happened with him—she trusted him, and he hurt her today.” 

Viktor sat down beside him with a sigh, resting his cane against the nightstand. “I know,” he said simply. 

Jayce looked down at his hands. “She’s waiting for us to leave too.” 

Viktor was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. She is.” 

Jayce clenched his jaw. “Then we have to prove her wrong.” 

Viktor gave him a small, knowing smile. “You sound determined.” 

“I am.” Jayce looked over at him, something resolute in his expression. “She thinks we’re just like everyone else, that we’ll get tired of her, that we’ll leave. That’s not happening. I don’t care how long it takes—she’s going to see that she’s wrong.” 

Viktor tilted his head slightly, studying him. “And if she tries to push us away?” 

Jayce exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Then we stay anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She deserves better than what she’s been given. She deserves to know that people don’t just disappear when things get hard.” 

Viktor shifted, his voice softer now. “Neither should you.” 

Jayce turned his head, frowning. “What do you mean?” 

Viktor gave him a knowing look. “You get angry because you understand. Because you know what it is like to carry things you should not have had to.” 

Jayce hesitated, but Viktor was right. It wasn’t the same—his past was different from Powder’s—but that feeling of being responsible for too much, of not knowing if he was enough… he knew that all too well.

Viktor reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. “You are not alone in this,” he said, squeezing lightly. “Neither is she.” 

Jayce exhaled, squeezing back. He looked over at Viktor, the weight in his chest easing just a little. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Neither is she.”

The room fell into silence, but it wasn’t heavy. It was steady. It was certain. Just like them.

Jayce leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee. “I keep thinking about what she said. About how no one stays.” 

Viktor turned toward him slightly, propping his elbow on the pillow. “That is all she has known.” 

“I know,” Jayce muttered. “But it just—it pisses me off. Not at her, but at everyone who made her believe that.” His voice grew tighter. “She was a kid who needed someone, and no one stayed. No one fought for her.” 

Viktor watched him for a moment before speaking. “And now someone will.” 

Jayce nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah. Now someone will.” 

Viktor’s gaze softened. “You cannot fix everything, Jayce.” 

“I’m not trying to ‘fix’ her,” Jayce said quickly, turning his head to meet Viktor’s eyes. “I just—I want her to have a chance. A real chance. To feel safe, to stop waiting for everything to fall apart.” 

Viktor gave a small nod. “Then we show her, every day, that we are here.” 

Jayce exhaled, running a hand over his face. “I just… I don’t want to screw this up. She’s been hurt enough.” 

Viktor reached out, resting a hand on Jayce’s arm. “You care. That alone already makes a difference.” 

Jayce let out a humorless laugh. “Caring doesn’t mean I won’t mess up.” 

“No, it does not,” Viktor agreed. “But it does mean you will keep trying. And that is what she needs.” 

Jayce was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. Then he sighed, shaking his head. “It’s just wild to think about. A few weeks ago, it was just us. And now there’s this kid in our house, and I already can’t imagine just… not having her here.” 

Viktor smiled faintly. “Strange how quickly things change.” 

“Yeah,” Jayce murmured. He glanced toward the door, thinking about the small figure curled up in the next room. “But this? This is one change I don’t regret.” 

Viktor squeezed his arm before pulling back, lying down fully. “Then we take it one day at a time.” 

Jayce nodded, forcing himself to relax. “One day at a time.” 

They both settled in, the room falling into quiet once more. But Jayce’s mind still lingered on Powder, on everything she had been through, on everything ahead of them.   

She thought they would leave. She thought she wasn’t worth staying for. She was wrong. And Jayce was going to make sure she knew it.

Jayce let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling. "Did you notice?" he murmured. 

Viktor turned his head slightly. "Notice what?" 

Jayce hesitated, running a hand over his face as he thought back to the moment at dinner. "She didn't pull away," he said finally. "When she cried—she just... held on." 

Viktor was silent for a moment before nodding. "Yes. That is progress." 

Jayce swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the memory of Powder clinging to him, sobbing like she had been holding it in for years. Maybe she had. "She could have pushed me away. She could have shut down completely. But she didn’t. She let me be there." 

Viktor watched him carefully. "It means she is allowing herself to trust, even if just a little." 

Jayce let out a soft sigh. "Yeah. A little. But for her, that’s huge." He ran a hand through his hair. "After everything she’s been through—God, Vik, I can’t even imagine. And yet, she let me hold her." 

Viktor shifted closer, his voice calm but firm. "Because she needed it. And because, perhaps, some part of her knows we will not leave." 

Jayce’s jaw clenched. "Then we keep proving her right." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I know it’s not going to be easy. She’s still scared. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But tonight? She let herself be vulnerable. And that means something." 

Viktor nodded. "It does." 

Jayce looked toward the door, thinking of the small, exhausted girl sleeping in the next room. "She doesn’t believe we’ll stay," he murmured. "But she still let me hold her. That has to count for something." 

"It does," Viktor repeated. "And so will tomorrow. And the next day. We just keep showing up." 

Jayce let that settle, the weight of it grounding him. Powder was here. She had let them in, even if just for a moment. And Jayce would make damn sure she never regretted it.

*****

Viktor moved through his morning routine on autopilot, his mind circling back to the night before. The quiet vulnerability in Powder’s eyes, the way she had clung to Jayce when everything seemed too much for her—it stayed with him, a constant reminder of how much she had been through. He had seen that kind of fear before, the kind that made someone push away anything resembling safety, just to protect themselves from getting hurt again. But last night, Powder hadn’t pushed away. She had let them in, even just a little, and that small act felt like a breakthrough he couldn’t ignore. 

As he buttoned up his shirt, he glanced at the empty room where she slept, a part of him hoping she was still peacefully asleep, still holding onto that fragile trust she had started to build. But another part of him was anxious, wondering if it was all just a fleeting moment, that maybe she’d pull back today, retreat into herself like she had done countless times before. The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him, but he pushed it aside. He had to focus, had to keep steady. They couldn’t afford to let fear dictate their actions, not when it came to Powder. She needed them to be consistent, to be the ones who showed up no matter what.  

He grabbed his jacket, taking one last look around the room. “We’ll get there,” he murmured to himself, his words a quiet promise.

Viktor moved into the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of his movements filling the silence of the early morning. The familiar scent of muffins baking in the oven mixed with the savory smell of eggs sizzling on the stove, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. It was his usual routine, something that grounded him, even as his mind kept drifting back to Powder and everything that had happened in the last few days. 

He didn’t notice Jayce until he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, followed by a sleepy yawn. Viktor glanced over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. Jayce looked half-asleep, his hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep. The sight of him, so at ease despite everything, calmed Viktor’s racing thoughts, even if just a little. 

"Morning," Jayce mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he shuffled to the counter. Viktor nodded, flipping the eggs in the pan, his gaze lingering for a moment on Jayce. Even though they had talked last night it was clear that both of them were carrying the same weight, the weight of the unknown with Powder and how to move forward. 

“Morning,” Viktor replied, his voice quieter than usual. “Breakfast will be ready soon.” The scent of the food seemed to make the space feel a little warmer, a little more like home. Something Powder had never really had.

Viktor slid the eggs onto a plate, the sizzle of the pan finally quieting as he set it aside. The kitchen felt warm, the kind of warmth that made everything feel a little more manageable, even as the weight of the situation with Powder pressed in on him. He handed Jayce the plate of eggs before moving to pull the muffins from the oven, their golden tops perfectly browned.

Jayce took the plate, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "So, what’s the plan for today?" he asked, sitting down at the kitchen table, his voice still thick with sleep but his eyes sharper than before. Viktor could tell the tension from the night before hadn't left him—he was still thinking about Powder, just like Viktor was. They both were.

Viktor set the muffins down in front of him, his thoughts momentarily interrupted by the delicious smell. He took a breath, considering Jayce’s question. "I think we should stay home today," he said, his voice low but sure. "We don’t know how she’s feeling this morning. We can always check in with the shelter later and take care of whatever work later." 

Jayce nodded slowly, the idea clearly appealing to him, but there was a flash of concern in his eyes. "I hate to do that," he admitted, picking at his food absently. "Taking a day off could set us back at the lab. But... I guess it’s not like we have a choice. We need to make sure she's okay."

Viktor leaned against the counter, his eyes lingering on Jayce for a moment before he spoke again. "We’ve been talking about how she needs consistency. Maybe a day off won’t hurt. She’s still adjusting, and we need to make sure she knows we’re here, especially after yesterday. If we leave it to the last minute and something happens, it’ll be too late."

Jayce sighed but didn't argue. "You’re right. Let’s take the day, then. It’s not like we’re going to get much work done while we’re both worrying about her."

The silence between them grew comfortable, familiar. It had been like this for years, the unspoken understanding between them—the way they could share a moment of quiet even when everything around them felt chaotic. The morning sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting long shadows across the room, but for the first time in days, Viktor felt a little lighter.

"Do you think she’s okay?" Jayce asked, his voice quieter now, almost like he was asking more for reassurance than for an answer. Viktor could hear the worry beneath the words.

Viktor took a slow breath before responding, his eyes softening. "I don’t know. But we’re here, Jayce. We just need to keep showing up, even when we don’t have all the answers."

Jayce nodded, pushing his plate away. "Yeah. We’ll be okay. She’ll be okay." 

The unspoken promise between them was solidified, and for the first time in a long while, Viktor felt a quiet sense of hope. They might not have all the answers, but they were in this together. For Powder.

As Viktor joined him at the table, he glanced over at Jayce. The faintest lines of concern appeared on Jayce’s face as he noticed Powder standing in the doorway. Her worn-out hoodie hung loosely on her frame, and she seemed almost hesitant to enter the room as if she wasn’t sure she belonged there.

Powder’s eyes flicked briefly from Jayce to the food on the table, and she stood there for a moment, silently studying them. Viktor watched her for a beat, his heart-tugging at the guarded way she held herself. His eyes moved down to her hoodie again, and this time he noticed something that made his stomach twist—there was a dark reddish-brown stain on the fabric near her upper arm. It was faint but unmistakable, and Viktor couldn’t ignore it. His mind immediately raced to dark, unpleasant possibilities.

Powder didn’t acknowledge either of them immediately. Instead, she stood still, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her sleeves. It was different from the usual defensiveness she showed—they could tell she was less closed off but still uncertain. Jayce was the first to speak, his voice gentle and easy, as if the quiet in the room was nothing but a passing thing.

“Hey, Powder,” he said, giving her a smile. “We’ve got some breakfast. You’re welcome to join us.”

Powder’s eyes briefly flickered to the table, but she didn’t make a move. She seemed hesitant, as though unsure whether she could, or if it was something she even wanted. It was clear she wasn’t used to being invited to sit down and eat, at least not like this.

After a moment, she shuffled closer to the table, taking a seat at the edge, still holding herself rigid. Jayce continued eating, his movements slow and casual, not forcing anything on her. Viktor placed a muffin on the table in front of her, offering a small, quiet smile.

Powder didn’t immediately respond. She just stared at the plate in front of her. Jayce’s eyes were on her now, not demanding or impatient, just offering space, waiting. Viktor’s gaze flicked to Powder’s hoodie again, his worry growing, but he kept his expression neutral, not wanting to make her feel any more self-conscious.

For a while, there was only the soft sound of utensils clinking and the hum of the kitchen. Viktor felt the tension in the air, wondering how much of it was from Powder’s past, how much was her resisting the kindness they were offering. He could tell that she wasn’t used to it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Powder looked up, her gaze hesitant but steady. “You really made this for me?” Her voice was quieter than usual, laced with uncertainty, but it wasn’t cold.

Jayce gave her a warm smile, his voice soft but confident. “Yeah, of course. We wanted you to feel at home here.” Powder picked at the food in front of her, but still, she didn’t eat. Viktor could tell she was trying to figure out the situation, trying to gauge if they were like the others who had let her down. He wasn’t sure how long it would take her to trust them, or even if she ever would.

But then, as Viktor kept watching, he saw a slight shift in her posture, as though she were starting to let her guard down. She wasn’t as tense, wasn’t holding her body so tightly, as though preparing for something to hurt her again.

Jayce kept his voice casual, trying to ease the awkwardness in the room. “Don’t worry if you’re not hungry. No pressure.” Powder’s eyes lingered on the plate, and then, for a brief second, they flicked to Viktor. He saw the momentary vulnerability in her gaze. She looked away quickly, as if she hadn’t meant to show it. But it was there, and Viktor couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her.

Finally, after a long pause, Powder spoke again, her voice quieter, almost too soft to hear. “I’ve never had anyone make me breakfast... not like this.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was a crack in the walls she’d built around herself, just a small shift, but it was a step forward. Viktor held onto that thought, even if he couldn’t quite ignore the stain on her sleeve. He made a mental note to ask her about it later, but for now, he focused on the small progress they were making. The breakfast, the quiet conversation, the unspoken understanding that they were here, and they weren’t leaving.

Jayce caught Viktor’s eye across the table, a small, reassuring look that passed between them. Whatever came next, they would handle it. Together.

*****

Jayce and Viktor spent the entire afternoon watching movies, curled up together on the couch. The warm glow of the television screen flickered in the otherwise quiet living room, the sound of soft laughter and movie dialogue filling the space. Powder sat by herself on the edge of the couch, a bit of distance between them, but she was still present—quietly watching the films with them. She didn’t say much, but Jayce noticed that she was trying to relax, trying to be part of it, even if she wasn’t fully engaged. 

Jayce and Viktor were cozy, huddled up together, sharing a blanket, laughing at parts of the movie, sometimes whispering soft jokes or comments. Powder sat still, her eyes flickering from the screen to them and back, almost like she was studying them, trying to figure out if this was real, if they could really be trusted.

As the hours passed, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the room became darker, the soft glow of the TV now more prominent. The movies shifted from light-hearted comedies to more intense dramas, but the atmosphere in the room remained calm, and comforting. Jayce could see that Powder was still hesitant but slowly beginning to relax, her posture a little less rigid. 

At some point, when the movie credits rolled, Jayce glanced over at Powder. “You know, Powder... We were thinking about getting you some new clothes,” he said casually, not wanting to make it a big deal but still wanting to offer her something more than just the hand-me-downs she had been wearing. 

Powder froze. Jayce barely saw it at first, but the change in her body language was unmistakable—she stiffened, her eyes wide and unfocused, and then she quickly looked away. Jayce’s stomach sank as he watched her, realizing something was off. She fidgeted nervously with her hoodie sleeves, avoiding their gazes.

“You don’t have to, though,” Jayce quickly added, trying to backpedal. “It’s just something we were thinking about... if you wanted. No pressure.” 

But Powder wasn’t listening. She had already gone into herself, her breathing picking up, the panic creeping into her eyes. Jayce's eyes flickered to Viktor, who had noticed as well, his brow furrowed in concern. They had both seen this before—the moment when Powder shut down, when the fear from her past bubbled to the surface.

Jayce’s gaze shifted back to Powder, watching as she pulled her knees to her chest, her hands clutching at the fabric of her hoodie, as if she was trying to hold herself together. The silence in the room was thick now, heavier than before.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor asked gently, but his voice felt like it was too much for Powder to handle right now. She couldn’t respond. Instead, she just shrank into herself, the same defensive walls they had seen before rising up quickly, like they were protecting her from something—something she didn’t want to share.

Then, Jayce’s eyes caught something—a stain on her sleeve. It was dark reddish-brown, something he hadn’t seen before, and it made his stomach twist. Powder immediately noticed his gaze, and in that moment, she snapped, her eyes wide with fear.

“I don’t want new clothes,” she murmured, barely audible, her voice cracked as she shut down completely. “I’m fine. I’m just fine.” 

Her words hit Jayce hard, and he could tell that whatever had caused that stain, whatever memories it brought up, were too much for her to face right now. He felt a surge of guilt and sadness, realizing just how much she had been through—things that went far beyond the surface.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce said quickly, his tone soothing but firm. “We didn’t mean to upset you. We just wanted to help.” 

Powder didn’t respond. She simply curled in on herself more, closing off, shutting out the world. Jayce wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but he knew now wasn’t the right time. They would need to give her space.

The room was quiet again, and Jayce could feel the weight of everything that was unsaid, everything that Powder was keeping inside. But they had made progress, even if it didn’t feel like it right now. He glanced at Viktor, who gave him a silent nod, understanding what Jayce was thinking. They would figure this out, even if it meant taking small steps and letting Powder find her way to trusting them, when she was ready.

The night stretched on, the sound of the TV the only noise in the room. But Jayce couldn’t stop thinking about what Powder had said, what she hadn’t said, and the fear that still held her tightly in its grip.

****

Viktor sat back on the couch, his eyes still fixed on Powder, who had retreated into herself again. The air felt thick with the weight of everything that had just unfolded. He could feel the tension, the unease that lingered in the room, but he couldn’t ignore the stain on Powder’s hoodie—dark reddish-brown, something he knew wasn’t just a simple mark. The way Powder had reacted to Jayce’s offer of new clothes—so panicked, so defensive—only reinforced his suspicions that something deeper was going on.

Jayce’s voice broke through the silence. “What do you think is going on with that stain, Vik? It’s not just... food or dirt. It’s something else.” 

Viktor shifted slightly, glancing at the stain again, his stomach tightening. The sight of it made his thoughts race, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Powder was still so guarded, so unwilling to share her past. But whatever that stain was, whatever it represented, it was part of the walls she’d built around herself.

“I don’t know, Jayce,” Viktor replied, his voice quiet, almost as though he were thinking aloud. “But it’s obvious it’s tied to something... bad. Something she doesn’t want to talk about.” 

Jayce leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him, his brows furrowed in concern. “Her reaction when we mentioned clothes... it was like she just shut down. It’s like we triggered something. I don’t think it’s about clothes. It’s more about... I don’t know, losing control? Not wanting to accept that we’re offering something she’s never had.” 

Viktor nodded, deep in thought. He couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever she was hiding, whatever trauma she’d been through, was linked to the rejection and neglect she had faced from every other foster family. She had been let down by so many people in her life that, even when offered something simple, something meant to care for her, it felt like a threat. It was all too much for her to process. 

“I think you’re right,” Viktor said softly. “It’s not just the clothes. It’s the idea of needing something from us, trusting us to provide for her... She’s been let down by so many before. To her, any kindness is just... temporary. It’s probably why she pulled away when we offered her that. She doesn’t believe we’ll follow through. She doesn’t believe we’ll stay.” 

Jayce exhaled, rubbing his face. “I just want her to feel safe. To trust us. I know we’re not perfect, and we have our own flaws, but we’re here for her. We’re not going anywhere. But how do we get through to her?” 

Viktor leaned forward, thinking about the girl in the room, curled up under her blanket. She had such a deep well of hurt inside her, a well that had been dug by abandonment and neglect. It was clear to Viktor that healing wasn’t going to be immediate. She wasn’t going to open up quickly, or at all, if they pushed her. 

“I think we just need to keep show her that we care Jayce,” Viktor said quietly, his voice full of conviction. “We keep offering support, we keep showing her that we’re here. And when she’s ready, she’ll let us in. But we can’t rush her.” 

Jayce nodded, though the frustration was still evident in his eyes. “I know. But I just hate seeing her like this, you know? She’s so... broken. And I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Viktor placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You can’t fix it, Jayce. You can’t fix her past. But you can be there for her. We can help her rebuild, piece by piece. And that’s enough. For now, that’s enough.”

Jayce exhaled slowly, leaning back into the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Viktor didn’t need to say anything more. They both knew that this was going to be a long journey. But it was a journey they would take together. For Powder. They would prove to her that they weren’t going anywhere, even if she didn’t believe it yet. 

"She's not going to open up easily," Viktor added, his voice more firm now, "but we're not going anywhere. Not like everyone else." 

Jayce met Viktor’s gaze, and for the first time in a while, a glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. "We just need to keep showing her that." 

Viktor nodded the weight of their shared determination settling in. "We will."

****

At the end of the night when she was supposed to be in bed, Powder stood frozen at the end of the hallway, her breathing erratic, as the voices of Jayce and Viktor drifted to her. She wanted to stay hidden, but she couldn't help herself. She needed to hear them—needed to know what they thought. Even though a part of her already feared it, she needed to hear if they would leave her too.

“She’s still shutting us out, Vik,” Jayce’s voice carried from the living room, tinged with frustration. “I don’t know how to get through to her. It’s like she’s afraid of us—afraid of us being another disappointment.”

The words sent a jolt of panic through her chest. They were right. They were already starting to realize it. She was too much. They’d get tired of her, just like everyone else. She would push them away without meaning to. She always did.

“Maybe she’s just not ready yet,” Viktor said, his voice softer, more understanding. “We have to let her come to us. We can’t force it.”

Powder’s breath hitched, the tension in her body tightening with every word. They had no idea how right they were. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be. She wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t enough, period. And they would see that, eventually. They would leave her. 

“She’s broken, Vik,” Jayce said, the weight of the words pressing down on her chest. “I don’t know how to fix her. What if we’re not enough for her?”

The word enough echoed in her head, repeating over and over, drowning out everything else. She wasn’t enough. She couldn’t be. No one would want her once they realized just how broken she was. It would happen again. It always did.

Her heart began to race. The walls of the house felt too close. Her vision blurred, the noise in her head growing louder. She couldn’t breathe. The panic clawed its way up her throat, making her feel like she was choking. She clutched her chest, struggling to take in air, but it was impossible. It was like there was no room left for her lungs to expand. 

She stumbled back into her room, her hands pressed against the wall to steady herself, but she couldn’t control the rapid breaths, couldn’t quiet the fear screaming inside her. She had to get away. She had to hide.

“Powder…” she heard Jayce’s voice, softer now, but she didn’t turn to face him. She couldn’t. Not with the panic ripping through her. She could hear him coming closer, his footsteps tentative but urgent. “Powder, hey… It’s okay.” She couldn't respond. She couldn’t do anything except try to force air into her lungs, but it wasn’t working. Her chest ached, and her whole body shook uncontrollably. Every breath felt like it might be her last.

“Powder…” Jayce was right beside her now, his arms gentle but insistent as he pulled her into his chest. “We’re right here. You’re okay. You’re not alone.”

She barely heard him over the thudding of her own heartbeat. She wanted to pull away, wanted to curl up in a corner and disappear. But instead, she clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt as her sobs racked through her body.

“I can’t… I can’t…,” she mumbled between breaths, her words breaking off. She didn’t know what to say. How could she explain? They’ll leave. They always do.

“I’m too much,” she managed to whisper, the words barely audible as she trembled in his arms. “I’m too much for you. You’ll leave. You’ll get tired of me.”

She buried her face in his chest, not wanting to look at him, to see the disappointment she knew would be in his eyes when he realized she wasn’t worth keeping. They always leave.

Jayce’s grip tightened on her, his voice calm and steady despite the tremble she could hear in it. “Powder, we’re not going anywhere. We’re not like the others. You’re not too much. You’re enough. You hear me? You’re enough.”

But she couldn’t shake the fear. It still clawed at her, a constant, suffocating weight in her chest. She was too much. She was broken. She was a mess, and eventually, Jayce and Viktor would see that, just like everyone else.

“Please don’t leave,” she whispered, the panic still clouding her thoughts. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Jayce didn’t let go. He just held her tighter, his voice soft, steady, unwavering. “You’re not alone, Powder. You’re never going to be alone again. We’re not going anywhere. Not ever.” Her sobs slowly quieted, though the fear still lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind. Jayce’s words wrapped around her like a lifeline, but the panic hadn’t fully subsided. Not yet.

Viktor appeared in the doorway, his presence steady and calm as he came closer, resting a hand gently on Powder’s shoulder. “We’re here, Powder,” he said quietly, his voice full of warmth. “We’re not leaving. You’re not alone.”

Powder couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that came, but this time, they didn’t feel like the end of something. For the first time, they felt like the start of something—something that maybe, just maybe, wasn’t going to leave her.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the kitchen as Viktor stood by the stove, methodically flipping eggs in the pan. The early sunlight streamed through the window, casting long golden streaks across the countertops. The house was still quiet, save for the occasional clatter of utensils and the soft hum of the exhaust fan. Powder was still sleeping, curled up under the thick blankets they'd given her the night before.

Jayce, in the middle of rinsing a plate, heard his phone buzzing against the counter. He glanced down, immediately recognizing the name flashing on the screen—Mom. His stomach tightened. He wiped his damp hands on a dish towel and hesitated, just for a second, before answering.

"Hey, Mom."

"Jayce," Ximena’s voice came through the speaker, warm yet carrying that familiar undercurrent of expectation. "I was hoping to hear from you before now."

Jayce let out a breath, already bracing himself for the conversation. "I know. It’s been… a lot."

"I figured as much." She paused, her voice softening just a bit. "How is she?"

Jayce glanced toward the hallway. Powder’s door was still shut, and there was no sign of movement yet. "She’s… adjusting," he said carefully. "It’s only been a day."

"And how are you adjusting?"

That question gave him pause. He rolled his shoulders, suddenly aware of the tension he’d been carrying since yesterday. The past two days had been overwhelming—Powder’s hesitant smiles, the way she flinched at sudden noises, her nervous energy shifting between moments of quiet trust and retreating into herself. The way she had clung to him at dinner and last night, as if letting go would mean losing everything all over again.

"I’m figuring it out," he said instead. "We both are."

Ximena made a thoughtful humming sound. "I’d like to meet her."

Jayce blinked. "So soon?"

"Jayce," she said, her tone gentle but firm, "you and Viktor just took in a child. A child who has been through more than anyone should. You need support. And I want to see her. I want her to know she has more people in her corner than just the two of you."

Jayce exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. He should’ve expected this. His mother had never been the type to stay on the sidelines, especially when it came to family.

"She’s… not great with new people," he admitted.

"I won’t push her," Ximena reassured him. "I just want to stop by, say hello. Maybe drop off some things—clothes, blankets, whatever she might need."

Jayce’s fingers drummed against the counter as he mulled it over. He looked toward Viktor, who had clearly been listening while tending to breakfast. His husband glanced up, raising an eyebrow in silent question. When their eyes met, Viktor gave a small shrug, as if to say, Your call.

Jayce hesitated for only a second longer before sighing. "Alright. Just… don’t overwhelm her, okay?"

"I won’t," Ximena promised. "I’ll be there in a couple of hours."

Jayce ended the call and set his phone down with a quiet sigh.

"Your mother?" Viktor asked, scraping eggs onto a plate.

"Yeah," Jayce muttered, running a hand through his hair. "She wants to meet Powder."

Viktor nodded, sliding the plate onto the table. "It might be good for her."

Jayce exhaled, leaning against the counter. "I hope so."

A rustling sound from the hallway made them both turn their heads. Powder stood there, her oversized hoodie still on, hair in a tangled braid. She rubbed one eye groggily, blinking at them.

"Who’s coming?" she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

Jayce hesitated, then gave her a small smile. "My mom. She wants to meet you."

Powder frowned, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Why?"

"Because she cares about me," Jayce said simply, "and that means she’ll care about you too."

Powder eyed him skeptically, her nose scrunching slightly in thought. She shifted her gaze toward Viktor, who merely offered a small, knowing smile before turning back to the stove.

"Do I have to talk to her?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Jayce shook his head. "Nope. You can stay in your room if you want. But… she’s really nice. I think you might like her."

Powder mulled that over for a moment before exhaling dramatically. "Fine. But if she’s annoying, I’m leaving."

Jayce chuckled. "Fair deal."

Viktor slid a chair out for her at the table and set a plate down in front of it. "Eat first," he instructed. "Then decide."

Powder sighed heavily but obeyed, plopping into the chair with exaggerated reluctance. Jayce watched her as she picked at her food, still half-asleep but at least present. Maybe this would go okay. Maybe it wouldn’t. But at least Powder wasn’t shutting down.

And for now, that was enough.

*****

Powder sat curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie. She kept her eyes on the floor, her stomach twisting into nervous knots. Jayce’s mom was coming. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

The knock on the door made her flinch. Viktor was the one to answer it, greeting Ximena with his usual calm. Powder heard the warm "Hello, sweetheart," and then the sound of the door shutting behind her.

Jayce’s voice was next. "Hey, Mom."

Powder swallowed and glanced up just in time to see her step inside.

Ximena looked so much like Jayce. Same eyes, same strong features. Her curly brown hair was streaked with strands of silver, pulled back into a loose bun. She wore a long coat over a soft sweater, and in her hands, she held a bag filled with something—probably the stuff she’d mentioned bringing over. She smiled warmly at Jayce first, then her gaze shifted toward Powder.

Powder immediately looked away.

"Hello, Powder," Ximena said gently. "It’s nice to meet you." Powder didn’t answer. She kept her face blank, fingers still tugging at her sleeve. Her chest felt tight, like she was waiting for something bad to happen. But Ximena didn’t push. She didn’t force a handshake or try to make her talk. She just set the bag down on the table and took off her coat, chatting casually with Jayce and Viktor like this was just a normal visit.

Powder stayed quiet, watching from the corner of her eye. She expected Ximena to try and pull her into the conversation, but she didn’t. She let Powder sit there, no pressure, no expectations. Instead, she unpacked the bag, setting out a couple of soft sweaters, some socks, a blanket that looked really warm, and a small tin of cookies.

"I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but I figured cozy things are always a safe bet," she said lightly, smoothing out the folded fabric. "And I might have made too many cookies, so I thought I’d share."

Cookies. Powder’s fingers twitched.

She stole a glance at Ximena, who was still busy unpacking, not even looking at her. The blanket looked nice. Soft. It had little patterns stitched into it, like something someone had actually made instead of bought from a store.

She didn’t move right away. But after a few minutes, when no one was paying too much attention, she slowly reached forward and tugged the blanket closer to her lap.

Still, no one said anything.

Jayce and Ximena kept talking—about work, about some neighbor Jayce barely remembered, about normal, boring things that had nothing to do with Powder. It made the tightness in her chest ease just a little. She let the fabric slip between her fingers, feeling the warmth of it. It smelled like lavender. After another long moment, she glanced up again, just for a second.

Ximena caught her eye. But instead of saying anything, she just gave her the smallest, kindest smile—like she knew Powder was watching, but she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. And for the first time, Powder didn’t look away immediately. She didn’t smile back, not yet. But she didn’t move away either. And maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t so bad.

Powder sat curled up under the blanket, the warmth seeping into her skin. She didn’t want to admit it, but… it was nice. It smelled like something fresh and clean, and it was just the right weight—not too heavy, not too light.

She pretended not to listen as Ximena and Jayce kept talking. Their voices were soft, comfortable, filling the space without pressing on her. Viktor chimed in every now and then, his words measured, casual. It felt… normal.

That was weird.

Powder didn’t remember the last time she’d just sat with people without feeling like she had to be on guard. At some point, Ximena shifted, and Powder tensed slightly. She could feel her looking at her, even before she spoke.

“You know,” Ximena said lightly, her voice just as gentle as before, “I used to make blankets like that for Jayce when he was younger.”

Powder hesitated, her fingers freezing mid-fidget. She didn’t look up. She didn’t say anything. But Ximena didn’t seem bothered by that.

“He had this favorite one,” Ximena continued, like they were already in the middle of a conversation. “It was blue with little stars stitched in. He wouldn’t go anywhere without it. Drove me crazy sometimes.”

Jayce groaned from across the room. “Mom.” Ximena chuckled, and Powder almost—almost—smiled. She could ignore her. It was what she usually did when adults tried to talk to her. But for some reason, this time, she didn’t.

Instead, she peeked up just enough to mumble, “What happened to it?”

Ximena blinked, like she hadn’t expected a response. But then she smiled, warm and easy. “It got so worn out, I had to patch it up a dozen times. Eventually, he outgrew it. But I think I still have it somewhere.”

Powder nodded slightly, not sure what else to say. Ximena didn’t push her for more. She just let the quiet settle again, like Powder’s small response was enough. And weirdly… that made her feel like maybe she could say something else.

Powder shifted, glancing at the tin on the table. “What kind of cookies?”

Ximena’s face lit up like she’d just won a prize. But she still kept her voice easy, like it was no big deal. “Chocolate chip. I can’t promise they’re the best, but they’re pretty good.”

Powder hesitated, then slowly sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “Can I—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “Can I have one?”

Ximena slid the tin toward her with a knowing smile. “Of course, sweetheart. Take as many as you want.”

Powder grabbed one, biting into it cautiously. It was soft, warm, really good. Ximena didn’t say anything else, just let her eat. But when Powder glanced up again, just for a second, she caught the way Ximena was looking at her—gentle, patient. Like she wasn’t expecting anything from her.

Powder swallowed, then, quieter than before, mumbled, “Thanks.”

Ximena just smiled. “Anytime, mija.”

Powder stayed curled up in the blanket, chewing slowly. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but something in her chest felt a little less tight. Like maybe… maybe this wasn’t so bad. The cookie was good. Probably the best she’d had in a long time. It was still warm, like Jayce’s mom had baked them fresh just for her. Powder pulled her knees up to her chest, watching as Jayce and Viktor talked with Ximena about something boring—work, maybe? She wasn’t really listening.

What she was doing was sneaking small glances at Ximena. The older woman wasn’t even looking at her, which was kinda weird. Most adults kept trying to make her talk, or they stared too much, like she was some kind of lost puppy. But Ximena just… let her be.

Powder shifted slightly, her grip on the blanket loosening. She was still not totally comfortable, but better than before. She reached for another cookie without really thinking. Ximena noticed but didn’t say anything, just gave her a small smile before going back to the conversation.

Powder nibbled on the edge of the cookie, watching her warily. “So… why’d you make these?” she asked, her voice still quiet but a little steadier this time.

Ximena turned to her, raising a brow. “You mean the cookies?”

Powder nodded.

Ximena chuckled. “Because I like baking for people I care about. It’s my way of showing it.”

That made Powder pause. She stared down at the half-eaten cookie in her hand, suddenly not sure what to do with the warmth creeping into her chest.

“…Oh.” It was all she could think to say.

Ximena just smiled. “Do you like them?”

Powder hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah. They’re good.”

“Good.” Ximena’s voice was soft, like she knew how hard that was for Powder to admit. “I’ll make more next time, then.”

Next time.

That was weird. Powder wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of a next time yet. But she didn’t hate it either. And that… that was something. She took another bite and let herself settle in just a little bit more.

Ximena reached into the bag she’d brought with her, pulling out something small and setting it on the couch in front of Powder.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” she said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. “But I thought maybe this could be nice.”

Powder blinked and looked down. A small sketchbook sat in front of her, its cover smooth and blank, waiting to be filled. Next to it was a tin of colored pencils—nice ones, not the cheap kind that always broke when you pressed too hard. Her fingers twitched slightly against the edge of her sleeve. Powder stared at the sketchbook and the tin of colored pencils, her breath catching in her throat.

She hadn’t expected much when Ximena reached into her bag, maybe something generic like a book or clothes. But this—this—was different. Her fingers twitched, itching to reach out, but she didn’t move.

She used to draw. Before.

Before everything fell apart. Before her parents were gone. Before Vi left.

Back then, she and Vi would sit together, sprawled out on the floor with scraps of paper between them, doodling whatever came to mind. Vi had always drawn people—strong, heroic figures, confident lines, and bold strokes. Powder’s drawings were messier, filled with scribbled notes and unfinished ideas. But Vi had liked them. She used to lean over and point to one, grinning. “That one’s cool, Pow-Pow. You should finish it.”

Her chest ached. She hadn’t drawn in a long time.

Powder swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as a few tears slipped free before she could stop them. She wiped them away quickly with the sleeve of her hoodie, hoping no one noticed. Ximena didn’t say anything, didn’t react to the way Powder had gone completely still. She just waited, quiet and patient. Powder hesitated for another moment, then, slowly, she reached out and took the sketchbook, her fingers brushing over the smooth cover. It felt… nice. Sturdy. Like it could hold more than just drawings.

She sniffed once and nodded, keeping her eyes down. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Her voice was rough, barely more than a whisper.

Ximena just smiled gently. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Powder didn’t know if she would actually use it.

But for the first time in a long time, maybe she wanted to.

*****

Once Powder had wandered off—sketchbook still clutched in her hands—Jayce, Viktor, and Ximena gathered in the kitchen. Ximena poured herself a cup of tea, her expression thoughtful as she leaned against the counter.

“She’s been through a lot,” she said softly, glancing toward the hallway where Powder had disappeared. “I could see it the moment I walked in.”

Jayce sighed, rubbing his face. “Yeah. She doesn’t really let people in.”

“She’s getting there,” Viktor added, setting his mug down. “Slowly.”

Ximena hummed, swirling her tea absentmindedly. Then she hesitated before speaking again. “Her hoodie…” she said carefully. “I noticed the stain on the sleeve.”

Jayce’s stomach tightened. He knew exactly what she was referring to—that dark, reddish-brown stain on her upper arm of her sleeve. It stood out even more today, now that he was really looking at it.

“We noticed it too,” Viktor said quietly. “The first day she got here.”

Ximena’s fingers curled around her mug. “Do you know what it is?”

Jayce shook his head. “No. And she won’t talk about it.” His voice was quieter now, cautious. “She never takes it off. I don’t even think she’s changed since she got here.”

Viktor nodded. “She sleeps in it. Wears it all day. Even when it’s warm in here.”

Ximena exhaled, setting her mug down on the counter with a soft clink. “That’s not just comfort,” she murmured. “That’s fear.”

Jayce swallowed hard. He’d been trying not to think about that too much, but hearing it out loud made it real. A heavy silence settled over them.

“We don’t know if it’s—” Jayce started, then stopped himself. He couldn’t even say it.

Blood.

They didn’t know for sure. But it had crossed his mind more than once, and it clearly had for Viktor too. Now, Ximena was worried about it as well.

“What if it is?” Viktor asked after a long pause. His voice was calm, but Jayce knew him well enough to hear the tension underneath. “What do we do then?”

Jayce ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know.”

Ximena was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Right now, the best thing you can do is make sure she knows she’s safe. If she’s not ready to change, don’t force her. But when she is—when she’s ready—you need to be there for that moment.”

Jayce nodded, but his chest still felt tight. “She doesn’t believe she’s safe yet.”

“She will,” Viktor said, firm and certain. “Eventually.”

Ximena exhaled slowly. “And when that time comes, she might need help letting go.”

Jayce wasn’t sure if she meant the hoodie or something much, much bigger.

In the quiet of the apartment, a faint sound reached them from the other room—the soft, steady scratch of pencil against paper.

Powder was drawing.

Jayce closed his eyes for a second before looking at Viktor. “That’s a good sign, right?”

Viktor gave him a small nod. “Yes. It is.”

Ximena smiled, though there was a trace of sadness in her eyes. “It’s a start.”

After a few moments of silence, Ximena finally broke it. “You mentioned something about dinner the other night and last night, Jayce. She—Powder—seemed so overwhelmed. You haven’t said much about it, but I can tell something happened.”

Jayce hesitated, his hands clasped together on the table. Viktor was standing across from him, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was uncertain. He could feel the weight of the conversation ahead, the responsibility to explain, to make Ximena understand. “It was... a lot,” Jayce said softly, his voice thick with the weight of the memory. “Two days ago, at dinner, Powder—she broke down. Completely.”

Ximena’s brow furrowed in concern, and she glanced between the two men. “What happened? Did something trigger it?”

Viktor stepped forward, taking over the conversation for a moment. “It wasn’t one thing. It was just… the sudden realization of safety, maybe. She was eating, but then she stopped, and suddenly, it was like all the fear she'd been holding back just came rushing out.” Viktor paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She didn’t know how to handle the kindness, the fact that we weren’t just going to abandon her. It was too much all at once.”

Jayce could see the flash of understanding in Ximena’s eyes, but there was also an unmistakable sadness there. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jayce continued, his voice quieter now, as if saying it out loud might make it more real.

“I don’t think she’s ever had anyone just be there for her before. She—” He cut himself off. It was hard to explain. Hard to put into words the weight of the emotional burden that Powder had carried for so long. “We didn’t know until dinner how bad it had gotten for her. She—she told us some things about her past foster families. Things that... just broke my heart. How they kept her at arm’s length, how they never really cared about her. She was just... a burden to them.”

Ximena’s face went pale, and she put a hand to her chest. “That’s just... unimaginable,” she whispered.

Jayce nodded, his voice thick with emotion as he spoke. “We didn’t even know. She didn’t say much at first. But dinner—when she broke down—it was like everything spilled out. It’s like she’s been carrying this weight for so long that it just all came crashing down.”

Viktor leaned against the counter, looking more frustrated than usual. “It’s clear she’s been neglected, Jayce. No child should go through what she has. They made her feel like she didn’t matter.”

Jayce closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a slow breath before continuing. “She said they smiled and acted like they cared at first, but then it was just... fake. She said they only fed her when they remembered, and they always locked her away when she ‘misbehaved.’”

Ximena covered her mouth in shock, shaking her head. “Oh my God. No child should be treated like that.” Her voice wavered slightly. “What kind of people would do that to a child?”

Jayce looked up at her, his eyes tired but resolute. “I don’t know. But Powder doesn’t see it any other way. She’s learned that she can’t depend on anyone, that if she gets close to anyone, they’ll just leave.”

There was a long silence after that, Ximena’s eyes fixed on Jayce, and Viktor’s gaze drifting away. Finally, Ximena spoke again, her voice soft and steady.

“And when she broke down last night?”

Jayce grimaced at the memory. “Last night, she couldn’t keep it in anymore. She started crying, saying she was afraid of getting attached. She was scared we’d leave her like the others did. She—” He paused, swallowing hard. “She said she was waiting for the moment when we'd get tired of her.”

Ximena sighed deeply, clearly struggling with the weight of it all. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like for her. For all of you. She’s been so closed off, so distant.”

Jayce shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not just that. She’s been through so much, and we’re barely scratching the surface. She’s scared, Mom. Scared to trust, scared to open up. And we don’t know what to do to fix that.”

Viktor stepped closer to Jayce, offering him a silent but supportive presence. “All we can do is be there. She needs us to show her that we’re not going anywhere.”

Ximena nodded, her expression thoughtful but firm. “That’s exactly right. She needs to see that you’re here to stay. It won’t happen overnight. But slowly, with patience, she’ll realize that you’re not like the others.”

Jayce nodded, though doubt still lingered in his mind. He wasn’t sure how long it would take, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help Powder heal.

“I just wish I could make it better for her. I hate seeing her like this,” Jayce murmured.

Ximena reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You will, Jayce. Just keep being the person you are. Keep showing her that she’s safe here, that she’s loved. It’s the best gift you can give her right now.”

There was a pause, and Jayce turned toward the hallway, where he knew Powder was still in her room. His heart hurt for her, for everything she’d been through. But hearing his mom’s words, the reassurance, made him feel a little less burdened, a little more sure of their path forward.

“Thanks, Mom,” Jayce said quietly, offering her a small but grateful smile.

She smiled back, her eyes full of understanding. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad to be here, to help however I can.”

*****

After a while, Ximena stood from the table, her hands smoothing down the front of her jacket as she glanced toward the hallway. Powder had come out briefly, but she hadn’t seemed ready to interact more, so she’d retreated back to her room. It was clear that Ximena wasn’t going to push her, but she still wanted to say goodbye.

“I should probably get going,” Ximena said, a small but warm smile playing on her lips as she looked between Jayce and Viktor. "You two have a lot on your plate, and I don't want to overstay my welcome."

Jayce stood, feeling the weight of the conversation they'd had lingering in the air, but also a quiet sense of relief. It had been helpful to talk about Powder’s situation with his mom, to process everything out loud. It felt like a small step forward in understanding.

"You don't have to rush off," Jayce said, his voice soft. "But we appreciate you coming by. It means a lot, really."

Viktor, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, nodded in agreement. "You’ve been a big help, Ximena. We really needed someone to talk to. Thank you for being here."

Ximena smiled, her eyes gentle and kind. "Of course. You know I’m always here for you. Both of you. And for Powder too. Just... let me know if you need anything. Don't hesitate."

Jayce and Viktor both nodded, grateful for her presence, even if only for a short while.

Ximena turned toward the door, but before she left, she paused and looked back at them. "Take care of her," she said, her voice soft but firm. "You’re doing more than enough, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. And don’t forget to take care of yourselves too."

Jayce felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. He’d heard the words before, but hearing them now—after everything—felt different. More meaningful.

"We will," Jayce said quietly. "We’re in this together."

With one last smile, Ximena opened the door, stepping outside and leaving Jayce and Viktor standing in the doorway. As the door clicked softly shut behind her, Jayce stood there for a moment, absorbing the quiet that followed.

Viktor placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a slight squeeze. "You okay?"

Jayce looked up at Viktor, feeling a bit lighter. "Yeah," he said, giving a small, tired smile. "I think... I think we’re going to be okay."

And as they stood together in the stillness of the house, the soft weight of the day pressing down on them, it was a small but hopeful thought that lingered between them.

Chapter Text

Powder woke up early Monday morning, the uneasy flutter in her stomach making it impossible to go back to sleep. She stared at the ceiling, willing herself to feel numb, to ignore the sinking weight in her chest. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. The longer she lay there, the worse it got.

Her first day of school.

A new place. New people. New stares. New whispers.

She turned her head slightly, peeking out the window. The sky was still dark, only the faintest light creeping through the blinds. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was just another day, that she didn’t have to get up, that she could stay hidden under the covers forever. But she knew she couldn’t.

With a quiet sigh, she finally forced herself out of bed, her movements sluggish. She shuffled to the dresser, pulling out her hoodie—the same one she always wore. It was worn at the sleeves from how often she fidgeted with them, and there was a faded stain near the upper sleeve. It smelled like the detergent Viktor used, which was oddly comforting.

The house was quiet when she made her way to the kitchen. Jayce and Viktor were already there, sitting at the table with coffee in their hands. The sound of the chair creaking under Jayce as he shifted was the first thing that greeted her.

Jayce caught sight of her first and gave a small smile. “Morning, kiddo.”

Powder didn’t respond. She didn’t feel like talking. Instead, she walked straight to the counter, grabbing a granola bar from the box. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unwrapped it. She tried not to think about why.

“You ready for your first day?” Viktor asked, his voice gentle, his sharp eyes watching her closely.

Powder hesitated, her stomach twisting. She didn’t know how to answer that. “I guess…” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jayce gave her a knowing look but didn’t push. “You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. Just… do your best to get through the day, okay?”

She nodded, but the weight of the words sat heavy in her chest.

They finished breakfast in near silence. Powder nibbled at the granola bar, but the taste was dry in her mouth. Everything felt too loud—the sound of Jayce’s spoon clinking against his coffee mug, the quiet scratch of Viktor flipping a page in the newspaper. The ordinary sounds of home. But she didn’t feel like she was home.

The drive to school was quiet too. Jayce drove, Viktor sat in the passenger seat, and Powder sat alone in the back, staring out the window. The streets blurred past her, but she wasn’t really paying attention. All she could think about was walking through the school doors, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes on her.

Viktor turned in his seat to look at her. “How are you feeling?”

Powder shrugged. “I dunno.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

Jayce sighed. “Just remember, it’s the first day. You don’t have to have everything figured out right away.”

But it wasn’t that simple. Powder knew exactly how this would go. She’d be the weird kid. The quiet kid. The foster kid. The one people whispered about but never actually talked to.

When they finally arrived, the usual dread crept up on her like a heavy weight pressing against her chest. The school was buzzing with movement—kids running around, talking, laughing, already grouped up with their friends. It was like stepping into an entirely different world. A world she didn’t belong in.

Jayce turned in his seat, giving her a reassuring smile, but it didn’t make the fear go away. “You’re gonna do great, Powder,” he said gently. “Just take it one step at a time. And if you need us, we’re right here, okay?”

She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she believed him.

Viktor leaned over slightly. “We’re just a phone call away, Powder. No matter what happens today, we’re here for you.”

The words were comforting, but they didn’t make it easier.

Jayce reached for the door handle. “Okay, let’s go.”

Powder hesitated, gripping the strap of her backpack tightly before finally pushing the door open and stepping out onto the pavement. She stood there for a second, frozen in place as she stared at the entrance. Jayce and Viktor lingered, watching her. Jayce whispered something to Viktor, his brows drawn together. They weren’t leaving until she started moving.So, with a deep breath, she forced herself forward. One foot in front of the other.

The school doors loomed ahead. Powder swallowed hard and stepped inside. The second she did, the noise hit her like a wave.

The hallway was packed. Students crowded together in groups, leaning against the walls, chatting loudly, pushing past one another. Powder kept her head down, gripping the straps of her backpack tightly. If she didn’t make eye contact, maybe no one would notice her.

But she was wrong.

A voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, you’re the new kid, right?”

Powder stiffened. Slowly, she turned her head.

A boy stood a few feet away, grinning. His dark hair was messy, and his posture was relaxed, but there was something in his voice that made her uneasy. Behind him, two girls stood, one with long dark curls, the other with short strawberry blonde hair. They were smirking, whispering to each other.

She didn’t answer. Just looked down at her shoes and nodded.

The boy laughed. “What, you don’t talk?”

Powder clenched her jaw, heart pounding.

The strawberry blonde girl stepped closer, crossing her arms. “I’m Maddie,” she said, her voice sugary sweet in a way that felt fake. She gestured to the other girl. “That’s Hannah. And that idiot is Preston.”

Preston grinned, unfazed by the insult. “So, what’s your deal?”

Powder hesitated. “I don’t have a deal.”

Maddie tilted her head. “Well, everyone’s got a story. What’s yours?”

Powder’s stomach twisted.

“Let me guess,” Hannah said, smiling cruelly. “You’re the new foster kid, right?”

Powder flinched, her fingers tightening around her backpack straps.

Preston snorted. “Yeah, that makes sense. You look like one.”

Powder’s face burned. She tried to walk past them, but Maddie stepped in her way, blocking her path.

“Aw, don’t run off,” she said mockingly. “We’re just being friendly.”

Hannah giggled. “Yeah, you should be grateful, new kid.”

The way she said new kid made Powder’s skin crawl.

The bell rang. The three of them exchanged looks before Maddie stepped aside. “See you later,” she said with a smirk. “Hope you survive the first day.”

Powder didn’t respond. She just hurried past them, slipping into the classroom before she could hear any more of their taunts.

But she already knew.

The first day was only the beginning.

*****

At lunch, Powder slipped quietly into the bustling cafeteria, her eyes scanning the room for a place to sit. She hesitated, feeling the weight of unfamiliar eyes on her, before spotting an empty table tucked in the corner near the windows. The area was slightly removed from the chaos of the lunchroom, offering her the isolation she sought. She made her way over, her footsteps soft on the tile floor, and slid into the seat, her back against the wall as if to shield herself from the prying glances of her classmates. 

A shadow fell over Powder’s table, followed by the sound of footsteps and muffled laughter. She didn’t look up, but she felt them surrounding her.

“Hey, foster kid.”

She recognized the voice instantly—cocky and mocking. Powder gripped the edge of her tray tighter, her appetite completely gone.

“Don’t ignore us,” the voice continued. “That’s rude.”

Powder hesitated before finally lifting her gaze. Standing in front of her were Maddie, Preston, and Hannah, their presence looming over her like a storm she couldn’t outrun.

Maddie stood at the center, her short, strawberry blonde hair framing a face full of amusement. There was something sharp in her eyes—predatory, expectant. She wasn’t just looking at Powder; she was waiting for something, drinking in every ounce of discomfort Powder radiated.

Powder forced herself to meet Maddie’s gaze, but the moment their eyes locked, she regretted it. There was no warmth there, no kindness. Just amusement, the kind that sent a chill down Powder’s spine. Maddie was enjoying this.

Preston stood slightly behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips like he was just here for the show. Hannah, on the other hand, leaned in slightly, her arms crossed, eyes flickering over Powder like she was sizing her up.

Powder swallowed hard, her fingers curling around the strap of her backpack. She had been in this situation before. She knew exactly how this would go.

“Why are you here?” Preston said, gesturing vaguely.

Powder’s grip on the tray tightened. “I—I live here now.”

Maddie snorted. “Oh, come on. You don’t just ‘live here now.’” She paused, then grinned. “Ohhh, wait—I know. You’re only here until your new foster family is sick of you!”

Powder tensed.

Hannah gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, seriously? That’s, like, really sad.”

Maddie nodded, playing along. “Yeah, totally tragic.” Then her expression darkened. “Bet you got kicked out of your last home, huh?”

Powder shook her head quickly. “No, I—”

“Then what happened?” Preston cut in, crossing his arms. “Did they decide you weren’t worth keeping?”

A sharp, stinging feeling built in Powder’s chest. “That’s not—”

Hannah clicked her tongue. “I mean, if you were worth anything, your real parents wouldn’t have dumped you in the first place.”

Powder sucked in a breath.

Maddie’s eyes glowed with satisfaction. “Oh, wow. That one hit hard, huh?”

Preston grinned. “Hey, don’t be too sad about it. Some people just aren’t meant to be wanted.”

Powder’s stomach twisted.

Maddie leaned down, her voice a cruel whisper. “Do you ever think about it? What they must’ve thought when they left you behind?”

Hannah giggled. “Probably ‘Good riddance.’”

Powder shot up from her seat, her chair scraping against the floor. Her chest felt tight, her vision blurry. She needed to get out of here.

Maddie just smirked. “See you later, Jinx.”

Powder froze.

She hadn’t told anyone that name. She hadn’t heard it in so long, but the second it left Maddie’s mouth, it was like being thrown straight back into her past.

Maddie tilted her head, pretending to be innocent. “Oh, is that not your name? Weird. It should be your name. It fits you.”

Powder’s nails dug into her palms.

Hannah laughed. “Aw, she looks like she’s gonna cry.”

Powder turned on her heel and bolted, ignoring the way their laughter followed her.

*****

The bus was already half-full when Powder climbed on, her stomach knotted tight. She kept her head down, gripping the straps of her backpack as she moved quickly toward the middle, searching for an empty seat. She just needed to get through the ride. Just needed to—

A foot shot out in front of her.

Powder barely caught herself before she hit the floor. A few kids snickered as she stumbled, her face burning. She looked up and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Maddie.

She lounged in her seat, legs stretched out into the aisle, her usual smirk in place. Hannah sat beside her, chewing gum obnoxiously, while Preston leaned against the window, watching with lazy amusement.

“Oops,” Maddie said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Didn’t see you there.”

Powder straightened, gripping the strap of her backpack so tightly her fingers ached. “Move.”

Maddie gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh my god, did you just tell me what to do?” She turned to Hannah. “Did you hear that?”

Hannah giggled. “She’s getting bold.”

Preston grinned. “Cute.”

Powder’s pulse pounded in her ears. She started to step past them when Maddie suddenly grabbed the strap of her backpack, yanking her back.

“Hold up,” Maddie said, her voice lower now, more dangerous. “We didn’t even get to have a real conversation yet.”

Powder swallowed hard, forcing herself not to react.

“Where are you headed, Jinx?” Maddie asked.

Powder’s breath hitched.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

Maddie’s smirk widened. “Oh, did I hit a nerve? What’s wrong? You don’t like that name?”

Powder tried to yank her backpack free, but Maddie held tight.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Maddie continued, voice mocking. “Jinx is kind of perfect, isn’t it? I mean, everything you touch kind of goes to shit, right?”

Hannah let out a fake gasp. “Oh my god, Maddie, that’s so mean.” Then she smirked. “But also, like… kinda true.”

Preston chuckled. “Yeah, what was it you said at lunch, Maddie? About why she’s in foster care?”

Maddie tapped her chin in mock thought, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, right! Because nobody wants her.”

Powder’s stomach twisted.

Hannah leaned in, voice syrupy sweet. “I mean, if I were you, I’d probably run away or something. No one would even care.”

Powder’s breath came too fast. She tried again to pull away, but Maddie’s grip tightened.

“What’s the rush?” Maddie said. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

“Let me go,” Powder hissed.

Maddie tilted her head. “Or what?”

Powder clenched her fists. She was shaking, humiliated, furious, but she couldn’t do anything. Not here. Not while everyone was watching.

Finally, Maddie let go, shoving her back slightly.

“Fine,” she said, waving her off. “Go cry about it or whatever.”

Hannah snorted. “Yeah, run along, Jinx.”

Powder bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, forcing herself to keep walking. She found an empty seat near the back and sank into it, pressing herself against the window.

She kept her head down the rest of the ride, her nails digging into her palms. She hated them. She hated this school.

And most of all, she hated that part of her believed every single word they said.

*****

Powder’s vision started to swim as memories of the stares and whispers haunted her thoughts when she opened the front door. "Jinx." The words buzzed around in her mind, sinking deep into her chest, tightening like a vice. She could barely catch her breath, each inhale coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her heart pounded in her ears as a wave of panic crashed over her, the world feeling too big, too heavy to bear. I wish I was dead, the thought sliced through her mind, cold and brutal.

The room seemed to close in on her. She stumbled, her legs unsteady, but she pushed herself forward, desperate to get to her room. Her hands shook violently as she reached the door, slamming it behind her with a sound that echoed in the silence. She stood there, eyes wide, chest heaving, as the panic swirled around her, drowning her in a sea of anxious thoughts. She had to stop it. She had to find something—anything—to quiet the storm in her mind.

Her hands scrambled through the dresser, fingers grazing over clothes before finally gripping the cold metal of the pocketknife. Her chest constricted tighter, and for a second, she almost couldn’t breathe at all. She didn’t think about what she was doing, didn’t care. All she knew was that she needed to do something to regain control. She needed to feel something besides the overwhelming, suffocating panic.

Without hesitation, she yanked her hoodie off, the fabric rough against her skin. The knife flipped open with a sharp snap, the motion almost mechanical. She barely noticed the sharpness of the blade as she brought it to her arm, pressing it against her skin. The moment it cut through, she felt the pain, sharp and immediate, but it was better—better than the chaotic, buzzing anxiety in her chest. It was grounding. It made everything else quiet for just a second.

She sliced again, harder this time, and again. Each movement was frantic, driven by the need to feel something other than the swirling panic that made it hard to think, to breathe, to even exist. Each new cut, each new line that marred her skin, seemed to push the voices and the whispers farther away, making room for just a little bit of clarity. It was like the pain was the only thing that made sense in that moment, the only thing she could control.

When she finally stopped, her breath was uneven, her body trembling. The world felt like it was slowly coming back into focus, but there was still a buzzing, a nagging sense of urgency deep in her chest. She lifted her gaze to her arm, watching as the red lines began to seep down her skin, trailing like rivers. The sight of it, the steady flow of blood, made everything else feel still, like the storm inside her was quieting for just a moment.

But it didn’t fix everything. She wasn’t okay. She didn’t feel okay. The panic was still there, just buried beneath the surface. Powder’s fingers brushed over the marks, feeling the rawness of them, the sting. She didn’t know what to think, but the pressure, the sharpness, the grounding pain—it was all she could focus on. It was the only thing that made the chaos inside her quiet, even if just for a moment.

She didn’t know what she needed. Didn’t know how to make it stop. But she felt a little less lost than she had before, a little less overwhelmed by the world outside her room. A little less like the whispers and the stares would swallow her whole.

Powder sat there for a long time, her breath shallow, the sting of her fresh cuts grounding her just enough to keep her from spiraling further. But it wasn’t enough. Not really. The weight in her chest wasn’t going away. It was suffocating.

Her skin felt gross, sticky with sweat and dried tears, her hands stained with the faint smears of blood. She needed to wash it off. Wash all of it away.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, legs trembling as she stood. The world swayed for a moment, her head light, her body heavy. She pulled her hoodie back on, sleeves draping over her hands, hiding the damage. It was muscle memory at this point.

The bathroom was quiet when she stepped inside, the dim light buzzing softly above her. She locked the door behind her, not that it mattered. No one was home. No one was coming.

Turning on the shower, she twisted the knob until the water was scalding hot, the steam already curling into the air. She stripped quickly, barely looking at herself in the mirror before stepping under the stream.

The water burned.

But she didn’t move away from it.

It pounded against her skin, soaking her hair, running in rivers down her face, mixing with the salt of her tears. She tilted her head back, eyes squeezing shut as the pressure built in her chest again. The kind that felt like it was going to crush her from the inside out.

A strangled noise escaped her throat.

Then another.

Then she was sobbing, ugly, choking sobs that she couldn’t control.

She pressed her fists against her temples, squeezing her head like it might stop the thoughts, stop the voices whispering inside her.

"Shut up," she gasped, voice raw.

But they didn’t stop.

She dug her fingers into her scalp, gripping her hair, pulling, anything to make the noise in her head stop. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. With a broken cry, she slammed her fist against the tile wall. Then again. And again. The pain barely registered, a dull, distant throb against the storm inside her. She slid down, curling into herself on the wet floor, letting the water crash over her. She hit her head back against the tile, hard enough to sting. She did it again. And again. Maybe if she hit it hard enough, it would all just stop. Maybe she would just disappear.She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, body shaking, chest heaving, tears mixing with the water rushing down the drain.

But the fight drained out of her.

Eventually, her body gave up.

She pressed her forehead against her knees, hiccuping through the last of her sobs, her whole body aching, sore, exhausted.

The water had gone cold by the time she finally forced herself to move.

*****

As Viktor and Jayce stepped through the front door, exhaustion clung to them both. The lab had been draining—long hours, endless equations, and too many discussions about projects that neither of them had the energy to care about at the moment.

But the second Jayce shut the door behind him, a different kind of exhaustion settled in. The kind that had nothing to do with work and everything to do with the quiet tension that seemed to linger in their home lately.

Viktor set his cane by the door, glancing around. The house was eerily still. No sound of Powder’s cartoons playing in the background. No quiet hum of movement from her room.

“She’s home,” Jayce said, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze falling on the shoes Powder had left near the door.

Viktor’s stomach tightened. There was something off about the silence. Powder had been home for a while now, but there was no sign of her or movement. He exchanged a glance with Jayce before they moved deeper into the house.

They found her bedroom door slightly ajar. Viktor’s hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before he gently pushed it open. What he saw inside made his heart stop for a beat.

Powder was curled up on her bed, swallowed by her hoodie. Her hair was wet, clinging to her face in uneven strands. Her small frame trembled, and Viktor’s heart dropped as he saw the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders—she was crying, though her sobs were quiet, barely audible.

Jayce froze in the doorway, the weight of the situation settling over him. Viktor didn’t need to look at Jayce to know the concern in his eyes mirrored his own.

Viktor moved first, stepping toward the bed with slow, deliberate movements. His voice was gentle, careful not to startle her.

“Powder?” he called softly.

She flinched at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Her body was curled tightly in on itself, as though trying to disappear.

Jayce stepped around the bed, kneeling on the opposite side. “We’re here, kiddo,” he said, his tone soothing, but Viktor could see how hard it was for him to keep his voice steady.

Powder didn’t answer, just buried her face deeper into her sleeves, as if she could block them out entirely. The soft, broken sobs continued, each one like a silent plea. Viktor felt the urge to hold her, but something kept him from rushing it. She wasn’t ready to speak, and she didn’t need words to know that they would be there when she was.

Viktor slowly reached out, letting his hand rest on her back. She stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. He let his hand move gently in small, calming circles, hoping it might offer some comfort.

After a long moment, Powder shifted slightly, turning her body toward Viktor. She pressed herself against his chest, her hands weakly grasping at his vest as though trying to anchor herself to him. Without hesitation, Viktor wrapped his arms around her, holding her close but gently. He could feel her shaking against him, her sobs still coming, but the pressure of his arms around her seemed to ease some of the tension from her small body.

Jayce moved in behind him, his arms wrapping around both of them, pulling them closer. Powder was small between them, her sobs muffled against Viktor’s chest as she finally allowed herself to fall into their embrace.

“We’ve got you,” Jayce whispered, his breath warm against Powder’s temple.

She didn’t respond, didn’t look up at either of them. She just cried, shaking in their arms. But she didn’t pull away. Powder’s body trembled harder in Viktor’s arms as the words spilled out of her, broken and fragile.

“They were all whispering,” she choked, her breath hitching with each word. “Everyone at school. Talking about me. Saying I was the new foster kid, the one they had to deal with. I didn’t belong there. Not really. They didn’t even care who I was.”

Her hands gripped tighter at Viktor’s vest, and Viktor’s chest tightened in response, his heart aching for the little girl in his arms, the one who felt so alone in the world.

“Then they started calling me names,” Powder continued, her voice quivering as she buried her face deeper against Viktor. “They called me a jinx. Like I bring bad luck. Like I ruin everything.”

The words broke from her in jagged sobs, and Viktor could feel her shaking harder. She pressed herself against him like she wanted to disappear, to vanish from the world. The anguish in her voice made his chest ache with a deep, protective instinct that made him want to shield her from every hurt she had ever known.

“My sister…” she started again, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper. “She used to hit me. She would call me Jinx—tell me I was bad luck. Everything went wrong, and it was always my fault. She blamed me for everything.”

Jayce and Viktor went still. She could feel their eyes on her now, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Powder’s hands clenched into fists, the memories rushing back. Her sister’s harsh words, her fists, the coldness in her voice whenever she said, “You’re worthless.” Powder could feel the sting of those words again, years later, still echoing in her mind.

Jayce’s arms were gently stroking Powder’s back, his voice low but steady. “Powder, I’m so sorry. No one, especially not someone who’s supposed to love you, should ever make you feel like that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Powder nodded slowly, but the tears started again, soft but heavy, as she continued. “She... she said I was always ruining things. That I was bad luck, and that nothing ever went right because of me. I thought... I thought maybe she was right. Maybe it was me.”

The words pierced Viktor’s heart like a knife. He couldn’t understand how someone could treat a child like that—especially a sister. No child should ever have to feel that kind of weight. But he knew this wasn’t just about what the kids at school had said. This was deeper. This was years of believing that she was the cause of everything wrong in her life, that she wasn’t worthy of love.

“She made me feel like I was nothing,” she continued, her breath shaking. “She would hurt me, and when I would try to fight back, she’d just laugh. I was a punching bag. I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how to make it stop…”

She paused, her chest rising and falling with the weight of what she had just confessed, the memories too heavy for her to carry alone.

“It got so bad that we had to be separated in the foster system.” Her voice hitched, cracking under the strain of the words. “They couldn’t let us stay together. She was too much, and they knew it, but I was too broken to fight. I hate her.”

Viktor tightened his arms around her, his voice low and steady. “You were never broken, Powder. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.”

She didn’t respond, just continued to breathe shakily in his arms, her sobs quieting but still lingering. Jayce moved closer, his touch gentle as he stroked her hair, his voice barely audible. “We’re here, Powder. You’re safe now. You don’t have to go through any of this alone anymore.”

Powder’s breath caught again, her sobs slowing, but the tears still came in silent streams. She was quiet for a moment, her head resting against Viktor’s chest as the weight of the past pressed heavily on her. But in the silence that followed, something began to shift. The tension in her shoulders started to ease, and the worst of the storm inside her seemed to be passing, even if just for now.

Viktor felt his chest tighten with something close to relief, but he knew it wasn’t over. This would take time. But he also knew that she didn’t have to face it by herself anymore. They were here.

And for the first time, Powder had let them in.

Jayce’s voice was soft, but strong. “You don’t have to carry all of this on your own anymore. We’ll help you. We love you, Powder.”

The words felt like a soft promise, and even though Powder didn’t say anything, she didn’t pull away. She just stayed there, nestled in Viktor’s arms, and for the first time, maybe—just maybe—she believed them.

*****

The house was quiet, but the air felt lighter than it had before. Powder’s tears had stopped, though her face was still flushed from crying. She hadn’t said much after Jayce and Viktor told her they loved her, but she hadn’t pulled away either. That was enough for now.

“Come on, let’s get some food in you,” Jayce said, his voice gentle as he gave Powder’s back a reassuring pat.

Powder hesitated before nodding, shifting slightly in Viktor’s arms. He loosened his hold, giving her the space to move, but she didn’t go far. She lingered close as they all made their way to the kitchen.

Jayce took charge, pulling leftovers from the fridge while Viktor sat at the table with Powder. She picked at the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, her fingers absently tracing the worn fabric. She was exhausted—Viktor could see it in the way her shoulders drooped, in the slight redness around her eyes. But there was something else, too. A kind of quiet acceptance.

“You don’t have to eat much,” Viktor said, watching as Jayce plated up some simple comfort food. “Just a little, hmm?”

Powder nodded again. “Okay.” Her voice was small, but steady.

Jayce set a plate in front of her—some reheated pasta, warm and familiar. Viktor’s plate was simpler, and Jayce had his usual portion, but all three of them sat together, the way a family should.

At first, Powder only pushed her food around with her fork, her eyes unfocused. But then she took a bite. Then another. Viktor and Jayce didn’t comment on it, didn’t pressure her—they just let her eat at her own pace.

Jayce filled the silence with light conversation, his voice deliberately casual, as if he wasn’t trying to fill the space Powder’s sadness had left behind. He launched into a story about the lab—something about a particularly clumsy intern who had somehow managed to knock over an entire shelf of carefully labeled samples, sending glass shattering across the floor.

“I swear, the poor guy just stood there, frozen, like he was hoping if he didn’t move, no one would notice he was the one who caused the disaster,” Jayce said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Meanwhile, Mel was staring him down like he had just personally offended her entire existence.”

Viktor smirked, leaning on his elbow as he added dryly, “I thought for sure she was going to make him clean it up with his own hands. Bare-handed. While reciting the entire safety manual as punishment.”

Jayce laughed at that, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have put it past her. Though, honestly? I think he would’ve preferred that over the ten-minute lecture she gave him about ‘absolute incompetence in the workplace.’”

Viktor made a thoughtful sound, tapping his fingers against the table. “Ten minutes? She’s getting soft.”

Jayce grinned, and for the first time that evening, the atmosphere felt almost normal. Almost light.

And then, from across the table, barely a whisper of sound—

A giggle.

Viktor’s breath caught.

It was small, barely there, but unmistakable. Powder had ducked her head slightly, her sleeves pulled over her hands as she tried to hide the tiny, fleeting smile on her lips.

Jayce stilled for just a second, his eyes flickering to Viktor, before his expression softened, warmth spreading across his face. He didn’t call attention to it, didn’t make a big deal out of it. Instead, he simply leaned back in his chair and continued, his tone a little lighter now.

“You know, at this rate, we should start taking bets on who screws up the worst at the lab each week,” Jayce mused. “Winner gets to gloat for an entire month.”

Viktor hummed, tilting his head. “I think you’d be the reigning champion.”

Jayce scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me?”

“You broke the coffee machine. Twice.”

“That was an accident!”

“And yet, it keeps happening.”

Powder let out another soft giggle—this one a little less hesitant, a little more real.

And Viktor swore, in that moment, he could feel something in his chest unclench, just a little.

After dinner, the three of them migrated to the couch, the weight of the day settling deep in their bones. The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the TV as Jayce scrolled through the menu, flipping idly through different options.

Powder lingered for a moment in the middle of the living room, hovering between them and the space she had occupied alone so many nights before. There was hesitation in her stance, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

Jayce noticed. He patted the spot between him and Viktor, his voice light but steady. “Come here, kiddo.”

She fidgeted, just for a second. Then, carefully, she climbed onto the couch, curling into Viktor’s side.

He didn’t say anything, just adjusted to make room, letting her fit comfortably against him. His arm rested loosely around her shoulders, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles along her back. She was small against him, fragile in a way that made his chest ache, but she didn’t pull away. Jayce shifted too, pulling the blanket draped over the couch and settling it around them. Powder barely moved as he did, letting the warmth of it settle over her like a shield.

“What do you want to watch?” Jayce asked, still flipping through the options.

“Don’t care,” Powder mumbled, voice already thick with exhaustion.

Jayce picked something lighthearted—some old animated movie that neither of them had seen in years. It wasn’t anything special, but it was easy, familiar. A quiet kind of comfort. Powder burrowed deeper into Viktor’s side, her small hands gripping the fabric of his sleeve like she was afraid to let go. Viktor let her, adjusting slightly to let her press closer. Jayce stretched his arm along the back of the couch, letting his fingers trail absentmindedly through Powder’s damp hair, his touch featherlight. It was a quiet reassurance, a silent promise. Powder barely reacted, but Viktor felt her body ease, felt the tension she carried in her small frame begin to unwind.

The movie played on, but none of them were really watching. The warmth of the room, the steady rise and fall of their breathing, the way Powder melted between them—it was enough. Slowly, her breathing evened out, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to her. She didn’t say anything before she drifted off, but Viktor could feel it in the way her fingers relaxed against his sleeve, in the way her body softened against his.

Jayce met Viktor’s gaze over Powder’s head, something unspoken passing between them.

She was safe.

She was theirs.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came in the lull between bedtime and sleep. Outside, the November wind rustled the last of the brittle autumn leaves, brushing against the windows with soft, rhythmic sighs. It had been a couple of weeks since Powder's first day at school.

Viktor sat on the edge of the couch, a cup of tea warming his hands as he stared at the window. Jayce was nearby, lounging back in the armchair with a blanket draped lazily over his lap, the soft moonlight casting shadows over his thoughtful expression.

“She’s different,” Jayce said quietly, breaking the silence. “Not completely. Not all at once. But… she’s different.”

Viktor didn’t need to ask who he meant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, toward the room that had become Powder’s. Her door was closed, but the faint light under it told him she was still awake, probably doodling in that sketchbook she rarely let go of.

“She is,” Viktor agreed. His voice was low, contemplative. “Since that night…”

Jayce nodded. “I keep thinking about it. The way she just… let it all out. It must’ve taken everything she had to say those things. To trust us like that.”

Viktor stared into his tea for a moment before replying. “I didn’t expect her to open up so soon. I thought it would take months. Years, even. But… she let us in.”

There was a pause—soft, warm, not uncomfortable. Then Viktor added, almost to himself, “That moment she curled up between us… I think I’ll remember that the rest of my life.”

Jayce smiled faintly. “She didn’t say it. But I think she felt safe. Maybe for the first time in a long time.”

Viktor nodded. “She was trembling at first. I could feel it. But by the end… she wasn’t holding herself so tightly anymore.”

Another beat of silence passed, outside a light sprinkle of rain began to tap against the windows.

Jayce’s expression grew more thoughtful. “I left a few things on her bed earlier today. A new hoodie—softer, thicker than the one she’s been wearing. And a couple of long-sleeved shirts. Neutral colors. I didn’t say anything, didn’t leave a note. Just folded them nicely and left them at the end of her bed.”

“She wore one of the shirts yesterday,” Viktor said, setting his mug down gently. “Underneath the old hoodie, of course.”

“Yeah.” Jayce leaned back, eyes flicking to the hallway. “She’s still holding onto that thing.”

“I know,” Viktor said softly. “It’s… more than just clothing.”

Jayce nodded, rubbing his hand over his face. “There’s that stain.”

Viktor’s voice was quiet now, his expression shadowed. “I’ve been trying not to think too hard about what it might be. But I can’t help it.”

“I want to ask her,” Jayce admitted. “But I know it’s too soon. Too raw. I don’t want to open that door if she’s not ready.”

Viktor nodded, his brow creased. “That hoodie—it’s her armor. Her safety net. Taking it away would only hurt her more, no matter how much we want to see her move past it.”

“I don’t want to take it away,” Jayce said. “I just… want her to choose to let it go. On her own. To reach for something softer. Something that doesn’t carry all that weight.”

“She will,” Viktor said, watching the firelight dance across the floor. “Eventually. One sleeve at a time.”

Jayce chuckled under his breath, though there was a touch of sadness to it. “You’re always more patient than me.”

Viktor shrugged slightly. “Not patient. Just careful. There’s a difference.”

Jayce followed Viktor’s gaze to the hallway again. The light under her door hadn’t moved. But it was still on.

“She’s probably still up,” Jayce murmured. “She never goes to sleep right away.”

“She used to stay up for hours in other foster homes,” Viktor said quietly. “I read it in her file. She said it was easier to sleep when no one else was awake to hurt her.”

Jayce closed his eyes for a moment, a pang settling deep in his chest. “God.”

Viktor didn’t say anything to that—just reached out and placed a hand gently over Jayce’s. The weight of that gesture said more than words ever could.

“She’s here now,” Viktor said after a long pause. “And she’s safe.”

Jayce squeezed his hand gently. “Yeah. She is.”

Somewhere down the hall, Powder moved. The soft sound of a drawer opening. The light under her door flickered briefly.

She was still awake. Still adjusting. Still healing.

But not alone.

*****

Jayce woke to the faint smell of eggs and toast drifting down the hall. The house was warm, cozy even, with the chill of mid-November pressing gently against the windows. He stretched under the covers, taking a moment to just be—no alarms, no rushing to the lab, no chaos. Just quiet.

Eventually, he padded down the hall in his sleep shirt and socks, drawn by the low clatter of pans and the familiar hum of Viktor’s soft humming. The kitchen was already alive with the smell of breakfast, golden light pouring through the blinds, and Viktor—sleeves rolled up, his hair a little mussed—stood by the stove.

Jayce smiled, leaning against the doorway. “You’re up early.”

Viktor glanced over his shoulder with a soft grin. “Couldn’t sleep in. And I figured someone in this house should make breakfast.”

Jayce crossed the kitchen and dropped a kiss to Viktor’s cheek before grabbing two mugs. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Yes. That is the point.”

He was just pouring coffee when his phone buzzed on the counter. He frowned at the screen—Cassandra Kiramman. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and he answered right away.

“Hey, Cassandra. Everything alright?”

“I hope I’m not interrupting your morning,” she began, her voice just a little tight. “I hate to do this, but I’m in a bit of a bind.”

Jayce straightened a little. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Caitlyn. Something came up unexpectedly at work—urgent. And her father’s on a trip until Monday morning. I need someone to watch her. Just until Monday.”

“Oh.” Jayce’s tone softened. He’d known Caitlyn for years—bright, funny, a little serious for her age. “You’re asking if Viktor and I could take her for the weekend?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, especially with your foster daughter. Powder, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I had other options,” Cassandra admitted. “But I trust you. And Caitlyn already knows you and Viktor well, so I thought maybe… maybe it wouldn’t feel like too much of a disruption.”

Jayce was quiet for a beat. He glanced toward the hallway, already thinking about Powder—how fragile the balance still was, how hard she’d worked to feel safe here. New people could shake that. Even good ones.

“I get it,” Cassandra said gently, sensing his hesitation. “If it’s not something you’re comfortable with, just say so. I’ll figure something out.”

Jayce took a breath. “Let me talk to Viktor. I’ll call you back in a few, okay?”

“Of course. Thank you, Jayce.”

He hung up, already turning toward the stove.

Viktor looked up from where he was plating eggs. “That didn’t sound like just a casual chat.”

“Cassandra needs someone to watch Caitlyn for the weekend. Some emergency came up at work.”

Viktor’s brows lifted. “Caitlyn?”

“Yeah. Just until Monday morning. She knows us already, so it wouldn’t be too awkward for her. But... I’m worried about Powder.”

Viktor set the plates down gently, thoughtful. “A new person in the house. That could be… complicated.”

“Exactly.” Jayce rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want to push her. But I also don’t want to turn Cassandra away if we can handle it.”

Viktor was quiet for a moment, eyes distant. Then he said, “We’ve been talking about making this a safe place. Not just for Powder—but for anyone who needs it. Maybe we can do both. Be honest with Powder. Keep things gentle.”

Jayce nodded slowly, warming to the idea. “You think she’d be okay?”

“I think if we’re patient, if we don’t make a big deal out of it… she might surprise us.”

Jayce smiled a little. “She usually does.”

He turned to call Cassandra back, already reaching for his phone. Viktor handed him a plate of breakfast before he could dial.

“Eat first,” Viktor said simply. “Then call. We’ll handle it together.”

Jayce looked down at the food, then up at Viktor again, a quiet kind of affection in his expression. He nodded once.

“Okay. Together.”

*****

The morning was quiet.

Powder liked quiet mornings. She liked the smell of breakfast cooking before she ever left her room. She liked how the floors were warm from the sun, and how no one asked her questions right away. Today was like that—soft, easy. When she stepped into the living room, the light from the kitchen spilled across the floor, golden and slow. Viktor was already sitting at the table, sipping tea and flipping through something on his tablet. Jayce had just gotten up, hair a mess and voice still scratchy with sleep.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Viktor said gently, glancing up. Powder gave a small nod and curled into the corner of the couch, tugging her sleeves over her hands.

Jayce grabbed a mug and sat down beside Viktor. They kept giving each other those looks again—little glances, like they were trying to say something without using words.

She narrowed her eyes. Something was up.

Jayce noticed. “Hey, Powder?” he said after a second. “We wanted to ask you something. Talk to you about this weekend.”

Her stomach twisted, just a little. That was never a good way to start a conversation.

Viktor added quickly, “It’s not bad. Just something we want to run by you.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared at them, quiet.

Jayce scratched the back of his neck. “So, Cassandra Kiramman—she’s someone I’ve worked with for a while. She has a daughter. Her name’s Caitlyn, she’s thirteen.”

Powder blinked slowly. She didn’t know those names. Didn't know what they had to do with her.

“Something came up at Cassandra’s job,” Jayce continued. “She asked if Caitlyn could stay here for the weekend. Just until Monday morning.”

The words didn’t sink in at first.

Stay here?

Powder’s hands gripped the inside of her sleeves tighter. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She tried to picture this girl—Caitlyn. She didn’t like that she couldn’t.

“...In the house?” she asked finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Viktor said gently. “Just for a couple of days. We’ll make sure you have space. If you ever need quiet or time alone, we’ll make that happen.”

Jayce nodded. “She’s nice. I know that doesn’t mean much right now. But it’s just for a weekend. And we’d never agree to anything that would hurt you, Powder. We promise.”

Her stomach felt like it had turned into knots. Not because she was mad—just unsure. Someone new. A stranger. Another person who might ask questions or stare at her for too long or be loud when she didn’t know how to deal with it.

Still… she trusted them. At least enough to try.

“...Okay,” she said, so soft it barely counted.

Viktor’s expression softened. “Thank you, Powder.”

Jayce smiled gently. “And remember—you don’t have to talk to her. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We’ll be here the whole time.”

Powder nodded slowly and let herself sink into the couch cushions, her shoulders still tense but not frozen anymore. She didn’t know what the weekend would look like, but it helped to know Jayce and Viktor would be there. That they weren’t going to make her face it alone.

And if this Caitlyn girl was just here until Monday... maybe it would be okay.

Maybe.

*****

The knock at the door came late in the morning, sharp and quick.

Powder was already sitting on the couch, curled up in the corner with her knees hugged to her chest. She hadn’t asked to be in the room when Caitlyn arrived—she just didn’t move when Jayce told her the girl would be dropped off soon. Maybe a part of her wanted to see who she was. Maybe a part of her didn’t want to be surprised later.

Jayce opened the door, and the first thing Powder noticed was the suitcase. It was small and clean, wheels scraping softly against the floor as the girl pulled it in behind her.

Caitlyn stood in the entryway, tall for her age, with dark blue hair pulled into a neat ponytail and a serious look on her face—like she already had a plan. She didn’t glance around much. Didn’t fidget or freeze or wait to be told what to do. She looked at Jayce and said, matter-of-fact, “My mom said you’d have waffles.”

Jayce blinked, then laughed. “We do. Viktor made extra.”

“Good,” Caitlyn said, brushing past him like she’d done this a thousand times before. “Because I’m starving.”

Powder stared.

She hadn’t expected that voice, that confidence. Caitlyn didn’t seem nervous, or like she was trying to prove anything. She just was. Like the room now belonged to her, too.

Viktor came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Welcome, Caitlyn.”

She gave a small, polite nod. “Hi, Viktor. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Her eyes flicked to Powder then, curious but not rude. Powder felt herself shrink a little deeper into the couch, even though she hadn’t meant to.

Caitlyn didn’t say hi. Didn’t ask questions. Just gave Powder a tiny nod—like she acknowledged her existence, but wasn’t going to press it.

Powder could live with that.

“Can I put my stuff down first?” Caitlyn asked, already dragging her suitcase down the hallway.

Jayce called after her, “Guest room’s the second on the left!”

“Got it!”

She disappeared around the corner, and Powder let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Jayce looked at her gently. “You okay?”

She shrugged, not trusting herself to say anything just yet.

“She seems loud,” she said finally.

Viktor chuckled under his breath. “She is. But not unkind.”

Powder didn’t know if that made it better or worse. She stayed on the couch, listening to Caitlyn’s footsteps as she moved around the guest room. Powder kept her arms wrapped around her legs, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.

It wasn’t bad. Not yet. Just… different.

*****

It wasn’t until later in the late afternoon that they actually talked.

Caitlyn had unpacked, eaten two waffles, and then wandered into the living room with a book tucked under her arm. She didn’t ask if she could sit—just plopped down on the other end of the couch where Powder was curled up, a quiet presence wrapped in a blanket.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling of pages and the hum of something cooking in the kitchen. Powder stared at the TV without really watching it, glancing over at Caitlyn every so often from under the hood of her sweatshirt.

Eventually, Caitlyn broke the silence.

“So… how do you like it here?” she asked, eyes still on her book. “With Jayce and Viktor.”

Powder tensed for a second, unsure why the question made her nervous. It wasn’t like it was a secret.

She shrugged, voice low. “It’s fine.”

Caitlyn looked at her then—not in a judging way, but curious. “Just fine?”

Powder gave a small nod. “Yeah. They’re nice.”

Caitlyn smirked. “Jayce is kind of a dork, huh?”

A breath of a laugh slipped out before Powder could stop it. “A little.”

There was a pause. Not heavy, just… cautious.

“How do you know them?” Powder asked, turning her head slightly to face Caitlyn.

The other girl leaned back against the cushions. “I’ve known Jayce for years. He and my mom are old friends from work or something. He used to come to our house all the time. And then when he started dating Viktor, I met him too.”

Powder blinked. “So… you’ve known them a long time.”

“Mm-hmm,” Caitlyn said, flipping a page. “Viktor’s quieter, but he’s cool. I like how he always knows what everyone needs but doesn’t make a big deal out of it.”

Powder nodded slowly, picking at the corner of her blanket. That… sounded about right.

Caitlyn didn’t press for more after that. She just kept reading, content to be near someone without needing constant words. Powder didn’t mind. It was still strange, having another kid in the house—but Caitlyn didn’t seem interested in prying or filling every quiet second with noise.

That helped.

Eventually, Caitlyn nudged the blanket with her foot. “Can I borrow part of this?”

Powder hesitated, then slid some of it over without a word.

They sat like that for a while—two girls, a little unsure, a little guarded, but sharing the quiet anyway.

It wasn’t friendship yet.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Later that evening, after dinner, Caitlyn and Powder found themselves in the living room, with nothing to do but stare at the TV. Caitlyn was sitting on the armrest of the couch, scrolling through her phone while Powder was perched on the edge, trying to decide what to do.

“You wanna play something?” Caitlyn asked casually, breaking the silence. “I brought a deck of cards with me.”

Powder glanced over at Caitlyn, her brows furrowing slightly. “Cards?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty easy. Want me to teach you?”

Powder hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess.”

Caitlyn grabbed the deck and shuffled it expertly, fanning the cards out in front of her. “We can play Go Fish or something simple,” she said, as she set the deck between them. “I’m warning you, though—I’m really good.”

Powder snorted. “I’m not scared,” she said, trying to act nonchalant as she picked up a few cards. Caitlyn smiled, a teasing glint in her eyes.

The two of them spent the next few minutes going back and forth, calling out “Go Fish” with exaggerated drama each time someone had to draw from the pile. Powder wasn’t the best at it, but she found herself enjoying the distraction. It was easy, silly, and didn't make her think about anything too heavy.

Eventually, as they played, Caitlyn asked, “So, you never told me what happened to your parents. I know you’re not exactly in the mood to talk about it, but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Powder paused, her fingers hovering over the cards. She wasn’t sure how to answer. Caitlyn didn’t push, though. She just waited, watching with a quiet patience.

Taking a deep breath, Powder finally spoke, her voice quiet. “It was a car crash. Me and my sister were in the backseat, and my parents were in the front. My sister… she didn’t really like me. She used to get mad at me for things, for no reason. She blamed me when things went wrong.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened, her eyes thoughtful. “That’s rough.”

Powder nodded, looking down at the cards in her hands, her throat tight. “After the crash, she... she left me. She got put in a different foster home because of things she did. She hurt me. I was… just a kid, and she would do stuff. They separated us, but it didn’t matter. She made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

Caitlyn said nothing for a long while, letting Powder’s words hang in the air. The room felt heavy for a moment, but Caitlyn didn’t look at her like she was fragile. She didn’t pity her, and that was something Powder appreciated more than she could say.

Finally, Caitlyn spoke again, her voice low and serious. “I’m sorry you went through all that, Powder. No one deserves that.”

Powder just nodded, blinking rapidly as she fought to keep the lump in her throat from turning into tears. She wasn’t sure why she had said it, but part of her felt lighter.

“Thanks,” Powder muttered after a beat. She could feel Caitlyn’s gaze on her, but Caitlyn didn’t say anything more. Instead, she focused on the cards.

After a few more rounds of the game, Caitlyn suddenly chuckled, breaking the tense silence. “Alright, alright. You win this time. But next time, I’m getting you for sure.”

Powder gave a small, quiet smile, the tension in her shoulders easing. “We’ll see about that.”

Caitlyn tossed down her last card. “It’s a deal. You’re on.”

As the cards were collected and shuffled for another round, something between them shifted, but it wasn’t in the way Powder had expected. It wasn’t some deep, intense bond, but there was a quiet understanding. Caitlyn hadn’t pushed her for answers, hadn’t acted like she was tiptoeing around something delicate. She’d just let Powder say what she wanted when she was ready.

And for the first time in a long time, Powder didn’t feel the need to hide parts of herself, or avoid the truth. Caitlyn had shown her that she could talk about it, and still be treated like she was more than just the sum of the bad things that had happened to her.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. And that, for now, was enough.

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the living room windows, casting long golden lines across the hardwood floor. Powder sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly peeling the label off a juice bottle, while Caitlyn lounged upside-down on the couch, legs thrown over the back, phone balanced on her stomach.

It was a quiet kind of morning. The kind where the world didn’t ask for much.

Caitlyn glanced over, lifting her head slightly. “Hey. You wanna go outside for a bit?”

Powder looked up, blinking like she hadn’t expected to be addressed. “Outside?”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn said, flipping herself upright. “I don’t know. I’m bored, and it’s too nice out to just sit around all day. Come on. You can’t tell me you wanna stay cooped up in here again.”

Powder hesitated, then shrugged. “Alright, I guess.”

They stepped out onto the back patio, the cool air brushing against their skin, crisp but not cold. The yard stretched out behind the house—uneven grass, a few trees on the edges, and the start of a quiet wooded area beyond. Caitlyn led the way, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, her stride casual and easy.

Powder followed, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her own hoodie, gaze scanning the sky and trees. It smelled like dry leaves and faint smoke from a chimney somewhere. It reminded her of being somewhere far away—even if she didn’t quite know where.

“You ever try making leaf piles?” Caitlyn asked suddenly, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Not really,” Powder replied. “Seems like a lot of work for something you just jump in and ruin.”

Caitlyn snorted. “Exactly the point. Come on.”

They ended up in a patch of yard beneath one of the bigger trees, where a thick layer of leaves had gathered. Caitlyn immediately began kicking them into a heap, not really caring how neat it was. Powder stood there for a second, watching her, before slowly stepping in to help. She didn’t say anything, just followed Caitlyn’s rhythm, pushing leaves toward the growing pile with her feet.

It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be.

When it was tall enough, Caitlyn plopped down beside it, leaning back on her hands. Powder sat down a few feet away, cross-legged, her gaze lingering on a squirrel darting across a nearby fence.

“So,” Caitlyn said after a moment, “if you could do anything right now—like anything in the world—what would it be?”

Powder blinked. “Uh… I don’t know. Probably sleep.”

Caitlyn laughed. “Fair. I respect that.”

“What about you?” Powder asked, leaning back a bit in the grass.

“Hmm…” Caitlyn tapped her chin dramatically. “Maybe go somewhere. Like, travel. Somewhere warm. Eat too much food. Not have to do homework ever again.”

Powder smiled faintly. “That sounds nice.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, tossing a few leaves into the air just to watch them fall. At some point, Caitlyn started naming the shapes she thought she saw in the clouds, and Powder quietly joined in, her voice growing less guarded with each passing minute.

They didn’t talk about heavy things. No pasts, no trauma, no careful walking around sore spots. Just the way the wind rustled the trees. Whether that cloud looked more like a dragon or a shoe. Which snacks were objectively the best. Whether raccoons were secretly plotting world domination. Stuff that didn’t matter—but somehow did.

Eventually, Caitlyn rolled onto her side to face Powder. “You’re weird,” she said, not unkindly.

Powder raised an eyebrow. “Takes one to know one.”

Caitlyn grinned. “Fair.”

They lay there a while longer, not saying much. Just sharing space, side by side, in a quiet patch of the world where things didn’t have to be explained or unpacked. And for Powder, that was enough—for now.

*****

Jayce leaned against the kitchen counter, a half-empty mug of coffee warming his hands. The morning had stretched into late afternoon, the golden light outside softening as it filtered through the tall trees behind the house. Through the wide window above the sink, he could see Powder and Caitlyn in the backyard.

They were sprawled out in the grass near a messy pile of leaves—talking, tossing handfuls into the air, laughing now and then. Powder’s hoodie sleeves were bunched around her hands, her head tilted slightly as she listened to Caitlyn animatedly point out something in the clouds.

“She’s smiling,” Jayce said, quietly.

Viktor looked up from the stovetop, where he was poking absentmindedly at a pan of leftover roasted vegetables. He followed Jayce’s gaze out the window, his features softening. “Hm. She is.”

Jayce set the mug down, stepping closer to the window for a better view. “It’s not forced, either. That’s just… her being a kid for once.”

Viktor wiped his hands on a towel and joined him. “Caitlyn’s good with her,” he said after a moment. “Surprising, really. They’re quite different.”

“Yeah,” Jayce murmured. “But I think that’s exactly why it’s working.”

They stood in silence for a bit, just watching. Powder nudged a pile of leaves toward Caitlyn with her foot. Caitlyn retaliated by tossing a handful directly at her, and the startled squeak Powder let out earned a loud laugh from Caitlyn. Viktor chuckled under his breath.

“She’s opening up,” Viktor said gently. “Even if it’s slow, even if it’s just a little at a time. This kind of moment—it’s good for her.”

Jayce nodded. “I wasn’t sure how she’d take having another kid around. But she’s been okay. Hesitant, but… she hasn’t shut down.”

“She trusts us more than she did,” Viktor said. “And Caitlyn isn’t pushing her. She’s just there. Consistent. That can be enough.”

Jayce leaned his shoulder against Viktor’s. “I’m glad we said yes,” he said quietly. “I think this is good for both of them.”

Viktor tilted his head, watching as Caitlyn lay back in the grass, her hands tucked behind her head, talking lazily up at the sky. Powder sat cross-legged beside her, quietly listening, but her body language was relaxed. At ease.

“It’s nice to see her like this,” Viktor said. “Not worrying. Just… being.”

Jayce let out a slow breath, his expression thoughtful. “You think Caitlyn’s picking up on the things Powder doesn’t say?”

Viktor nodded. “She seems sharp. Knows when to ask, when not to. And she’s not treating Powder like she’s fragile. That might be exactly what she needs.”

Outside, the girls rolled to their feet, brushing leaves from their clothes and heading toward the patio, still deep in conversation.

Jayce smiled. “I think they’re gonna be good for each other.”

Viktor reached out and gave his hand a light squeeze. “I think so, too.”

And for a brief moment, everything felt steady—like maybe, just maybe, they were building something that would last.

Chapter Text

Viktor stood quietly in the laundry room, the soft hum of the washer barely cutting through the silence. He had just finished folding a pile of towels and was sorting through the last basket—mostly Powder’s things. Jayce had been running errands, and Powder was in her room, door half-closed as usual.

Viktor didn’t mind doing laundry. It gave him time to think, to feel useful in the quiet domestic rhythms of their house. But when he pulled one of Powder’s long-sleeved shirts from the pile, something immediately made his breath hitch.

The fabric felt stiff in one spot. Not crunchy, not dry. Just… wrong.

He held it up to the light.

There, near the inner upper arm, just beneath the fold of the sleeve, was a faint but unmistakable stain. Red. Faded brown at the edges. A second shirt had a similar mark—barely visible, but there all the same.

Blood.

His heart dropped.

Viktor stood frozen for a long moment, staring at the shirts, the air around him going still. He looked again, hoping it was something else. Paint? Juice? Rust?

No. He’d cleaned enough cuts in his life to know what he was looking at. There was no mistaking it. It was blood.

His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he felt dizzy. His thoughts spiraled out of control. Could it be? 

He couldn't breathe. He needed to talk to Jayce.

Viktor rushed out of the laundry room, his steps quick and unsteady as he made his way toward the kitchen, where Jayce was chopping vegetables. He didn’t even say anything; he just shoved the shirts toward Jayce, his face pale and filled with anxiety.

Jayce took the shirts, his face immediately falling when he saw the stains. He didn’t say anything at first, just staring at them in disbelief. The color drained from his face.

“Viktor… What the hell is this?” Jayce's voice was shaky, but loud enough to fill the room.

“I don’t know!” Viktor's voice cracked with panic. “I found them in the laundry. They’re hers—Powder’s new clothes. There’s blood on them, Jayce. Blood.”

Jayce dropped the shirts onto the counter, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair. “She hasn’t said anything. She’s been fine. She hasn’t been acting strange…”

Viktor’s breath hitched. “What if she’s hiding something? What if she’s doing something to herself, Jayce?” The words felt too raw to say, but he couldn’t stop himself. The fear clawed at him. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, and I’m scared… I’m so scared she’s been hurting herself or someone has been hurting her.”

Jayce’s face twisted with emotion, the same panic he felt clearly reflecting on his features. “Shit, Viktor, this isn’t—this can’t be happening. Not after everything she’s been through. I thought she was… I thought she was finally doing better. We’re supposed to be helping her, and now this?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Viktor’s voice was tight with frustration and fear. He leaned against the counter, his hand gripping the edge as if it could ground him. “I thought she was fine. But if she’s hiding this… We’ve been so focused on making her feel safe, Jayce, and now I don’t know if we’ve missed something.”

Jayce was pacing now, his mind running through a hundred possibilities at once. He stopped for a moment, his eyes wide as he looked at Viktor. “We need to talk to her. We need to find out if this is what we think it is. But how? How do we ask her about this?”

“I don’t know!” Viktor nearly shouted, his voice trembling. “I just… I don’t want to push her too hard, but I can’t ignore this. I can’t just let it go, not when it feels like she’s been hiding something from us.”

Jayce took a deep breath, trying to collect himself, but his hands were still trembling. “We need to approach this gently. But we need to ask her, Viktor. We have to know what’s going on. We can't wait until it’s too late.”

“I know. But it hurts, Jayce. What if… what if she feels like she can’t come to us? What if she’s been suffering and we haven’t even noticed?” Viktor ran his fingers through his hair, his mind spinning. “How did we miss this?”

“We’re not missing it, Viktor,” Jayce said, his voice steadier now. “We’re here. We’re going to figure this out together. We just need to talk to her, no matter how hard it is.”

Viktor nodded, though it didn’t stop the heavy feeling in his chest. “I just don’t know how to help her anymore if she won’t let us in.”

Jayce stepped closer, placing a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll get through this. She’s not alone. We’ll make sure of that.”

For a moment, they both just stood there, silent, their fear and concern hanging in the air between them. The shirts—those damn shirts—sat on the counter, still stained with that telltale mark.

They had to talk to Powder. They had to ask her, no matter how hard it was. But they couldn’t ignore this. Something was wrong. And they needed to find out what.

*****

Powder sat on the couch with her knees drawn up to her chest, the sleeves of her hoodie pulled down over her hands. The room was quiet—too quiet. Viktor and Jayce were standing in the kitchen, whispering to each other like they thought she couldn’t hear. She hated that. That secret-talking. That low, serious tone that meant something bad was coming.

Her heart was pounding. She could feel it echoing in her ears.

She didn’t need to hear them say it. She already knew. Viktor had been doing laundry that morning—he had seen the clothes. The ones she hadn’t meant to leave in the basket. The ones with the stains she hadn’t been able to scrub out fast enough. She had been so careful. So, so careful. But she must’ve slipped up.

And now everything was falling apart.

The whispering stopped. She didn’t look up. She heard their footsteps, slow and heavy, as they crossed the room. The couch dipped beside her—Viktor. Jayce remained standing, pacing just slightly.

“Powder,” Viktor said gently, like he was afraid of breaking something. “We found something this morning… in the laundry.”

Her stomach flipped. She kept her eyes glued to her knees. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at either of them.

Jayce spoke next. His voice was trying to be calm, but she could hear the edge in it. “There were… reddish-brown stains. On your sleeves. On a few different shirts. Do you—do you want to tell us what that was?”

Powder didn’t answer. Her fingers curled tighter into her sleeves.

Viktor sighed softly, his voice still calm but laced with fear. “If something happened—if someone hurt you—we need to know. You can tell us.”

Still, she didn’t speak. Her throat was closed up, her heart hammering so hard it made her dizzy. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. They weren’t supposed to find out. Not like this.

Jayce crouched down in front of her, trying to meet her eyes. “Powder, please,” he said, more urgent now. “We’re just trying to understand. We’re worried.”

She swallowed hard, but her lips stayed pressed together.

“Say something,” Jayce said again, more desperate. “Anything.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

Jayce’s face hardened instantly. He stood up sharply, running his hand through his hair. “You’re not fine! Don’t lie to us. We’re not idiots.”

Powder flinched.

“Jayce—” Viktor said softly, trying to calm him.

But Jayce didn’t stop. His voice cracked with emotion, a mix of panic and helpless anger. “You’re hurting yourself, aren’t you? That’s what those stains are. Isn’t it? You’re hurting yourself and pretending everything is fine and we’re just supposed to—what? Pretend like we don’t see it?”

Powder shrank into the couch, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. She shook her head. “I didn’t mean for you to know,” she whispered.

Jayce threw up his hands. “What does that even mean?! You didn’t mean for us to know? You’ve been walking around with this—this pain and saying nothing!”

“Jayce,” Viktor warned again, more firmly.

“No!” Jayce snapped, turning to Powder again. “You’re our kid, Powder! You live here. We love you so much, Powder! You don’t just get to destroy yourself and expect us to be okay with it!”

His voice rang through the room, raw and cracked. Powder’s whole body trembled. The tears started to fall silently, but once they started, they wouldn’t stop.

“Why can’t you just tell us what’s going on?” Jayce demanded, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Why won’t you let us in?”

And then something inside her snapped.

She stood up so fast the blanket on her lap fell to the floor. Her chest heaved, her fists clenched at her sides. “Because you don’t actually want to know!” she shouted, her voice loud and broken.

Jayce and Viktor both froze.

“You say you care,” she went on, her voice cracking, “but you don’t know what it’s like—being me! Feeling like there’s something wrong with you all the time! Like you’re messed up and broken and—and people look at you like you’re a freak!”

“Powder…” Viktor started, softly, eyes wide.

“You wanna see?” Powder yelled, her voice cracking from the force of her scream and the rawness of emotion behind it. Her hands trembled violently as she seized the hem of her hoodie, her fingers clumsy and desperate. In one sudden, jerking motion, she tore it over her head and flung it to the floor like it burned her. The fabric hit the ground with a dull thud, but the sound seemed to echo through the room like a gunshot.

Her arms were exposed now—thin and ghost-pale in the soft light of the room. The skin wasn’t smooth; it was a canvas of pain. Angry red lines, some fresh and swollen, others faded into silvery ghosts of what they used to be, carved across her forearms like a map of quiet suffering. Some cuts were jagged, uneven, clearly done in a rush or through tears. Others were older, carefully placed—deliberate. Intentional.

They stood stark against her skin, the contrast so jarring that it made Jayce and Viktor physically flinch. Her shoulders were drawn up tight, like she was bracing for them to yell, to recoil, to hate her. Her chest rose and fell in uneven gasps, eyes locked on theirs, daring them to say something.

This was her truth, laid bare. Raw. Unfiltered. And devastating.

Jayce’s breath hitched. Viktor’s eyes filled with instant tears.

“I cut myself!” she screamed, tears now streaming down her face. “There! Happy now?! That’s what I do when everything feels too heavy and too loud and I can’t breathe! I fucking cut myself!”

They just stood there—speechless. No words came out. No comfort. No reaction. Just stunned silence.

Powder’s heart shattered in that stillness. “Say something,” she sobbed. “Please…”

But neither of them spoke.

And that silence was too much.

With a broken sob, Powder turned and ran. She could barely see through her tears. She reached her room, slammed the door shut, and locked it with shaking fingers. Then she collapsed to the floor. Her back against the door, her arms curled around her knees, she cried harder than she had in weeks. Sobs wracked her chest, loud and desperate, echoing off the walls of her bedroom.

She felt raw. Exposed. Like she’d just ripped her whole soul out and thrown it in their faces.

And they hadn’t said anything.

Nothing.

She buried her face in her arms, trying to disappear. Maybe if she stayed small enough, quiet enough, still enough, she could melt into the floor. She wanted to scream. She wanted someone to hold her. She wanted the noise in her head to stop.

But mostly… she just wanted to know she hadn’t just lost everything.

*****

The slam of the door echoed like a gunshot.

Jayce just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the empty hallway where Powder had disappeared. The hoodie still lay on the floor between him and Viktor—crumpled and heavy with everything it now meant. The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the weight of everything they hadn’t said fast enough. Everything they should’ve done differently.

He slowly sat down on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

Viktor hadn’t moved either. He stood for a long while, eyes locked on that damn hoodie. Then, with a trembling breath, he sat beside Jayce and said nothing.

Jayce's hands were shaking.

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” he whispered eventually. His voice sounded small and unfamiliar. “God, I—I lost it.”

Viktor glanced at him, eyes red-rimmed. “You were scared. So was I.”

Jayce let out a harsh laugh, “I was terrified. I still am. But she needed comfort, not—whatever that was.”

Viktor didn’t answer, which somehow made it worse.

Jayce rubbed at his face, like he could scrub away the guilt that had already sunk deep into his chest. “Why would she do that?” he muttered. “Why would she hurt herself like that? She has us. She has a home. We’ve done everything—everything we could—haven’t we?”

“She’s in pain, Jayce,” Viktor said softly. “Deep pain. Pain she’s carried a long time.”

Jayce dropped his hands to his lap and stared at the wall across from him, unseeing. “But we’re supposed to help her. We’re supposed to make her feel safe. Loved.” His voice cracked, low and bitter. “And instead, she’s hiding cuts on her arms, terrified to tell us anything.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the weight of it all pressing down on his shoulders. “What if she doesn’t believe we care? What if… what if she thinks she’s still alone?”

Viktor placed a hand on Jayce’s back, grounding him. “She’s not. We know she’s not. But maybe… maybe she hasn’t felt it yet. Not in a way that reached all the parts that still hurt.”

Jayce’s throat tightened. He hated this feeling—this uselessness. He was used to fixing things, solving problems with his hands, with his tools. But this? He didn’t know how to fix this.

“I thought we were doing okay,” he said quietly. “I let myself believe we were making progress.”

“We are,” Viktor said. “But healing doesn’t follow a straight line. There are dips. Setbacks. Some pain doesn’t go away just because someone’s kind to you. Sometimes it takes time for people to believe kindness isn’t temporary.”

Jayce looked over at him then, his eyes glassy. “I scared her. I pushed her too hard. I was just so… I didn’t know what to do, Vik.”

“I know,” Viktor whispered. “I didn’t either.”

They both sat in the silence that followed, their thoughts racing. The sounds from Powder’s room had gone quiet. No more crying. No more movement. That made Jayce more anxious than anything.

“She showed us her arms,” he said suddenly, the image burned into his memory. “She yelled it at us. Like she had to prove how much she was hurting. That’s what hurts the most. She didn’t want us to guess. She wanted us to see.”

Viktor swallowed, his own voice tight. “And we did. We see her. Now we have to make sure she knows we still want to.”

Jayce nodded slowly, then leaned back, staring up at the ceiling like it held the answers. “I don’t know what to do next.”

“We start with knocking on her door,” Viktor said gently. “Letting her know we’re still here. When she’s ready, she’ll let us back in.”

Jayce turned his head toward Viktor. “And if she doesn’t?”

Viktor met his eyes, steady even through his own fear. “Then we keep trying. Every day. Every minute, if we have to.”

Jayce didn’t respond right away. He just looked at the hallway, heart heavy, mind spinning with what-if after what-if. But slowly, quietly, he nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “We don’t give up.”

The hallway felt a mile long.

Jayce stood in front of Powder’s door, his heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest. He looked back once at Viktor, who gave him a small nod. Encouraging, steady. Jayce turned back and raised his hand. He hesitated for a beat, then knocked softly.

Nothing.

He knocked again, a little more firmly. “Powder?” he called gently.

Still silence.

Jayce leaned his forehead against the door, closing his eyes. He hated how quiet she was. He hated that she was hurting like this—alone. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges. “For yelling. For not listening. For… everything.”

There was a faint noise inside the room. Shuffling. Sniffling.

“I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” Jayce continued. “I was scared. And I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. You didn’t deserve that, Powder. Not at all.”

He looked down at the floor. “We love you. So, so much. Me and Viktor both. That hasn’t changed. It never will.”

Still nothing.

Jayce turned to Viktor, uncertain, but Viktor stepped up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Viktor’s voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. “We’re sorry you’re hurting so much, Powder. You’ve been carrying this pain all by yourself, haven’t you?”

A small sob cracked through the silence inside.

Jayce’s heart twisted. “You don’t have to be alone with it anymore. We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Can we come in?” he asked gently.

There was a long pause.

Then the door clicked.

Jayce pushed it open slowly, finding Powder curled up on the floor in the corner, knees pulled to her chest, her tear-streaked face barely visible under her hair. Her arms were crossed over her stomach protectively, she was still only wearing the t-shirt that revealed the scars. Old and new. His heart broke all over again.

He crouched down slowly, making sure his voice was soft. “Powder…”

She didn’t look up. Her shoulders were shaking, and the sound of her sobbing — raw, gasping sobs — made Jayce’s eyes sting.

Viktor stepped in quietly behind him, pausing just a few feet away. Jayce sat on the floor, leaving space between them.

“I know I hurt you earlier,” Jayce began, his voice thick. “I was scared. I said the wrong things. I didn’t mean to yell. I was just—God, I was terrified.”

“I thought you’d hate me,” Powder whispered.

Jayce’s heart shattered all over again. “Never,” he said immediately. “Powder, we love you. No matter what. No matter what.”

She sniffled, still not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d want me anymore. Not if you knew.”

Jayce scooted a little closer, slowly, carefully. “You’re ours. That doesn’t change.”

There was a long silence, broken only by her shaky breathing. Then, in a trembling voice, she began to speak.

“I started cutting when I lived with my sister,” Powder said, each word pulled from somewhere deep and dark.

Viktor knelt beside Jayce, his eyes brimming with quiet grief.

“I didn’t know what to do with how I felt,” Powder went on, her voice trembling. “So I started… I tried scratching myself first. Then… more. I didn’t think anyone would care.”

She paused, struggling to breathe past the weight in her chest. “And after my parents died… it got worse. Everything was so loud in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about how everything was broken. How I was broken. And cutting — it made the noise stop. For a little while. It was like… like I could finally breathe.”

Jayce bit his lip hard, tasting blood, because he didn’t trust his voice right now. He reached out and gently placed his hand on the floor, palm up, between them. He didn’t push. Just left it there in case she needed it.

She glanced at it… and then, slowly, her hand crept forward and slipped into his. Small, trembling fingers. He closed his hand around hers gently, like he was holding something precious. Because he was.

“And the thoughts,” she whispered, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her. “They get really loud sometimes. So loud I can’t hear anything else.”

Viktor leaned forward, gently brushing her hair out of her face so he could see her eyes. “What kind of thoughts, Powder?”

She hesitated. Her lips trembled, her throat worked around the words.

“Scary ones,” she whispered. “About… not wanting to be here anymore. About dying. About how… maybe it’d be better if I was gone.”

Jayce felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs.

“Sometimes I wish I’d never been born,” she said, eyes wide and wet. “Like… everything would’ve been better if I wasn’t here to mess it up.”

Jayce pulled her into his arms.

Not suddenly — he moved carefully, giving her the chance to pull away. But she didn’t. She fell into him like she’d been waiting for someone to catch her. He wrapped his arms around her, his whole body trembling. She cried against his chest, her small hands clutching at his shirt, sobbing into him like a dam breaking.

“No, Powder,” Jayce whispered fiercely, his voice breaking. “No. That’s not true. None of that is true.”

Viktor wrapped his arms around both of them, holding them close. “You matter,” he said. “You are not a burden. You are not a mistake. You are loved.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Jayce added, his voice thick with tears. “You didn’t ruin us. You’ve made our lives better. So much better.”

“I’m scared,” Powder sobbed. “I don’t know how to stop thinking like that. I don’t know how to be okay.”

“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” Viktor said softly. “We’ll help you. We’ll find people who know how to help, and we’ll be right there with you every step of the way.”

Jayce kissed her temple, brushing her hair back gently. “We’re not going anywhere. We’re not giving up on you. Ever.”

Powder’s breathing hitched again, sharp and uneven. Her shoulders trembled harder, and she clutched at Jayce’s shirt like she was trying to anchor herself to something real, something solid.

Then, suddenly, the sobs came harder. Violent, wracking sobs that made her whole body shake.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped between breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— I just— I just wanted it to stop— I just wanted— I didn’t know what else to do—”

Jayce tightened his arms around her, heart shattering. “It’s okay, sweet girl. You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I’m so tired,” she cried into his chest. “I’m so tired of pretending. I smile and I pretend at school but it’s fake. Everything feels fake. And nobody sees me. Nobody wants me.”

Viktor brushed her hair back gently, his voice tight but steady. “We see you, Powder. We want you. You don’t have to pretend with us.”

Her head shook against Jayce. “But I’m broken. I’m too much. People at school— they look at me like I’m weird. They whisper about me. They say I’m creepy. And I hear them. I hear everything.”

Jayce closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. Powder’s words were like knives.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” she mumbled, her voice cracking. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not even real. Like I’m not supposed to be here.”

Jayce pulled back just enough to hold her face in his hands, gently guiding her gaze to meet his.

“You are real,” he said firmly, tears sliding down his own cheeks now. “You’re here. You’re ours. And you matter more than you will ever know.”

“I can’t fix it,” she whispered, barely audible. “I don’t know how.”

Viktor leaned in beside Jayce, voice trembling now too. “You don’t have to fix it all at once. We’ll help you, Powder. We’ll help you find a way to feel better. There are people who understand what you’re going through. And we’ll be right there with you.”

She blinked at them through her tears. Her lower lip wobbled. “Will it ever go away? The thoughts?”

Jayce exhaled slowly, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I don’t know if they go away all at once. But they can get quieter. They will get quieter. And until they do… we’ll help you carry them.”

Powder let out another soft cry and collapsed into their arms again. But something in her grip shifted — less desperate, more trusting.

She was still scared. Still hurting. Still broken open.

But she wasn’t alone anymore.

And that was a start.

*****

The room had gone quiet again, except for the sound of her uneven breathing. Her sobs had finally slowed to a soft, hiccupping rhythm, her face buried against Jayce’s chest. His arms stayed wrapped around her, warm and steady, gently rocking her like he was afraid she’d fall apart again. Viktor sat close, his hand resting gently on her back, the other on Jayce’s knee like he needed something to hold onto too.

Nobody said anything. And for once, she was glad. Words would’ve shattered her.

Her throat ached, her head throbbed, and her eyes stung with the rawness of everything she’d just said. Everything she’d never meant to say out loud. But now it was out there. Now they knew. Every dark corner she’d tried to hide.

And they were still here.

Powder shifted a little, sniffling as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. She didn’t look at them right away. She couldn’t. But she felt them still there—waiting, not pushing. Just staying.

That mattered more than anything.

Then, without quite knowing why, she felt something settle inside her chest. Not peace. Not relief. But maybe… the start of it. A decision began forming like a quiet voice in the back of her mind.

You don’t need it anymore.

She pulled back just enough to look at them, her voice rough and unsteady.

Jayce’s brow furrowed. “Powder—?”

“I’m not leaving,” she said quickly, her voice small but firm. “I just… I have to get something.”

They didn’t stop her. She stood slowly, her knees weak, and walked across the room with heavy steps. Her fingers trembled as she opened the top drawer of her dresser. For a second, she just stood there, staring down at the clothes. Then, with a shaky breath, she reached in, moving aside shirts and socks until her fingers found the cold metal buried underneath.

She hesitated.

The small pocketknife sat in her palm like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. The same knife she’d kept hidden. The one she told herself helped when nothing else did. The one that made the noise stop, even for a little while.

She stared at it.

Then, gently, like she was afraid it might scream, she turned and walked back to them.

Her feet felt like lead.

Jayce and Viktor were both watching her now, their eyes flicking between her and the object in her hands. She didn’t say anything right away. She just stopped in front of them, her fists clenched tight around the knife until her knuckles hurt.

Her voice was barely a breath.

“Here.”

She held it out to Jayce.

“I don’t want it anymore.”

Jayce didn’t say a word. His face looked pained, like her words had cracked something open in him. He reached forward carefully and took the knife from her hands like it was something fragile. Like it meant everything.

Viktor’s voice was gentle. “That’s very brave,” he said, brushing his fingers along her arm. “Thank you.”

Powder didn’t respond. She just sat back down between them, this time leaning into Viktor, her body trembling again—but not from fear. From release. From finally letting go.

Her head rested against Viktor’s shoulder, and when Jayce quietly slipped the knife into his jacket pocket, she didn’t flinch.

They didn’t say it, but she felt it—that something had changed. That they saw her, really saw her. And even though everything inside her was still a mess, she felt the tiniest bit lighter.

She had given up something tonight.

And in its place, she’d been given something back: them.

And maybe, just maybe… herself.

*****

The house was quiet again. Too quiet.

Powder had finally gone to bed—curled up under her blankets, tear-streaked and exhausted. Viktor had stayed with her, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, gently brushing her hair from her face until her breathing evened out. She hadn’t said much after handing over the knife, but she’d let them tuck her in. She hadn’t pushed them away. That was something.

Jayce stood outside her room for a long time after that. Just staring at the closed door. Listening.

He didn’t move until Viktor stepped out and gave him a look—soft, weary, but understanding.

“I’ll stay with her a while longer,” Viktor said quietly. “Go rest. You need it.”

Jayce didn’t argue. He nodded, then turned down the hallway like his limbs were too heavy to carry him. When he got to their bedroom, he shut the door and leaned against it, his head falling back with a soft thunk.

His hands were still shaking.

He crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. He sat there for a long minute, just trying to breathe. But it wasn’t working. Everything was caving in.

I yelled at her. She was hurting and I—

His stomach twisted again.

He reached for his phone without thinking, unlocking it with trembling fingers. There was only one person he could call right now. One person he knew would listen without judgment, who had always been his safe place.

He hit her name and put the phone to his ear.

It only rang once.

“Jayce?” his mom’s warm voice came through. “Mijo, it’s late. Is everything okay?”

The second he heard her voice, something inside him cracked wide open.

“I—” His voice caught. “No. No, it’s not.”

“Jayce?” she asked again, her tone immediately shifting, alert. “What happened?”

He tried to speak, but it all came rushing up at once—the guilt, the fear, the helplessness. His breath hitched.

“I—It’s Powder,” he choked out. “She… she’s not okay, Mom.”

There was a pause on the other end, soft and still, as if she was bracing for the worst.

Jayce’s voice broke completely. “She’s been hurting herself. She—she gave me the knife, but—God, Mom—she’s been cutting and she said she wants to die and I didn’t know. I didn’t know—” His voice dissolved into a sob.

“Oh, mi cielo,” she whispered, heartbroken.

Jayce pressed a fist against his mouth, trying to hold in the sound but failing miserably. “I yelled at her. I yelled at her. She was trying to hide it and I just—I got scared and I shouted and she screamed at us and showed us and then ran—”

“Jayce, breathe,” his mother said gently, her voice like a lifeline. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”

He shook his head, tears falling fast now. “She’s just a kid, Mom. She’s so little and she’s carrying so much and I—I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her.”

“You’re helping her, mijo,” Ximena said. “She trusted you enough to tell you. She gave you the knife, didn’t she?”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Yeah, she did.”

“She’s still here. You’re still here. That means something.”

Jayce let out another sob, clutching the phone like it could anchor him.

“I’m so scared,” he whispered. “What if I mess this up? What if I already did? What if she—what if one day she doesn’t come to us first?”

“You won’t mess this up,” Ximena said, firm and steady. “You love her. She knows that. And you’re not doing this alone. Viktor’s there. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this by yourself, baby.”

Jayce squeezed his eyes shut, the sound of her voice wrapping around him like arms.

“I don’t want to lose her,” he said quietly. “I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t,” she promised. “We’re going to make sure of that.”

There was silence for a moment, both of them just breathing. Then her voice softened again.

“Do you want me to come up there?” she asked. “I’ll drive through the night if you need me.”

Jayce sniffled. “Maybe not tonight. But soon. Please.”

“Of course,” she said. “Whenever you need me.”

*****

The house was too quiet after Powder’s room fell silent. Even her soft, steady breathing from behind the door seemed too loud. Viktor sat by her side, keeping her close, making sure she felt the weight of their presence even when she wasn’t speaking. He wanted to take away all her pain, to fix everything for her, but he knew that wasn’t possible. All he could do was be there.

After a while, though, he knew Jayce needed him. They hadn’t finished talking about what had happened yet. Not fully. Not in the way they needed to.

Viktor stood up slowly, his legs stiff from sitting too long. He gently kissed Powder’s forehead before leaving her room and making his way down the hall. When he got to their shared bedroom, he hesitated outside the door. The soft sound of Jayce’s muffled sobs through the door made his chest tighten.

Jayce didn’t cry easily. Viktor had known him long enough to recognize when something was breaking him, even if it wasn’t always obvious on the surface.

He pushed open the door quietly, stepping inside. Jayce was sitting on the bed, his body hunched forward, hands pressed against his face as if trying to hold everything in. But Viktor could hear the hitched breaths, the tremble in his shoulders.

Viktor didn’t say anything at first. He just walked over, sat beside him on the bed. The moment he did, Jayce’s shoulders slumped even more, as if a weight he hadn’t realized he was holding had finally fallen off.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce whispered, his voice cracking. “I—I yelled at her. I shouldn’t have. She was hurting, and I just... I don’t know, Viktor. I just wanted to fix it, to fix her, but I made it worse.”

Viktor didn’t know what to say at first. The truth was, he’d been scared too. Scared of seeing the pain on Powder’s face, scared that they’d somehow failed her in ways they didn’t even realize. But Jayce had been hit the hardest. He was the one who took it upon himself every time. And watching him break... that hurt Viktor more than anything.

He reached over, putting a hand on Jayce’s back. “You’re human, miláček. You’re allowed to be angry. She was shutting us out, pushing us away, and you reacted. You didn’t hurt her. You didn’t mean to.” Viktor’s voice was steady, but his heart was heavy, knowing that Jayce was blaming himself for something neither of them could have prepared for.

Jayce’s voice was barely a whisper. “I shouldn’t have yelled. She needed me to be calm, Viktor. She needed me to listen, not shout.”

Viktor nodded, understanding the deep guilt that ate away at Jayce. He wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a tight hug. At first, Jayce didn’t move. He didn’t return the hug. But then Viktor felt his body shake with a sob, his tears wetting Viktor’s shirt.

“You didn’t mess up, Jayce,” Viktor said softly. “We’re in this together. All of us. You know that, right?”

Jayce clung to him, his chest heaving with quiet sobs. “I just… I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what to do, Viktor. What if we lost her? What if we can’t fix her? What if she just keeps pushing us away?”

Viktor held him tighter, his own heart breaking for his husband and for Powder. “We will fix it. Slowly. Together. She’s not lost. She’s here, Jayce. She showed you trust tonight. She gave you the knife. That means something. That’s a huge step.”

Jayce sniffled, nodding but not fully able to believe the words. Viktor rubbed his back soothingly, his mind racing with all the things they’d need to do, all the people they could bring in to help.

Jayce pulled away slightly, wiping his eyes, his face pale with exhaustion and guilt. “I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to fail her, Viktor.”

Viktor cupped his face, gently lifting his chin so their eyes met. “You won’t. You haven’t. You’re here. That’s all she needs right now.”

Jayce let out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against Viktor’s for a moment. They stayed like that, the room quiet but for the sound of their breathing, the weight of everything between them.

“You know,” Viktor added quietly, “We don’t have to have all the answers right away. But we have each other. We’ll figure this out. One step at a time.”

Jayce nodded again, a small but grateful smile tugging at his lips, even as his eyes were still filled with worry. “I’m so glad you’re here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Viktor’s smile was softer, more tender. “You won’t have to. We’ll face it together. Always.”

For a moment, they sat there, holding each other, the silence not uncomfortable but full of understanding.

Jayce finally spoke again, his voice quieter now. “I’m so sorry, Viktor. I shouldn’t have…”

Viktor shook his head, cutting him off. “Stop. You don’t need to apologize anymore. We’re a team. Always. We’ll get through this.”

And in that moment, Jayce seemed to find some semblance of peace, as if Viktor’s words—his presence—were enough to hold him together. For now, at least.

Viktor leaned back against the headboard, pulling Jayce with him, both of them sitting in a shared silence that spoke volumes.

“I think we both need some sleep,” Viktor murmured after a while.

Jayce gave a tired laugh, nodding. “Yeah. But not before I hold you for a little longer.”

Viktor chuckled softly. “Of course. But only if you let me hold you, too.”

Jayce grinned weakly, his exhaustion mixing with something lighter. They didn’t have all the answers, but in this moment, they had each other. And that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Powder rubbed her eyes and looked around her room. The soft, pale light of early morning crept across the ceiling and cast long shadows from the window. The sun was just peeking up above the mountains, brushing the sky with lavender and gold. Everything felt too quiet. Too still.

She blinked slowly. Her eyes stung. They were dry and sore, and she knew without even looking in a mirror that they were red and puffy. Her throat was raw, like she’d swallowed sandpaper. Her entire body ached—her shoulders, her legs, even the muscles in her jaw. It was the kind of tired that sleep didn’t fix. It was like her whole body had been wrung out like a wet rag and left in a cold room to dry.

She shifted under the covers and sat up slowly, wincing as her spine cracked. Her arms trembled a little with the effort. She yawned and hugged her knees to her chest, pressing her forehead against them. The familiar spiral of dread started to uncoil in her stomach.

She had school today. That meant Maddie. That meant Maddie’s friends. That meant holding herself together in hallways and bathrooms and pretending not to hear the whispers or feel the elbows that accidentally bumped her in the ribs when no teachers were looking.

After the night she’d had, the very idea of putting her hoodie on, walking through those front doors, and acting like she wasn’t falling apart made her stomach twist into knots. She clenched her eyes shut. She didn’t want to cry again. Not now. Not over this.

She squeezed her knees tighter, her thoughts racing. What if Maddie said something? What if someone noticed her sleeves? What if—

A soft knock interrupted the spiral.

“Can I come in, Powder?” Viktor’s voice came through the door, muffled but gentle.

She hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Yeah.”

The doorknob turned with a quiet click, and Viktor stepped inside. He didn’t say anything at first. He just walked slowly to the edge of her bed and sat down beside her, careful not to startle her.

Powder didn’t look at him. She kept her forehead against her knees.

For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of morning outside the window. Then Viktor spoke, his voice low and calm. “Powder… Jayce and I were talking this morning. We think… maybe today should be a day to rest. For all of us.”

She frowned, not lifting her head. “What do you mean?” Her voice came out scratchy, muffled by her legs.

“We just… thought that after everything you’ve been through, going back to school today might be too much. You had a hard day yesterday. Jayce and I… we’ve got a few things to take care of around the house anyway. So we figured…” He paused, looking at her carefully. “Would it be okay if you stayed home?”

She finally looked up, blinking at him, confused.

“You mean… I don’t have to go?” she asked softly, like she wasn’t sure if she heard right.

Viktor shook his head gently, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Not today, muffin. Just rest. Stay in your pajamas. Watch a movie if you want. We’ll be here.”

The relief hit her like a wave. Her shoulders slumped and she exhaled shakily, as if she’d been holding her breath all morning.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m… I’m still really tired.”

“I know,” Viktor said, reaching over to place a comforting hand on her foot through the blanket. He gave it a soft pat. “You don’t have to push yourself today. You’re allowed to rest.”

Powder nodded slowly, eyes starting to well again—but this time, not from fear. Just the overwhelming sense of being seen. Of being safe.

Viktor didn’t push her to say more. He just sat with her in the quiet morning light, his presence steady and kind, like an anchor. And for the first time that day, the spiraling stopped.

*****

Jayce stood at the stove, slowly stirring scrambled eggs in the pan even though they were basically done. He wasn’t really focused on the eggs—he just needed something to do with his hands. The sizzle and gentle scrape of the spatula were the only sounds in the kitchen, aside from the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

He glanced over his shoulder. The table was already set. Toast, butter, jam, orange juice. Viktor sat in his usual spot, nursing a mug of tea, hands wrapped tight around it like he needed the warmth to keep from unraveling. His eyes kept flicking toward the hallway.

Jayce turned back to the eggs and let out a slow breath.

It had been quiet since Viktor talked to Powder earlier that morning. She hadn’t come out yet, and Jayce didn’t want to push her. They’d already pushed too hard.

He still hadn’t stopped replaying it—his own voice, sharp and angry, cutting through the air last night like a whip. The look on Powder’s face. The way she screamed. The way she ran.

The hallway creaked.

Jayce froze.

Viktor looked up.

Powder stepped into view, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Her hair was messy, unbrushed, and she still wore the oversized pajama shirt she’d fallen asleep in. She looked like a ghost of herself—pale, eyes dark with exhaustion, movements slow and quiet.

She didn’t say anything.

Jayce’s heart clenched.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said gently, turning off the burner. “We made breakfast.”

Powder nodded once but didn’t meet his eyes. She shuffled over to the table and sat down across from Viktor, tucking her legs up in the chair, arms still hugging herself. She didn’t reach for anything.

Jayce brought the eggs to the table and sat next to her. “It’s nothing fancy. Just eggs and toast.”

Still no answer.

He exchanged a glance with Viktor. His husband gave him a small, knowing nod—just let her be.

Jayce took a breath and tried to keep his voice light. “You know, I was going to make pancakes, but someone—” he gave Viktor a teasing look “—decided we were out of syrup and didn’t put it on the list.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, playing along. “That is because someone else drank the syrup last time we had waffles.”

“I did not drink it,” Jayce said, mock-offended. “I just… used a lot. There’s a difference.”

Powder didn’t smile, but her eyes flicked toward them. She blinked slowly. Then looked down again.

They kept talking. About syrup. About nothing. About how cold it was getting and how Jayce should probably finally give in and put snow tires on the car. About Viktor’s tea stash mysteriously shrinking. It was stupid and light and clearly an act, but it filled the silence.

Eventually, Jayce noticed Powder reaching for a slice of toast. She took the smallest bite imaginable and chewed slowly, like it took real effort.

Jayce felt a mix of heartbreak and relief. It wasn’t much. But it was something. They ate in a fragile kind of quiet after that. Jayce didn’t push her to talk. Neither did Viktor. Powder barely touched her eggs, but she drank half a glass of juice and nibbled the toast down to the crust.

She looked tired. So tired.

Jayce watched her out of the corner of his eye and felt something heavy settle in his chest. She wasn’t just sad. She was... drained. Like the light inside her had gone dim and she didn’t know how to bring it back.

But she was here. At the table. With them.

And that mattered.

After breakfast, Viktor gently touched Powder’s arm. “Do you want to watch something later? Maybe a movie or… cartoons?”

Powder didn’t answer right away. Then, with a barely-there nod, she said, “Maybe.”

It wasn’t much. But for now, it was enough.

Jayce stood and began clearing the plates, trying not to let his hands shake. They’d figure it out. They had to.

The living room was quiet except for the sound of the TV flickering through old cartoon intros. Powder sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a fuzzy blanket pulled over her lap. She hadn’t said much, but when Jayce had asked what she wanted to watch, she’d just shrugged and whispered, “Something with animals.” Viktor had found some ancient cartoon with talking forest creatures, and it seemed calm enough. Gentle. Safe.

Jayce settled beside her, close but not touching, careful with the space between them. Viktor sat on her other side, legs crossed and the mug of tea cradled in his hands. No one really said anything. Just… watched.

Then came a knock at the door.

Jayce blinked. “You expecting anyone?”

Viktor shook his head. Powder stiffened slightly beside him.

Jayce stood and padded to the front door, glancing back at Viktor as he opened it. His heart jumped.

“Mom?” he blinked, stunned.

Ximena stood there in her long coat, suitcase in hand, her curly dark hair tucked up in a messy bun. She smiled, tired but warm, eyes immediately scanning her son’s face.

“Surprise,” she said.

Jayce stared for a beat, then surged forward and pulled her into a hug. “What—? What are you doing here?”

“I got worried,” she said simply, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “So I came. Just for a few days. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, of course. God, Mom…”

Viktor appeared in the hall, his eyebrows lifting in surprise before a smile curved on his lips. “Ximena. You didn’t tell us you were coming.”

“I know,” she said as she stepped inside, “I figured you wouldn’t argue if I showed up unannounced.”

Her eyes drifted past them toward the living room, where Powder sat frozen, still wrapped in her blanket. The girl’s expression flickered with uncertainty, shoulders curling inward.

Ximena softened.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said gently, not moving closer just yet.

Powder gave a faint nod, her fingers tightening in the fabric on her lap.

Ximena glanced at Jayce, then walked slowly toward the couch, lowering herself to one knee so she was level with Powder. “I’m not gonna push,” she said softly. “But can I give you a hug?”

There was a long silence.

Powder looked at her. Really looked at her. Then her lip trembled just the tiniest bit—and she scooted forward, hesitant and small.

Ximena opened her arms and waited.

Slowly, Powder leaned in. The moment she touched Ximena’s shoulder, she let out a shaky breath—and then melted into the hug like her whole body had been waiting for it. Ximena wrapped her up, pulling her close, one hand gently cradling the back of Powder’s head as she held her against her chest.

Jayce felt a knot tighten in his throat.

Viktor moved beside him, quiet and still.

Ximena started whispering something to Powder. Her voice was so soft, Jayce couldn’t make out the words. He wasn’t even sure Powder could. But whatever she said—it worked.

Because suddenly, Powder broke.

The sob that tore out of her chest was raw and aching. She clung to Ximena like she was the last safe thing in the world. Her cries came fast and gasping, her small body wracked with trembling as she buried her face in the fabric of Ximena’s coat.

Jayce had to sit down. His knees wouldn’t hold him up anymore. Viktor sat beside him, gently reaching over to squeeze his hand.

They didn’t move.

Didn’t interrupt.

Just watched as Powder wept in Ximena’s arms—because it wasn’t grief alone that filled her cries.

It was release.

*****

Viktor couldn’t stop hearing it—her voice breaking as she cried, the raw way she’d said she wanted to die. It kept echoing in his head, over and over, like it had carved itself into his memory.

Powder was asleep now, finally. She’d let herself be coaxed into her bed, exhausted beyond words. Ximena sat with her until her eyes slipped closed, gently stroking her hair as if it could pull the pain out strand by strand.

Viktor stood in the kitchen, quietly pouring water into mugs for tea. His hands still trembled slightly. Jayce leaned against the counter nearby, looking completely hollowed out. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders slumped with a weight he couldn’t seem to shake.

Ximena stepped in, gently closing the bedroom door behind her. “She’s resting,” she said softly. “Still crying a little in her sleep.”

Jayce winced and turned away for a second, wiping at his eyes. “She told us she’s been cutting since… since her sister hurt her.” His voice cracked. “She said it helped quiet her thoughts. And then… the thoughts got scarier.”

Viktor nodded, eyes heavy with the memory. “She said she wishes she was never born. That she wants to die sometimes.”

The words hung in the air, too heavy and sharp to ignore.

Ximena’s expression didn’t waver, but her eyes shimmered. “I know,” she said gently. “She’s in so much pain, mijo.”

Jayce looked at his mom helplessly. “She’s just a kid. Only eight! How does a kid carry something like that?”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Viktor said. “And she won’t. Not anymore.”

“We need to make a plan,” he said, his voice low. “We cannot let her carry this alone anymore.” 

Jayce swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just—” he looked at his mom helplessly. “Where do we start?”

Ximena set her mug down and pulled a notepad from the drawer near the fridge. “We start with a safety plan. First, we need to make sure she doesn’t have access to anything she could use to hurt herself again.”

“She gave me the pocketknife,” Jayce murmured. “I think that’s the only thing… that we know of, anyway.”

Viktor shook his head. “We check everything. Her backpack. Her drawers. Anywhere she might hide something. Not because we don’t trust her—but because she’s hurting. And we need to keep her safe until she can trust herself.”

Ximena scribbled down notes. “No sharp objects. We remove razors, scissors, anything questionable. You keep medications locked up?”

“We will,” Jayce said quickly.

“She shouldn’t be alone for a while,” Viktor added. “Even if she wants space, we should always be nearby. Especially at night.”

Ximena looked between them. “And you’re both going to need support too. This isn’t something you should try to handle without help.”

Jayce rubbed at his face. “Therapy,” he said quietly. “For her.”

“Yes,” Ximena nodded. “I can help you call around. We need a therapist who specializes in trauma and self-harm. Someone with experience working with kids.”

Jayce was quiet again, staring down at the floor.

Viktor reached across the counter and laid his hand on his. “You’re doing the right thing, Jayce.”

Jayce didn’t look up, but his shoulders sagged.

“I yelled at her,” he whispered. “I got so scared and I yelled, and I could see in her face how much that hurt.”

“She knows you’re sorry,” Ximena said gently. “And you’re here. She’s still here. That matters more than anything.”

Viktor nodded, his thumb brushing over Jayce’s knuckles. “We’ll do better. Starting now.”

“We’re going to get her help,” Ximena said firmly. “And she’s going to know that she is not alone anymore.”

Jayce nodded slowly, tears quietly slipping down his face again.

And for the first time that day, Viktor believed it too.

They could do this.

Together.

Viktor sat at the dining table, his phone resting face-up beside a half-finished cup of tea. Jayce was pacing nearby, fingers drumming anxiously against his thigh, while Ximena had settled herself on the couch with her laptop, glasses perched low on her nose. Her brows were furrowed in concentration as she clicked through tabs, scanning clinic directories and mental health services like it was a puzzle she was determined to solve.

“Okay,” Viktor said quietly, glancing down at the paper in front of him. “So far we need to call her pediatrician, the school counselor, and then find a therapist or trauma specialist. Preferably one who’s dealt with grief and self-harm in kids.”

Jayce nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can handle the school. Principal’s office opens in a few minutes anyway.” He paused, then added, “And I’ll talk to the nurse. Maybe we can come up with a plan in case she needs support during the day.”

Viktor gave a soft hum of agreement. He reached for his phone and pulled up Powder’s pediatrician’s number, his thumb hovering for a second before he pressed call. The line clicked, and he stood, moving toward the back door for a little space and air as it rang.

Jayce, meanwhile, grabbed his own phone and moved into the hall, already muttering a practiced version of what he was going to say to the school secretary.

Back inside, Ximena muttered under her breath, “Too far... not accepting new patients... not specialized enough…” She opened another tab, her fingers tapping rapidly. “Come on, there’s got to be someone close.”

A few minutes later, Viktor stepped back into the kitchen, looking tired but relieved. “The pediatrician will call us back within the hour,” he said. 

“We’ll find someone,” Ximena said with certainty, not looking up. “There are options. Some do telehealth for kids. It’s not ideal, but it’s something.”

Jayce returned then, slumping into the chair across from Viktor. “The school said she can take a couple of days, no problem. And they gave me the name of a school-based counselor. Not full-on therapy, but someone she can talk to during the day.”

Viktor nodded. “Good. That’s something.”

Jayce looked at him, face pale. “I just don’t want to wait. I don’t want her to… I mean, if we can’t get her in with someone soon—what if something happens?”

Ximena’s voice was calm but firm. “Then we keep her close. We make sure she’s not alone. You will take shifts if needed. If she wants space, one of you still stays nearby. I’ll help too, for as long as I need to.”

Viktor looked at her, grateful. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said. “She’s family. That’s what we do.”

Viktor’s phone buzzed on the table, cutting through the thick quiet that had settled over the room. He snatched it up immediately when he saw the pediatrician’s name flash across the screen.

“Hello? Dr. Goodman?” he said quickly, motioning for Jayce and Ximena to be quiet.

“Hi, Viktor—yes. I wanted to get back to you as soon as I could,” the pediatrician’s warm, steady voice said on the other end. “I’m really sorry to hear what’s going on with Powder, but I’m glad you reached out.”

“Thank you,” Viktor breathed. “We’re doing what we can. We… we didn’t know.”

“I understand. The important thing is that you’re here now. I’ve already made a few calls,” she continued. “There’s a child psychiatrist at the Riverbend Mental Health Center. Dr. Anika Rao. She’s not too far from you, and she specializes in trauma, grief, and self-harm in adolescents.”

Viktor sat up straighter, his heart skipping. “And she’s available?”

“She has an opening for an intake next Monday. I know that feels far away, but I flagged it as urgent and she said she’d prioritize it. In the meantime, I’ve also got the name of a therapist you can start seeing sooner. Her name is Nora Lang. She’s a licensed child and family therapist and she can do an initial session this Friday—virtual or in person.”

Jayce leaned forward, eyes wide. “Did she say Friday?” he mouthed.

Viktor nodded and kept listening.

“She works really well with younger kids,” Dr. Goodman continued. “She uses a mix of talk therapy, art, and play—helps kids express what they can’t always say. She’s kind, intuitive. I think she’ll be a good fit for Powder.”

Viktor swallowed the sudden knot in his throat. “Thank you. Really. Thank you so much.”

“I’m emailing you both referrals right now with the contact info and forms,” she said gently. “And Viktor? You and Jayce are doing the right thing. This is hard—but she’s lucky to have you both.”

Viktor nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “We just want her to be okay.”

After he hung up, he sat still for a beat, processing. Then he looked up and met Jayce’s eyes.

“There’s a psychiatrist. Dr. Rao. Monday morning.”

Jayce’s lips parted, like he hadn’t dared to hope for something that soon. “And the therapist?”

“Friday,” Viktor said, and now he couldn’t stop the small, shaky smile that formed. “There’s a therapist who can see her Friday.”

Ximena exhaled hard, closing her laptop. “Finally. That’s good. That’s really good.”

Jayce slumped into Viktor’s side without hesitation, burying his face into his shoulder with relief. “Thank God.”

Viktor rested his hand on Jayce’s back, grounding him as they both took in this first, real piece of hope since everything had cracked open.

*****

Jayce sat forward on the couch, fingers locked together so tightly they ached. Viktor was beside him, posture calm and steady, and across from them sat Powder, curled into the armchair like she wanted to disappear into the cushions. She hadn’t said more than a word or two since she woke up, and even those had come out flat and distant.

Ximena sat on the armrest of the chair Powder was in, one gentle hand resting on the back of it. She didn’t try to pull Powder close, didn’t push or coax—just stayed nearby, quiet and steady, her presence like a blanket you didn’t know you needed until it was wrapped around you.

Jayce’s throat was tight. He swallowed, then forced his voice into something soft. “Okay, Powder. So Viktor and I—and my mom—we’ve been talking. Just trying to figure out what would help the most right now.”

Powder didn’t move.

Viktor took over, his tone warm but calm. “We talked to your doctor. She gave us the names of a therapist and a psychiatrist who work with kids your age. People who understand this kind of pain, who know how to help.”

Jayce nodded, adding gently, “The therapist—Nora—she’s really good with kids. She uses art, and games, and doesn’t make you talk if you’re not ready. Your first appointment could be on Friday.”

Powder blinked slowly but didn’t respond.

“And the psychiatrist, Dr. Rao,” Viktor continued, “she would meet with you Monday. She can help with the bigger things. The kind of feelings that are too much to carry alone.”

Jayce shifted, glancing between Powder and his mom before speaking again. “And… we’ve made a safety plan. Just ways to keep you safe here at home. So if things ever feel too hard again, you’ll know exactly who to come to, what to do.”

Still nothing.

Ximena leaned in just a little, her voice quiet and full of warmth. “There’s no pressure, cariño. We’re just telling you what’s possible. What we can do together.”

Powder stared down at the floor. Her whole body looked heavy. Folded in on itself. The silence stretched long and quiet between them.

Then, finally, she whispered, “What if… what if they can’t help me?”

Jayce’s chest clenched. The breath caught in his throat.

“I’ve felt like this for so long,” Powder murmured. Her voice cracked at the edges. “What if it’s too late?”

Jayce couldn’t stop the pain that crossed his face. He didn’t know how to answer right away, but Viktor was already leaning forward, his tone firm but kind.

“It’s not too late, Powder,” Viktor said softly. “Not even close. You’re still here. That matters.”

Jayce reached out slowly and touched her hand. “I know it feels like this has always been inside you. Like it’ll never leave. But I promise, it doesn’t have to stay this way. There are people who can help you carry it. People who will teach you how to live with the pain… without letting it drown you.”

Ximena finally reached down and gently touched Powder’s shoulder. “It’s okay to not believe that yet,” she said. “But let us believe it for you, mija. Let us carry that hope until you’re ready to carry it yourself.”

Powder’s chin wobbled. Her shoulders trembled. Her fingers tightened slightly under Jayce’s hand—just barely, but it was there.

And then the tears started again. Quiet at first. Then louder. She let her head fall forward, pressing into her knees, and her body shook with sobs.

Jayce scooted closer, pulling her into a gentle hug, and Viktor moved in too, wrapping both of them in his arms. Ximena slid to the floor beside them and rested a hand on Powder’s back, rubbing slow circles.

No one spoke for a long time.

But the silence didn’t feel empty this time.

It felt held.

And that, Jayce thought, was something.

****

She tossed and turned for what felt like the hundredth time.

The sheets tangled around her legs. Her pillow was too warm. The air felt too heavy. Her brain wouldn't stop.

Powder blinked up at the ceiling, barely able to see it in the dim glow of the nightlight from the bathroom down the hall. Everything inside her felt raw—like she was bruised in places no one could see. Her body was exhausted, but her thoughts refused to let her rest. They whispered and echoed, pulling her back to the night before. The look on Jayce's face. Viktor’s voice. Ximena’s arms around her. The things she had said. The things they now knew.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her blanket.

She had told them. All of it. The cutting. The thoughts. The stuff she’d never said out loud, not even to herself. She had never felt so exposed, like every inch of her skin had been peeled away and left to burn.

They’d said they loved her. That they weren’t angry. That they wanted to help.

But the ache in her chest didn’t go away.

She rolled over again, pulling the blanket tighter around her, but it didn’t help. The quiet was too loud. Her thoughts were too loud. She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and finally—she sat up.

The hallway was dark and still when she opened her door. She stood there for a long moment, barefoot on the wood floor, chewing the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know what she was doing. Only that she didn’t want to be alone. Powder padded down the hall and paused outside Jayce and Viktor’s room. The door was cracked just a little, and warm light spilled through the gap from a lamp inside. She swallowed.

She couldn’t knock. Couldn’t explain herself.

Instead, she gently pushed the door open.

Jayce sat up almost instantly, concern flashing across his tired face.

“Powder?” he said softly, his voice scratchy with sleep.

She hovered in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself, her oversized t-shirt falling past her knees. Her voice came out barely louder than a breath. “I… I can’t sleep.”

The room was quiet. Viktor stirred beside Jayce, already sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

Jayce moved aside, lifting the blanket without hesitation. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Powder didn’t think. She crossed the room on quiet feet and climbed onto the bed. She didn’t cry, didn’t speak—she just moved like a ghost between them, curled up in the space between them, and let them surround her with warmth.

Viktor gently tucked the blanket around her like she might break if he wasn’t careful. Jayce pulled her closer, his arm coming to rest around her shoulders, and she buried her face in his chest.

Her body still felt too heavy, too sore—but the warmth helped. The quiet was different here. Softer.

“I’m still so tired,” she whispered after a long silence.

Jayce’s hand moved through her hair, slow and gentle. “I know. You’ve been holding so much.”

Viktor’s hand brushed against her back before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You do not have to carry it alone anymore, muffin.”

Powder didn’t speak. Her throat felt thick again, and her fingers clenched the fabric of Jayce’s shirt tightly. She was scared. She didn’t want to keep hurting. She didn’t want to be a problem, or broken, or something people had to fix.

But wrapped in their arms—pressed between the steady, quiet comfort of Jayce and Viktor—some of that fear lifted, just a little.

She didn’t have to say anything else. She didn’t have to pretend.

She just… was.

And they were there.

The silence stretched, but this time, it wasn’t sharp or suffocating. It was warm. It was safe.

Her eyes slipped closed eventually. She didn’t fall asleep right away, but the constant buzzing in her head had quieted. Just enough.

Jayce’s voice was the last thing she heard before she drifted off.

“It’s okay to rest now, Powder. We’ve got you.”

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, she believed him.

Chapter Text

The alarm on her nightstand buzzed softly, but Powder was already awake.

She hadn’t really slept.

Her body ached the way it did after crying too much, and her mind felt like it was stuck underwater—slow, heavy, distant. The thought of school made her stomach twist up into a hard knot. She didn’t want to go. Not after everything. Not with Maddie there, her smirk, her whispers, her cruel little jabs. But her backpack was already packed. Her clothes were laid out. And she had said she would try.

She sat up slowly, her blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. The early morning light filtered through her window in soft shades of gray and gold. It should’ve felt peaceful. But inside her chest was that old familiar buzz of fear and dread. That maybe today would be worse. That maybe they would say something new. That maybe—

A knock at her door broke the spiral.

"Powder?" Jayce’s voice, soft. “Can we come in?”

She nodded even though they couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”

The door opened, and Jayce stepped in first, followed by Viktor. Ximena was right behind them, holding a small thermos in her hands. Powder blinked at the sight of them all together. They looked worried, but calm. Steady.

Jayce crouched down by her bed. “We wanted to see how you were feeling this morning.”

Powder opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn’t know how to explain what was going on inside her. It was like trying to untangle a mess of wires that were all buzzing at once.

“I’m tired,” she finally said, voice small.

Viktor nodded gently. “That makes sense, muffin. You’ve been through so much.”

“Do I really have to go?” she whispered. “Can’t I… stay home again?”

Ximena came to sit beside her, placing the warm thermos in her lap. “You can, if you need to. But you also said you wanted to try. And trying doesn’t mean you have to be perfect. It just means showing up.”

Powder stared at the thermos. It smelled like the cinnamon tea Ximena made the night before. Comforting.

Jayce reached for her hand and held it gently. “We’ll be here when you get home, okay? All three of us. You’re not alone.”

“You have people now,” Ximena added, brushing Powder’s hair back from her face. “People who see you, and love you, no matter what.”

Her throat tightened. She blinked quickly and looked down at her lap, nodding once.

Viktor smiled at her. “And if anything happens, if you need us, you call. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

Powder nodded again. Slowly, she moved to get up. Her legs felt shaky, but she stood anyway. Jayce helped her grab her hoodie. Ximena tucked a little granola bar into her coat pocket. Viktor gave her a kiss on the head.

As she opened the front door, backpack slung over one shoulder, she paused and looked back at them. “Thanks,” she whispered.

They all smiled at her.

“You’ve got this, sweet girl,” Ximena said.

Powder stepped outside, the cool air hitting her cheeks. The world felt big and overwhelming. But somewhere, deep in her chest, under all the ache, there was a flicker of warmth.

She had people.

*****

The school doors closed behind her with a dull click, and suddenly everything felt too loud. The clatter of lockers slamming, voices echoing off the hallways, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. It was like walking into a different world—one she wasn’t ready for.

Her stomach twisted with every step. She could still feel the warmth of Viktor’s hand on her shoulder, Jayce’s hug, Ximena’s soft voice telling her she had people now. But here… none of that mattered. Not when they weren’t standing beside her.

She tried to keep her eyes down, to make herself smaller as she walked toward her classroom. Maybe if she moved quickly enough—

“Oh my god, look who finally decided to show up.”

Powder froze.

She turned slowly, her heart thudding like a drum in her chest. Maddie stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. Hannah and Preston flanked her, both with matching smug expressions like backup singers in some awful, mean little band.

“Were you, like, in jail or something?” Maddie sneered.

“Maybe she got sent to the psych ward,” Hannah added with a fake pout. “You know, ‘cause she’s, like, totally unstable.”

Powder said nothing. She could feel her cheeks going hot, her body tense. Her backpack strap dug painfully into her shoulder, but she didn’t move.

“Or maybe she finally snapped and blew something up,” Preston said, laughing under his breath. “You know, like she always does.”

“Yeah, Jinx,” Maddie said, her voice slow and cruel, like she was testing how far she could push. “You disappear for a few days, and suddenly you think you’re gonna come back and pretend like everything’s normal?”

That word—Jinx—landed like a slap across her face. Her breath caught in her throat, and she instinctively took a step back.

She tried to speak, to defend herself, to say anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. Her throat tightened, her eyes burned.

Preston snorted. “She’s gonna cry again. Look at her.”

“Don’t cry, Jinx,” Maddie mocked, her voice high and cruel. “People might think you’re even more pathetic than they already do.”

Powder didn’t wait to hear the rest.

She turned sharply, pushing past a group of kids and hurrying down the hall toward the bathroom. Her vision blurred, her steps uneven, her heart thudding like it was trying to escape her chest.

She slammed the stall door shut behind her and locked it, chest heaving. She pressed her back against the cold metal, slid down to the floor, and buried her face in her knees.

They didn’t know what she’d been through.

They didn’t know she had people now.

But still… the words stuck.

Still, they hurt.

And suddenly, school felt so much heavier than it did just minutes ago.

*****

Recess was just another place to survive.

She stuck close to the edge of the playground, away from the basketball court and the swings, tracing lines into the dirt with the toe of her shoe. The air was cold, her hoodie was pulled up tight. She kept her eyes on the ground, pretending not to hear the buzz of voices all around her.

Then she heard Maddie.

“I’m just saying,” she drawled, loud enough to be heard, “some people should just stay home if they can’t handle being at school.”

Powder flinched.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind her. She didn’t turn.

“Hey, Jinx,” Maddie’s voice was closer now. “Didn’t you miss us?”

Powder tightened her grip on the sleeves of her coat. Don’t look at her. Don’t say anything. Just walk away.

But then she felt the shove.

Not hard. Just enough to make her stumble forward.

“Oops,” Preston snorted. “Did the wind push you, or was that just your bad luck again?”

“Seriously,” Maddie said, circling around to block her path. “You disappear for two days and think you can just sneak back in like nothing happened?”

Other kids started to turn. Whisper. Gather.

Hannah joined in, linking arms with Maddie, her voice thick with mock sympathy. “Aww, maybe she was just getting help. Like a little mental vacation. Right, Powder?”

“Jinx,” Preston corrected, grinning wide. “She likes that one better.”

Powder’s chest was tightening, her breath shortening. There were too many people now. A half-circle was forming. Some were laughing, others watching like it was entertainment.

“I said stop,” Powder mumbled, eyes still on the ground.

“What was that?” Maddie leaned closer. “Speak up, freak.”

“I said stop!” Powder shouted, louder this time, but her voice cracked halfway through. A few people laughed.

Preston mimicked the sound mockingly. “Is the Jinx gonna snap again?”

Then something hit her — a small crumpled piece of paper, flung right at her chest. She stumbled back a step, startled. Maddie grinned like it was a game. Preston grabbed another bit of mulch and tossed it, hitting her arm.

“Hey, maybe if we poke her enough, she’ll go boom again.”

Powder’s hands clenched into fists. Her face burned. Her ears rang.

This wasn’t teasing anymore.

This was humiliation.

Pain.

Fear.

She looked around — the circle of kids had grown. No one was helping. No one was saying anything. Just watching.

She tried to push past Maddie, but the girl stepped right into her path.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I said stop it!” Powder yelled again, but her voice was shaking. Her throat ached. She couldn’t breathe right.

She felt like she was back there—back in the worst moments. Her sister’s scream. Her parents' silence. The way everything had felt out of control.

The thoughts. The noise. The panic.

Then someone shoved her again, harder this time.

Powder fell.

Her knees hit the mulch hard, scraping through her jeans. Laughter burst through the circle.

She didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Her heart was pounding like a drum inside her skull, her vision going blurry.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought: I need to get out.

She stayed there on the ground, staring at the mulch, her hair hanging like a curtain over her face. The laughter was still echoing. Her hands trembled against her knees, and her breath came in tight, shallow bursts.

Then—

“Hey!”

A sharp, unfamiliar voice cut through the noise.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Powder blinked and looked up through strands of hair.

A boy stood at the edge of the crowd. He looked about her age, maybe a little taller. His hair was bright white, almost silver in the sunlight, messy and windswept like he didn’t care what it looked like. His expression was hard — jaw clenched, brows drawn together, fire flashing in his dark eyes.

“Back off,” he snapped, stepping closer. “What, do you think this is funny?”

Maddie blinked at him like he was speaking another language. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone who’s not a piece of trash like you,” he said without missing a beat. Then he looked at Preston. “You think it’s cool? Ganging up on someone?”

Preston opened his mouth to say something — probably something smug — but the boy had already turned his attention back to Maddie.

“You heard me. Move.”

Maddie stepped in closer, trying to look tough. “Make me.”

She didn’t expect what came next.

Neither did Powder.

The boy’s fist flew fast — not a big wind-up, just one sharp, practiced movement.

Crack.

It landed squarely on Maddie’s shoulder, knocking her sideways and straight to the ground.

A few gasps rang out. Some kids yelled. The circle shattered instantly.

“Hey! Hey, stop it!” someone shouted in the background. A whistle blew from across the playground — a teacher finally noticing.

Powder flinched back, but the boy didn’t look at her. Not yet.

He turned, knelt down quickly at her side. “Hey—hey, you okay?”

She stared at him, stunned. Her knees still burned. Her hands were scraped and trembling.

“I—I…” she started, but her voice cracked again.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

He stood and held out his hand.

For a second, she just looked at it. Her ears were still ringing. Her heart still racing.

But then, slowly, she took it.

His grip was firm but not rough. Steady.

He pulled her to her feet and put himself between her and the rest of the crowd — what was left of it. Maddie was still on the ground, groaning and red-faced, and the others were backing away, suddenly not so brave anymore.

The teacher was rushing over now, but the boy didn’t stop.

He led her toward the edge of the yard, walking quickly but not dragging her.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, his voice calmer now that they were away. “But you looked like you needed help.”

Powder could barely breathe. Her eyes were still wide, her whole body buzzing with adrenaline and shame and confusion.

“Why…” she croaked. “Why did you help me?”

He glanced at her, his face softening just a bit. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

They slowed near the fence line, behind the shade of a big tree where no one else was watching. She could still hear the teacher yelling somewhere behind them, demanding to know what happened. She barely registered it.

“You okay?” he asked again, quieter.

“I… I don’t know,” she said honestly.

He nodded once, like he understood exactly what that meant.

Powder sat on the low brick wall at the edge of the playground, her chest still tight and her hands trembling slightly in her lap. She couldn’t look at him—not yet. Her face burned with shame and anger and something else she couldn’t quite name. She’d tried not to cry in front of them. She’d really tried.

The boy stood a few feet away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. His white hair was a little messy, and there was a smudge of dirt on his cheek. One of his knuckles looked red from where he’d hit Maddie.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he said finally. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear. “I just… they were being jerks.”

Powder still didn’t say anything, but she peeked up at him.

Ekko scratched the back of his neck. “My name’s Ekko. Today’s actually my first day here. So, uh… great start, right?”

That earned him the smallest twitch of her lips. Barely a smile, but it was something.

He kept going, like he didn’t want to risk stopping. “I moved here with my adopted dad. His name’s Benzo. He’s cool. A little weird, but in a good way. We’ve moved around a lot. This place is supposed to be more… permanent.” He made air quotes with his fingers.

Powder finally spoke, voice soft and hoarse. “You’re… adopted?”

“Yeah,” he said, plopping down on the wall beside her but keeping a respectful distance. “Foster care first. Bounced around for a while. Benzo took me in last year, made it official this summer.” He glanced over at her, his tone gentle. “You?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the playground noises distant, like they were in their own little pocket of the world.

“Those kids,” Ekko said eventually, kicking at a rock near his foot, “they always like to pick someone to go after. When I was younger, it was me. I know how it feels.” He glanced sideways again, but didn’t press. “I’ve got your back now, though. If you want it.”

Powder swallowed hard. She didn’t really know what to say. No one had ever said that to her before—not another kid, anyway. And somehow… it meant more than she expected. Her throat felt tight again, but this time it wasn’t just from fear or sadness.

“…Thanks,” she whispered.

Ekko nodded like that was enough. “Anytime.”

They sat there a little longer, quietly watching the wind move through the trees at the edge of the yard. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Powder didn’t feel completely alone.

*****

Jayce had just settled onto the couch with his laptop, a half-drunk cup of coffee beside him and a stack of paperwork pulled up on the screen. Viktor was at the kitchen table, scribbling something down in one of his notebooks. The quiet of the house felt fragile—like a moment of peace they hadn’t had in days.

The ringtone made Jayce flinch.

He grabbed his phone off the cushion, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice tight with mild suspicion.

“Hi, is this Jayce Talis?” a voice on the other end asked. It was professional—school secretary tone.

“Yes, this is him,” he said, already sitting up straighter. His heart thumped once, hard.

“I’m calling from Piltover Elementary. We need you and your husband to come in for a meeting as soon as possible regarding an incident that occurred on school grounds.”

Jayce’s stomach dropped. “An incident?”

“There was a physical altercation involving Powder,” the voice said carefully, like they were reading it from a script. “We’d like to speak with you in person. Is that possible today?”

Jayce’s throat went dry. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re on our way.”

He ended the call with a trembling hand.

Viktor looked up, brows drawn together in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Jayce stood quickly, already grabbing his keys. “School just called. There was… a fight. They want us to come in.”

Viktor stood, notebook forgotten. “Was it Powder?”

Jayce nodded, jaw tight. “They didn’t say much. Just that it was a fight and she was involved.”

The house suddenly felt too big. Too quiet. Like all the noise that should be there had been sucked out and replaced with static.

Jayce looked over at Viktor, his chest tight. “She’s only been back one day.”

Viktor moved toward him and gently squeezed his arm. “Let’s go. We’ll figure out what happened.”

Jayce didn’t respond right away. His mind was already spiraling—replaying all the worst-case scenarios, all the possibilities. He felt the guilt twist in his gut. We should have kept her home longer. We should’ve known.

He took a shaky breath, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.

“Let’s bring her home,” he muttered.

And they left—hearts pounding, unsure of what exactly they were walking into.

*****

The principal’s office smelled faintly of old coffee and dry-erase markers, but Jayce barely noticed. His eyes were locked on Powder the moment they stepped inside. She was sitting on a stiff chair near the back of the room, shoulders hunched, hoodie sleeves tugged halfway over her hands. Her face was pale, but her jaw was clenched. She didn’t look up.

Viktor reached her first, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She gave the faintest nod. Jayce put a hand on her back, reassuring, and turned toward the chaos unfolding in front of the principal’s desk.

A girl and her parents were already seated, dressed sharply, with looks that were far more performative than concerned. The girl sat between them, a tissue pressed dramatically to her cheek. There was a red mark there—not from a punch, Jayce assumed, but from the way she kept dabbing at it like she was waiting for cameras to flash.

“She has been targeted for weeks,” her mother said sharply, her perfectly manicured hands waving in the air. “And now she’s been assaulted. You need to do something about these other children—this boy, and that girl.”

She cast a disgusted look in Powder’s direction. Jayce’s stomach twisted.

“This isn’t the first time Powder’s been involved in something disruptive, is it?” the father added, leaning forward as if he was laying down an irrefutable argument. “We’ve heard things. She’s clearly unstable.”

Jayce stepped forward, anger bubbling low in his chest. “Excuse me?”

Another man, seated across the room next to a boy with white hair, narrowed his eyes. “You should be careful throwing words like ‘unstable’ around, especially when your daughter is the one cornering kids on the playground.”

The boy sat quietly, arms crossed. He didn’t look angry—he looked tired. Powder hadn’t looked at anyone since they walked in.

Principal Maren held up a hand, trying to calm the room. “Let’s all take a breath, please. This is exactly why we’re here—to get the full story from everyone and come to a resolution.”

Maddie sniffled dramatically, still clinging to her tissue. “I didn’t do anything,” she whined. “They attacked me! Just because I asked why she wasn’t at school! I was worried!”

The boy finally spoke, his voice low but firm. “You were mocking her. You called her a freak. You and Preston pushed her against the fence, surrounded her, and laughed when she started crying.”

Maddie gasped, the most theatrical sound Jayce had ever heard. “That’s a lie!”

Jayce looked over at Powder. She still hadn’t said a word. Her fingers were trembling in her lap. Viktor rubbed small circles on her back, grounding her.

Jayce crouched beside her, gently brushing her hair out of her face. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” he murmured. “We’re here. We believe you.”

Powder’s lips trembled. Her eyes darted up, meeting his for just a second before looking away again.

Benzo stood slowly. “Look, I’m not saying Ekko handled it perfectly. But he stepped in because a group of kids was ganging up on one girl. I’d hope any decent kid would do the same.”

“And what about the punch?” the principal asked. “Maddie’s parents say she was hit.”

Ekko shrugged. “I warned her to back off. She shoved Powder again. I reacted. I’m not proud of it.”

“See!” Maddie’s mom shrieked. “He admitted it!”

“I admitted to protecting someone who was being harassed,” Ekko snapped back. “Not everyone gets to hide behind lies and crocodile tears.”

Jayce looked over at the principal. “Is there actual evidence of what happened? Cameras? Teachers?”

Maren sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Unfortunately, recess duty was on the far side of the building. But a few students gave statements. Some confirmed Maddie and her friends were surrounding Powder.”

Jayce’s chest tightened again. He glanced at Viktor, who gave him a small nod. They were on the same page.

“This isn’t about blaming kids,” Viktor said carefully. “But we need to be honest about the environment here. Powder’s already been through a lot. We told the school she needed some extra support.”

“And she clearly still does,” Maddie’s father muttered.

Jayce stood, arms crossed, jaw tight. “She’s getting it. But you don’t get to sit here and pretend your kid’s the victim just because someone finally stood up to her.”

The room fell into an awkward silence. Maddie blinked at him, stunned. Powder finally looked up at Jayce, her expression unreadable—but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes.

The silence in the room stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

Then, a small voice broke through it.

“They’ve been bullying me since I got here.”

Every head in the room turned toward Powder. Her voice was quiet, shaky, but it carried. Jayce’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

Powder sat upright, still hunched, but her hands were balled into tight fists in her lap. She wasn’t looking at anyone directly, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Maddie. Preston. Hannah.” She said their names slowly, as if naming them made it more real. “They follow me around. They whisper things. Call me names. Trip me in the hall. They laugh at me when I mess up in class. Say I’m crazy. That I don’t belong here.”

Maddie let out an exaggerated scoff. “That’s not true—”

“It is,” Powder said, louder this time. Her gaze snapped to Maddie now, finally looking at her, and there was a storm behind those tired blue eyes. “You just didn’t think anyone would ever believe me.”

Ekko shifted in his seat, glancing at Powder like he was seeing her in a new light. Benzo crossed his arms proudly.

Jayce stayed still, letting her speak. Letting her own it.

Powder turned her attention back to the principal. “I tried to ignore it. I didn’t want to be a problem. But today… I couldn’t anymore. Preston shoved me. Maddie wouldn’t let me leave. They called me a freak again, and they laughed.”

She looked at Ekko now. “He’s the only one who did anything. He got me out.”

Jayce swallowed hard and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

Viktor leaned in slightly, his voice soft but steady. “Thank you for saying that, Powder.”

The principal cleared her throat, her face more serious now. “I appreciate you speaking up, Powder. I’m sorry you’ve been experiencing that here.”

Maddie’s parents bristled. “So you’re just going to take her word for it now?”

“We’ll be following up with the students who gave statements,” the principal replied coolly. “But what I’m hearing right now is a pattern of behavior that was not brought to our attention sooner.”

Benzo raised a brow. “Probably because some people have been too busy protecting their own kid’s reputation instead of actually listening.”

Maddie folded her arms, looking away like none of it applied to her. Her mom opened her mouth to argue again, but the principal held up her hand.

“I think we’ve heard enough for now,” she said firmly. “We’re going to conduct a full investigation. In the meantime, Maddie, Preston, and Hannah will have recess and lunch in the counselor’s office for the next week.”

“What?!” Maddie nearly leapt out of her chair. “This isn’t fair!”

“It’s temporary,” Principal Maren said, her tone final. “But this behavior, from anyone, is unacceptable. And if the bullying continues, there will be further consequences.”

Powder sagged a little in her seat. Not relief exactly, but maybe something close.

Jayce gave her hand a squeeze. “You were really brave, Powder.”

She didn’t answer, but her fingers tightened around his.

Outside the window, recess had already ended, and the schoolyard was empty.

But inside this room, something had shifted.

*****

The car was quiet as they pulled away from the school, tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud that hadn’t quite passed.

Jayce’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. He forced himself to loosen his fingers, exhaling slowly. Viktor sat beside him in the passenger seat, quiet, thoughtful. Powder was curled up in the backseat, pressed against the door, arms wrapped tight around her backpack. 

Jayce glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Powder’s reflection—hollow-eyed and silent, her knees tucked up as far as the seatbelt allowed.

“You okay, kiddo?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle, low.

Powder didn’t answer at first. Then, after a long pause, she mumbled, “I don’t know.”

Jayce nodded, eyes flicking back to the road. “That’s okay. Just… wanted to check.”

“You were really brave in there,” Viktor said, his voice quiet but sure. “Telling the truth, even when no one else wanted to hear it? That is a strength.”

Powder shifted in her seat. “It didn’t change anything.”

“It did,” Jayce said, glancing in the mirror again. “It changed everything, Powder. You stood up for yourself. That matters.”

“I shouldn’t have waited so long,” she muttered. “They’ve been doing this since, like… the day I started.”

That hit Jayce hard.

“You’ve been dealing with all that on your own?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “Why didn’t you tell us, Powder?”

She hesitated. “Because I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it. Or that I was… weak.”

Jayce swallowed hard. “You are not weak. Not even close. You’re one of the strongest kids I’ve ever met.”

“And it’s not your job to handle everything on your own,” Viktor added. “That’s why we’re here. We’re your people, remember?”

Powder was quiet again, staring out the window. Her grip on her backpack tightened, then slowly loosened, just a little.

Jayce flicked on the turn signal, pulling into their neighborhood. He looked at Powder again in the mirror, softer this time. “We’ll keep in contact with the school. If they don’t do something, we will. Whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Powder didn’t answer. But she let her body lean slightly against the backseat.

*****

The scent of warm food hit them the second they walked through the front door—something savory and a little spicy, familiar in a way that instantly eased Jayce’s shoulders.

Jayce kicked off his shoes by the door, glancing toward the kitchen where soft clattering came from inside. “She didn’t have to cook,” he murmured.

“She wanted to,” Viktor said, offering him a tired but grateful smile. “You know how she is.”

Jayce gave a small nod. Yeah. He did.

Powder trudged in behind them, her face drawn and pale with exhaustion. She moved slowly, like her limbs were made of stone, but didn’t say anything as she slipped into the living room and dropped her backpack beside the couch.

Ximena poked her head out of the kitchen with a warm smile. “Perfect timing, mi familia. Dinner’s almost ready. Go wash up.”

Jayce didn’t miss the way Powder’s lips twitched just slightly at the sound of her voice. It wasn’t quite a smile—but it was close. He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder as he passed, and she leaned into it for a second before following Viktor down the hall to wash her hands.

Ten minutes later, they were all seated around the kitchen table. Ximena had made taco meat, rice, warm tortillas, and even managed to whip up a small salad on the side. Everything smelled incredible, and for the first time all day, Jayce felt something settle in his chest. A kind of peace.

Powder sat across from him, curled slightly in her seat, picking at her rice with slow, methodical movements. She hadn’t said much—just a soft “thanks” when Ximena had set her plate down—but she hadn’t withdrawn entirely, either. She listened as they talked, eyes flicking from person to person, quietly present in a way Jayce didn’t take for granted.

“So,” Ximena said, pouring herself another glass of water, “how was the meeting?”

Jayce shot a glance at Powder, then back at his mom. “A lot,” he said simply. “But Powder told them the truth. She really stood up for herself.”

Ximena’s gaze softened as she looked across the table. “That’s incredibly brave.”

Powder just shrugged and poked at a piece of lettuce.

Jayce wanted to say more—to tell her again how proud he was, how much it meant that she’d spoken up—but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. Not tonight.

Viktor was the one who gently steered the conversation away, talking about something he’d read in the paper that morning—some strange tech development that made Jayce roll his eyes and Ximena laugh. The conversation flowed like that for a while—easy, comforting.

Powder didn’t say much, but she listened. And when Viktor made a particularly dry joke, she let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, just barely.

And Jayce saw it.

A flicker of calm behind her eyes. A tiny crack in the weight she was carrying.

After dinner, she helped clear the plates without being asked. She didn’t say anything, but when she passed by him with an empty cup in hand, she lightly bumped her shoulder into his.

Jayce smiled.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

*****

The school felt louder than usual.

Powder stood just inside the main entrance the next day, frozen in place as other kids rushed past her. The sound of squeaking sneakers, locker doors clanging open, and morning chatter filled the hallway—but it all felt far away, like she was underwater.

Her backpack weighed heavy on her shoulders. Her feet didn’t want to move.

She spotted Hannah and Preston near the water fountain. They were already laughing about something, eyes darting around the hallway, searching. She quickly looked down, hoping they wouldn’t notice her.

But even as she tried to disappear into the crowd, she could feel the stares. Students who weren’t even part of Maddie’s group were whispering now. Glancing at her and then turning to their friends to say something behind their hands.

Freak. Crybaby. Trouble.

She didn’t need to hear the words. She knew the rhythm by now. Her stomach clenched, her fingers tightening around her backpack straps until her knuckles went white. Her classroom door was just down the hall, but it might as well have been a mile away. Her legs felt stiff. Her throat thick. You shouldn’t have come today. You can’t do this.

She turned around—just a little. Maybe she could tell the front office she was sick. Or maybe she could just go wait outside. Call Viktor or Jayce.

That’s when she heard a voice next to her.

“Hey. You okay?”

She jumped slightly and turned her head. It was the boy from the playground—Ekko. His white hair made him stand out in the sea of elementary chaos. He stood a couple feet away from her, holding his backpack in one hand like he didn’t have a care in the world. His tone wasn’t overly cheerful or fake—it was… steady. Real.

Powder stared at him. She didn’t know what to say.

He tilted his head. “You don’t look okay,” he said bluntly. “Wanna sit down for a minute?”

She blinked and nodded a little without thinking.

They walked over to the bench near the library, just out of the way from the rush of kids heading to their classrooms. Powder sat on one end, legs swinging, head bowed. Ekko dropped his backpack and sat beside her, quiet for a minute.

Powder didn’t speak. Her brain was still loud—every thought buzzing, looping.

Finally, she whispered, “I’m sorry… that you got in trouble.”

Ekko shook his head. “Nah. I’ve been in worse trouble. Maddie was asking for it.” He paused, glancing over at her. “She always like that?”

Powder nodded slowly, the lump in her throat returning. “Since my first day. Her and Hannah and Preston. They hate me.”

“Cool,” he said sarcastically, “love it when kids act like mini dictators.” He grinned a little, just enough to show he wasn’t mad at her. “Well, now you’ve got me. Because foster kids gotta stick together. That’s gotta count for something.”

Powder didn’t answer, but her eyes started to sting. She looked down quickly and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Ekko didn’t press. He just leaned back again, letting the silence be okay for a while.

And for the first time that day, the thoughts in Powder’s head… weren’t quite so loud.

Chapter Text

The car ride was quiet.

Powder sat in the backseat, her cheek pressed lightly against the cool window. Outside, the world moved in slow motion—mountains in the distance, the gray-blue sky, the blur of trees and rooftops passing by. She barely noticed any of it. Her stomach twisted every time she thought about where they were going.

She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to go.

Up front, Jayce and Viktor were quiet too. Jayce was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting tensely in his lap. Viktor kept glancing back at her in the rearview mirror, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start. Powder didn’t meet his eyes.

She fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie, picking at the frayed edge near her wrist. Her heartbeat felt loud, like it had moved up into her throat. Her chest was tight.

They turned into a small parking lot beside a building with soft green siding and big windows. A little sign out front read: “Riverbend Mental Health Center.”

Powder’s legs suddenly felt heavy.

Jayce put the car in park and turned around in his seat. “Hey, Powder,” he said gently.

She didn’t answer.

Viktor turned too. “You do not have to say anything right now. But we’re here with you. We’re not going anywhere, okay?”

Powder nodded, just barely. Her throat burned, but she swallowed it down.

Jayce got out first. He opened her door without a word and held out his hand. Powder stared at it for a second. Then she took it.

Her fingers were cold in his warm ones.

The building looked normal. Quiet. Friendly, even. A little bench sat outside with a flowerpot beside it. But every step she took toward it made her want to turn around and run.

What if the therapist asked too many questions?

What if she couldn’t answer?

What if she cried again?

The waiting room was too quiet, despite the soft instrumental music playing in the background and the faint hum of the fish tank in the corner. Powder sat wedged between Viktor and the armrest of the couch, picking at the hem of her sleeve. Her knees were drawn up slightly, not enough to curl up, but enough to make her feel a little smaller.

She could feel Jayce glancing at her every few seconds. He kept fidgeting with the pen attached to the clipboard, tapping it against his knee, stopping, then starting again.

The door to the hallway opened with a soft click.

A woman stepped out—tall, with warm brown skin, short curly hair, and soft glasses that framed kind eyes. She wore a teal cardigan over a floral blouse and had a beaded bracelet around one wrist. There was something calm about her, something steady.

“Powder?” she said gently, her voice clear but not too loud.

Powder looked up slowly.

“I’m Dr. Nora Lang,” the woman said with a kind smile. “But you can just call me Nora, if that’s easier. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Powder didn’t say anything. She just gave a slight nod.

Nora didn’t seem fazed. She turned to Jayce and Viktor. “Hi there. You must be her guardians?”

“Yes,” Jayce said, standing up quickly. “I’m Jayce. This is Viktor.”

Nora offered her hand to each of them, calm and professional, but warm. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Then she turned back to Powder. “I was hoping you’d come back with me. We’ll just go to my office. Nothing scary. There are snacks. Markers. A squishy chair.”

Powder blinked.

“Would you like them to come with you?” Nora asked gently.

Jayce crouched a little, bringing himself to eye level. “We’re okay with whatever you want, kiddo. We can come with you, or wait out here.”

Viktor nodded. “We’re here either way.”

Powder stared at her sneakers. Her stomach was still twisted in knots, and her brain felt like it was moving through fog. The thought of going back without them made her hands clench.

She took a shaky breath.

“…Yes,” she whispered. “I want them to come.”

Jayce smiled softly and reached out a hand again. She took it without thinking.

“Alright then,” Nora said. “Follow me.”

They walked down a short hallway with soft carpeting and colorful drawings on the walls—kids’ artwork, clearly. There was a rainbow made out of construction paper, a giant crayon-themed clock, and a poster that read: “Feelings are real. It’s okay to talk about them.”

Nora’s office was cozy—sunlight coming through gauzy curtains, a bean bag chair in the corner, shelves lined with games and art supplies, and a low round table with coloring books and a sand tray. A cushy couch sat against the far wall, with a soft blue blanket draped over one arm.

“You can sit anywhere you like,” Nora said, stepping aside. “Even on the floor if that feels better.”

Powder hovered for a second, then moved to the couch. Viktor sat beside her. Jayce took the other end. Powder stayed right in the middle, close to both.

Nora pulled up a rocking chair with wheels, setting a little notepad on her lap but not writing anything yet.

“I know coming here can feel a little weird,” she said. “So today’s just about getting to know each other. You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready. We can just hang out. I’ve got fidget toys, colored pencils, and even a therapy llama puppet if it comes to that.”

Powder blinked.

Jayce let out a small, startled laugh. Viktor smiled.

Nora grinned. “I’m serious. I’ve named him Carl. He’s very judgmental but good at listening.”

Powder's lips twitched, just the tiniest bit.

“Okay,” Nora said, settling into her chair. “So, Powder… tell me what you think about being here today. Or… draw it. Or nothing at all. It’s up to you.”

Powder swallowed hard and looked down at her hands.

Powder didn’t talk at first. Not even when Nora gently asked a few questions. Her body was stiff between Jayce and Viktor, her hands clenched in her lap, eyes darting around the room but never settling. There were too many words stuck in her chest. Too many feelings she didn’t have names for.

But Nora didn’t rush her.

After a little while, Nora pointed toward the shelf of paints and brushes. “You’re welcome to use anything you’d like,” she said casually, like she was talking about snacks or books.

Powder hesitated, then slowly slid off the couch and walked over to the art table. She didn’t look back, but she could feel Jayce and Viktor watching her gently, not pressing her, just there.

Her fingers hovered over the paints. She picked up a brush and squirted some red into a small dish, then blue. She didn’t know what she was painting, just shapes at first—rough, angry strokes. Then calmer ones. It was messy and uneven and she didn’t care.

Nora stayed seated, giving her space, but spoke softly.

“Sometimes it helps to say things out loud. Even if they come out in bits. Even if they don’t make sense.”

Powder’s hand froze mid-stroke. Her eyes burned.

“I don’t want to cut anymore,” she said quietly, not turning around.

There was a pause in the room—like everything had stopped breathing for a moment.

“I hate it,” she said, louder this time. “I—I hate that I started. But it made it stop. All the noise. Everything that hurts, just… it goes away for a little while. It made me feel like I could breathe.”

She dropped the brush into the water and wrapped her arms around herself. Her shoulders curled in, protective.

“I didn’t know what else to do. No one ever helped before.”

Jayce’s hand moved a little on the couch, like he wanted to reach out—but he didn’t. He stayed still, waiting for her to keep going.

“I had these thoughts…” Powder said, voice thin. “Scary ones. About wanting to just disappear. Like—what if I never existed? Would anyone even care? Would it matter?”

Nora’s voice was soft. “Those thoughts can feel very big. And very heavy. You’re not alone in having them.”

Powder turned slightly, her eyes red but not crying yet. “I think about dying. I don’t want to. But I think about it. Especially at night.”

Jayce swallowed hard. Viktor’s jaw tightened, but his expression didn’t change—still calm, still present.

“I was in some really bad homes,” Powder mumbled, wiping her sleeve under her nose. “One lady used to lock me in the closet. Another said I was ‘too broken’ to keep. One of the guys just ignored me all the time. I stopped talking. They didn’t notice.”

She sniffled and stared down at her shoes. “I started cutting… before foster care. When I lived with my sister,” Powder mumbled. “She—she hurt me. A lot. Screamed at me. Threw things. Called me names every day. Told me I ruined her life. That I should’ve never been born.”

She stared down at her shoes. “I didn’t know how to handle it. So I started cutting in the bathroom. Quiet. Small at first. She never noticed. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care.”

Nora didn’t interrupt. She moved slowly toward the art table, stopping a few feet away.

“That’s not something a kid should have had to live through,” she said gently. “You were surviving. And now you’re trying to heal. That takes more strength than most people can imagine.”

Powder looked up at her. “It still hurts. All the time. Even now.”

“I know,” Nora said. “But the fact that you're talking about it—that you want help—that’s huge. That’s where healing starts.”

There was a long pause. Powder’s breathing was shaky.

Jayce’s voice came, quiet from the couch. “You’re not alone anymore, Powder. Not ever again.”

Viktor echoed softly, “We’re right here. And we’re staying.”

Powder blinked hard and looked away again, but this time when she picked up the paintbrush, her hand wasn’t trembling as much.

And when she finally painted something that looked like a window with the sun outside it, she didn’t feel quite as heavy inside.

*****

The car ride home was quiet.

Viktor sat in the passenger seat while Jayce drove, the soft hum of the tires on the pavement the only real sound between them. Powder was curled up in the back seat, her chin tucked toward her chest, arms folded tight around herself. She hadn’t said a word since they’d left Nora Lang’s office.

Viktor glanced back at her gently.

She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were distant—somewhere far away inside her head. He could see it. That glassy stare that spoke more than words ever could. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t just live in your body but settled in your soul.

Jayce’s fingers flexed on the wheel. Viktor could feel how tense he was. He knew Jayce hated quiet like this—quiet that felt uncertain, like something might break it at any second. But Viktor just gave his knee a small nudge with his hand.

Let her be. Let it sit.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the sun had dipped behind the mountains. Evening shadows crept over the house in soft blues and purples. Powder climbed out of the back seat slowly, not waiting for them, just walking up the steps and inside.

Jayce sighed as he closed the driver’s door. “I hate not knowing what she’s thinking.”

“I know,” Viktor murmured. “But we were there. That means something.”

They followed her inside. Viktor heard her settle quietly into one of the kitchen chairs. Not stomping or slumping—just sitting. Like her limbs were too heavy to do anything else.

Jayce looked to Viktor and tilted his head toward the fridge. “Grilled cheese?”

“It’s comfort food,” Viktor said with a small smile. “Good idea.”

They moved around each other without talking. Sliced bread, cheese, butter. Jayce got the pan hot while Viktor opened a can of tomato soup and stirred it on the stove. The kitchen filled with the warm scent of browning butter and melted cheese—familiar and grounding.

Viktor glanced at Powder again. She hadn’t moved much. She was just watching them, eyes slightly drooped.

Jayce brought her a plate, setting it down in front of her with a soft smile. “Here you go, kiddo.”

Powder blinked slowly, then murmured, “Thanks.”

Viktor set a bowl of soup next to it. “Careful, it’s hot. But not in a dangerous way.” He added the smallest smile to soften the worry behind his words.

They all sat at the table. At first, the only sound was the quiet clink of spoons, the rustle of napkins. Powder took small bites, but she ate—more than Viktor expected.

After a few minutes, he spoke. “Powder… you did something very brave today.”

She didn’t look up, but her chewing slowed. She was listening.

“I know it wasn’t easy,” he continued, gently, “but talking about those things with Nora… that takes a lot of courage. And I’m really proud of you.”

Jayce nodded from across the table. “Me too. I know today wasn’t easy. But I saw how hard you tried. That means everything to us.”

Powder set her sandwich down and picked at the crust for a moment. Then, softly, without looking up, she said, “I’m glad you came with me.”

Jayce blinked, and Viktor’s chest ached a little at the softness in her voice.

“You are?” Jayce asked gently.

She gave a tiny nod. “I didn’t want to go alone.”

“You never have to,” Viktor said quietly. “Even if you’re scared. Even if it’s hard. We’re here, muffin.”

Jayce leaned in a little. “Always, Powder. We’re not going anywhere.”

There was a long pause before she said, almost inaudibly, “Okay.”

It wasn’t much. But it wasn’t nothing either. It was a thread. A little piece of trust. And Viktor would hold onto it with everything he had.

They finished dinner slowly. Jayce cleared the plates while Viktor handed Powder a glass of water and nudged her gently toward the couch.

“Go sit,” he said. “We’ll clean up.”

She hesitated but went.

Jayce walked past Viktor with a quiet smile, handing him a dishtowel. “That felt like a step.”

Viktor nodded. “A small one. But sometimes… those are the kind that matter the most.”

The dishes were done, the kitchen lights dimmed, and the soft sound of the kettle bubbling on the stove filled the air with quiet anticipation. Viktor moved slowly, careful not to clink the mugs too loudly as he set them out on the counter. Jayce was across from him, pouring milk into a saucepan for Powder’s hot chocolate—extra creamy, just the way she liked it.

Powder sat on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon, tucked into the corner. Her eyes followed them now and then, but she didn’t speak. She looked tired, still fragile from everything, but her gaze wasn’t quite as distant anymore. There was a flicker of something softer there. The beginnings of comfort.

“Do we still have the peppermint marshmallows?” Jayce asked, peering into the pantry.

Viktor chuckled and opened the upper cupboard. “Hidden behind the oatmeal.”

Jayce gave him a knowing grin. “Ah, the oatmeal defense. Clever.”

“I learned from the best.”

They finished assembling the mugs—Powder’s had a little snowflake design that she’d claimed weeks ago—and carried them carefully into the living room. Viktor handed Powder hers, the steam curling between them, and she took it with both hands, curling her fingers around the warm ceramic.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Jayce said as he sat beside her, pulling a blanket over all three of them.

Viktor took the remote and flicked through the movie options. “Alright. Something cheerful. No sad endings. Preferably snow and sparkles.”

“Christmas movie,” Jayce said immediately.

“Always,” Viktor replied. “Powder?”

She blinked up at them, then gave a tiny shrug. “I don’t care. Just not the one where the dog dies.”

Jayce gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

Viktor smiled. “Noted. No tragic dog movies.”

He settled on a classic—The Grinch, soft and magical and just fantastical enough to distract a tired mind. As the opening scene began to play, Viktor dimmed the lights and pulled the curtains open just slightly.

Snow was beginning to fall outside.

Powder noticed too. She turned her head toward the window and whispered, “It’s snowing.”

“Mmhm,” Viktor said, sitting down beside her and sipping his cocoa. “Just in time for the movie.”

They all went quiet again, letting the film unfold. The room was filled with golden light from the tree in the corner, blinking softly. Powder’s head began to lean against Jayce’s shoulder. Her cocoa mug rested on the coffee table now, nearly empty, and her hands were curled beneath the blanket.

Halfway through the movie, she let out a long sigh. Not a sad one. A relaxed one.

Jayce looked down at her and brushed some of her hair from her forehead. “You okay, kiddo?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

Viktor smiled quietly. He reached over and gave her foot a gentle squeeze through the blanket. “Good.”

The snowfall outside grew thicker, blanketing the trees and rooftops in silver and white. The flickering light of the TV cast soft shadows on their faces. Jayce’s arm rested around Powder’s back. Viktor leaned into them both, just enough to feel their warmth.

No one said much after that. They didn’t need to.

For the first time in a while, there was no urgency. No tension. Just a quiet evening, soft lights, warm mugs, and the sound of snow falling outside the windows.

And Powder, between them—safe, held, and slowly, piece by piece, beginning to believe she could be okay.

*****

Jayce spotted her before she saw them—Powder, standing near the front gate of the school, her backpack slung low and her hoodie pulled up. She looked small in the crowd of kids spilling out of the building, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

He nudged Viktor beside him. “There she is.”

Viktor raised a hand to wave gently through the windshield. Powder glanced up, and when she saw them, her face didn’t change much. But she started walking toward the car without hesitating, and that was something.

Jayce leaned over and opened the back door for her. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice quiet. She climbed into the back seat and buckled herself in, eyes still downcast. Her backpack landed on the floor with a soft thud.

Jayce waited until Viktor pulled away from the curb before speaking again. “How was school?”

Powder shrugged. “Fine.”

Jayce didn’t push. He knew that tone—guarded, worn thin. The kind of answer you gave when the day was too long and your brain too loud.

“Anything new?” Viktor asked gently from the driver’s seat.

There was a pause. Then, almost like an afterthought, Powder murmured, “I talked to Ekko at lunch.”

Jayce glanced at her in the mirror. “Oh yeah? How’s he doing?”

“He’s… nice.” Another shrug. “He likes drawing, too.”

“That’s cool,” Jayce said with a little smile. “Maybe you two could draw something together sometime.”

Powder didn’t answer. She just looked out the window, her fingers pulling at the loose thread on the edge of her sleeve.

They didn’t press. The rest of the drive was quiet, filled with the hum of the engine and the occasional click of a turn signal. Jayce glanced at Viktor once, sharing a silent look. They were both thinking about the same thing.

Dr. Anika Rao.

This was a new step, and a big one. Not just therapy this time—this was a psychiatrist. Someone who could really assess what Powder might need, long-term. Medication, maybe. Monitoring. More structure. More answers.

Jayce hoped she wouldn’t shut down.

When they pulled into the clinic’s small parking lot, Powder tensed slightly. Her hands went still in her lap. Viktor parked, but no one moved for a moment.

“You okay?” Jayce asked softly, turning around in his seat to face her.

Powder nodded, but the movement was slow and hesitant.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” he said gently. “Dr. Rao just wants to talk and help. You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Jayce reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “We’re right here. Let’s go meet her together.”

They all stepped out of the car and walked toward the glass doors of the building. Jayce glanced up at the sky—it was overcast, the light dim and flat. A typical Monday. But at least they were here. Still showing up. Still trying.

The waiting room was quiet, softly lit with neutral colors and cozy chairs that looked more like something from a living room than a clinic. A small shelf by the wall held books and a few stuffed animals. Powder sat between him and Viktor, her knees drawn together, her hands clenched in her lap.

Jayce kept one eye on her and the other on the front desk as a receptionist smiled at them and asked for their names.

“Powder.” Jayce said, his voice calm, steady. “First appointment with Dr. Rao.”

The woman nodded and checked something on her screen. “You’re right on time. She’ll be out in just a minute. You can all sit tight.”

Jayce nodded and returned to his seat. Powder hadn’t moved. Her eyes were locked on the bookshelf, but she wasn’t really looking at it.

A few minutes passed in silence, broken only by the sound of a fish tank bubbling softly in the corner.

Then the door beside the front desk opened, and a woman stepped out.

“Hi there,” she said with a warm smile. “You must be Powder.”

Powder looked up.

Dr. Rao was youngish—maybe in her mid-thirties—with a calm, steady presence. Her dark hair was pulled back in a braid, and she wore a deep purple blouse and soft black pants. No lab coat. No clipboard in hand. Just a welcoming, open posture.

Powder nodded slowly, standing up. Jayce rose with her.

“I’m Dr. Anika Rao. You can call me Anika if you want, or Dr. Rao—whatever makes you more comfortable.”

Powder nodded again, quiet.

“And you’re her guardians?” she asked, turning to Jayce and Viktor.

“Yes,” Viktor said gently. “We’re her foster parents.”

Dr. Rao stepped aside and motioned them into a hallway. “Come on back. My office is just this way.”

They followed her into a room that looked nothing like a doctor’s office. There was a big couch with soft throw pillows, two armchairs, and a round rug in the middle of the floor. One corner of the room had a small table with art supplies—markers, paint, clay, sketchbooks. Another corner had a basket of toys and fidget tools.

Everything about it felt… safe. Intentional.

“Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable,” Dr. Rao said, settling into one of the chairs. “Powder, you can sit wherever you like.”

Powder hesitated for a second, then slowly walked to the couch and sat down, tucking her legs under her. Jayce and Viktor sat on either side, giving her space but staying close.

Dr. Rao looked at her kindly. “So, Powder… I want you to know this is your space. You can say as much or as little as you want. We’re just going to talk today. That’s all.”

Powder didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away either.

“And I’m not here to fix you or force you into anything. I’m just here to help—however that looks for you.”

Jayce glanced at her, watching the way she pulled slightly at her sleeves, the way her jaw clenched, like she was trying not to cry again.

Dr. Rao’s voice was gentle. “Do you want to start by telling me why you think you’re here?”

Powder swallowed. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“I hurt myself… I cut. I don’t want to anymore.”

Jayce felt his chest tighten. Viktor was completely still beside him.

“That’s really brave of you to say,” Dr. Rao said softly. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Powder looked down at her hands. “It makes it stop… the noise. The thoughts.”

“What kind of thoughts?” Dr. Rao asked, her tone careful but open.

Powder stayed quiet for a long time. Then: “That I wish I was never born. That everything would be better if I wasn’t here.”

Jayce’s throat ached. Viktor reached over, barely brushing his hand against Powder’s knee. She didn’t flinch.

“I hear that,” Dr. Rao said gently. “And I’m really sorry you’ve been carrying those thoughts alone for so long.”

Powder’s voice broke a little. “It started before… before foster care. When I lived with my sister. She hurt me. A lot.”

Jayce felt his stomach twist.

“I started cutting back then,” she said. “Because I didn’t know what else to do.”

There was a long pause. Then Powder glanced toward the art table.

“Can I… draw?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Rao said with a smile.

Powder stood slowly and crossed to the art corner, picking up a sketchpad and a few pencils. She sat on the floor, curling one leg beneath her, and began to draw in soft, slow lines. No one said anything. They just let her be.

Jayce glanced at Viktor. His husband gave him a faint, tired smile. They were doing the right thing.

Dr. Rao’s voice was calm and measured. “You mentioned the thoughts get noisy sometimes. Can you tell me what that feels like?”

Powder’s pencil paused. Jayce didn’t expect her to answer right away—lately, her silences had become a language of their own. But after a moment, she spoke, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

“It’s… hard to explain.”

Jayce’s breath hitched. He leaned in slightly, careful not to pressure her but holding on to every word she gave.

“It gets really loud,” she said, her fingers fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve. “Like… my brain won’t turn off. Even when I want it to. Even when I’m tired.”

Jayce swallowed hard. He thought back to the mornings when they’d practically had to coax her out of bed. When she’d skipped brushing her hair. When she’d picked at her food or pushed it away entirely.

“It’s like… everything feels heavy,” she murmured. “Getting up, going to school, even… smiling. It all feels fake. And too much.”

Her voice trembled slightly, and Jayce noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders curled inward like she was trying to make herself disappear. He remembered the fake laughs. The “I’m fine”s that had never really sounded fine. The long, silent stares at nothing in particular.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m not even here. Like… I’m watching the day go by, and I’m not part of it.”

Jayce felt like his heart was breaking in pieces. She’d been living like this for how long? Just going through the motions, hiding behind tired eyes and silence.

Dr. Rao’s voice stayed calm. “Do you feel this way most days?”

Powder nodded faintly. “For a while now. I used to think it was just me… being lazy. Or broken.”

“No, Powder,” Jayce said quietly, unable to hold back. “You’re not broken.”

She didn’t answer, but her fingers clenched the edge of the paper tighter. Her next words came slower, pulled from a place too deep to easily reach.

“When it gets really bad... it feels like there’s no point in anything. Like nothing’s ever going to change. Like... maybe people would be better off without me.”

The air in the room went still. Viktor’s hand found his gently. Jayce could barely keep his voice steady.

“That’s not true,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “You matter, Powder. You matter to us.”

“I just wanted the thoughts to stop,” she whispered. “That’s why I started hurting myself. It helped, for a little while. But then I’d just feel worse.”

Jayce’s chest ached. Every tiny clue—missed. Every quiet dinner, every tear she hid. He hadn’t seen it for what it was: the weight of untreated trauma, the suffocating hold of depression, and a child trying to survive it all on her own.

“I want it to stop,” Powder said at last. “I just don’t know how.”

Dr. Rao nodded. “That’s a really brave thing to share, Powder. I’m really glad you told us. We’re going to work on this, together. There is a way through this. And you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

Jayce leaned in just a bit more. “We’re not going anywhere, okay? Not now. Not ever.”

Powder didn’t respond in words, but she didn’t move away either. And when she finally set her pencil down, her hand stayed close to Jayce’s on the floor.

Jayce didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until Powder stopped talking. She was still curled inward, one hand resting near the art supplies, the other tugging at the cuff of her sleeve again. Her shoulders were tense, eyes lowered, as though she was bracing herself for shame or judgment.

But Dr. Rao didn’t react like that. She simply nodded, kind and calm, and leaned forward a little so her voice carried more warmth.

“Powder,” she said gently, “what you’re describing… those heavy thoughts, the tiredness, feeling like things won’t get better, feeling like you don’t belong—that all sounds like something called depression.”

Powder didn’t look up, but Jayce saw her flinch slightly at the word.

Dr. Rao noticed too. “It’s not a bad word,” she assured her. “It’s something a lot of people deal with. Kids, too. More than you probably think. You’re not the only one.”

Jayce watched Powder’s fingers freeze where they were. Her eyes moved slowly, just barely lifting to glance at the doctor.

“I want you to know,” Dr. Rao continued, “that depression isn’t your fault. It’s not weakness, and it doesn’t mean you’re broken or bad. It’s something that happens when the chemicals in our brain get out of balance—especially after hard or scary things happen. Like the stuff you’ve been through.”

Jayce felt Viktor shift slightly beside him. Neither of them said a word, not wanting to interrupt. Powder still hadn’t said anything, but she was listening—he could see it in the way her body leaned slightly forward, the way her eyes flicked toward the floor like she was trying to process every word.

“When someone is depressed,” Dr. Rao said, “their brain tells them things that aren’t true. It might say no one cares, or that it’s always going to be this way. That they’re a burden, or a mistake, or that there’s no point in trying. Those thoughts aren’t real—but they feel real. And that’s the scary part.”

Powder blinked, slowly. Her voice, when it came, was almost silent.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s… what it’s like.”

Jayce felt his heart tighten again, but this time, there was something else under it. Relief, maybe. Or hope. Because she was starting to name it. And that was the first step.

Dr. Rao gave a gentle smile. “I believe you. I really do. And I want you to know—depression is something we can treat. You don’t have to feel like this forever. There are so many ways to help your brain and body feel better.”

Powder finally looked up, her eyes tired but searching. “Like what?”

“Well,” Dr. Rao said, “there’s therapy like this—talking, art, games, whatever helps you feel safe and understood. Some people also take medicine to help balance their brain chemistry. It’s different for everyone. But the important thing is, we work together to make a plan that feels right for you.”

Powder glanced sideways at Jayce and Viktor, then back at Dr. Rao. She didn’t answer right away, but her expression softened just a little—like the tiniest flicker of light had made it through the fog.

“We’ll be right beside you the whole way,” Jayce added gently. “Every step. No matter what.”

Powder nodded slowly, just once.

It wasn’t a full smile. Not yet. But it was the closest thing to peace he’d seen on her face in a long time.

Jayce wasn’t sure what he expected after that quiet, raw moment. Maybe a shift in mood, a sense of relief—something. But instead, the silence hung gently in the room, heavy but not tense.

Powder’s shoulders were still curled in a little, but her eyes stayed up.

Dr. Rao gave them all a moment before she spoke again, her voice soft but direct. “Can I ask you all something?”

Jayce and Viktor both nodded. Powder gave the smallest shrug.

“I’m wondering how everyone would feel about the idea of adding medication to help with what Powder’s going through,” Dr. Rao said gently. “An antidepressant.”

Jayce felt Viktor shift slightly beside him, not tense exactly, but attentive. Powder blinked and stared at her hands, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

Dr. Rao continued, her tone kind and steady. “This wouldn’t replace therapy or support from your family, Powder. But sometimes, when depression runs deep and lasts a long time, medication can help lift the weight just enough to make everything else more manageable.”

Jayce glanced at Powder, trying to read her. She was quiet, but she didn’t look scared. Just… tired.

“Are you saying it’ll just make me not sad anymore?” Powder asked, voice small.

“Not exactly,” Dr. Rao said. “It won’t erase your feelings. You’ll still be you. But it might help those feelings not be so heavy. Like giving your brain a little more space to rest.”

There was a long pause.

Then Powder whispered, “Will it help me stop thinking the scary stuff?”

Jayce’s chest tightened. Viktor gently reached out and took her hand.

Dr. Rao nodded. “It can help make those thoughts less loud. It won’t make them disappear right away, but it’ll give you a better chance to deal with them.”

Powder looked down at her lap. Her hands were shaking a little.

“I want to do it,” she said suddenly, voice cracking.

Jayce looked over at her, surprised by the conviction in her tone. She sniffled and blinked hard, as tears started to roll down her cheeks.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she whispered. “I’m so tired of it.”

Jayce immediately wrapped his arm around her and Viktor leaned in too, silent but steady.

Dr. Rao’s voice was gentle. “Okay. We’ll make a plan together. I’ll start with something small, and we’ll keep checking in every step of the way.”

Powder nodded, even as her tears continued. She let Jayce pull her close. Viktor brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“We’re proud of you,” Jayce murmured. “So, so proud of you.”

And for the first time in a long while, it felt like the three of them were standing on solid ground again—even if just barely.

*****

The house had gone quiet.

Powder was in her room. She hadn’t said much after they got home, but she let Jayce help her pick out her pajamas and let Viktor sit with her while she drank some tea. When she went up to bed, she didn’t resist a hug from either of them. That was something.

Now, Viktor stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the mugs from earlier. The soft hum of the dishwasher filled the silence. Jayce leaned against the counter beside him, arms crossed, looking tired but thoughtful.

“She really said yes,” Jayce murmured, almost to himself. “She wants to try the meds.”

Viktor nodded, drying his hands on a dish towel. “She did. I wasn’t expecting her to speak up like that.”

“Me either,” Jayce admitted. “But I guess she’s more aware of how deep it’s gotten than we thought.”

They both fell quiet again. The weight of the day lingered.

Jayce broke the silence first. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

Viktor turned to face him fully. “Yes. I do.”

Jayce glanced at him, uncertain. “I know it’s not a magic fix, I know that… but I guess I’m scared. What if it doesn’t help? What if it makes her feel worse?”

Viktor stepped closer, reaching out to gently touch Jayce’s arm. “Then we adjust. We stay with her. This is not something we solve overnight, Jayce. It’s something we walk through with her, step by step. She’s not doing this alone.”

Jayce let out a breath, heavy but steadying. “I just… when she said she didn’t want to feel like that anymore, and then started crying—”

“I know,” Viktor said gently. “It broke my heart, too.”

Jayce’s eyes brimmed again, but he didn’t cry. He leaned into Viktor instead, forehead touching his shoulder.

“I just want her to know she’s safe. That she’s not broken.”

“She does,” Viktor said softly. “Or she’s starting to. That’s why she said yes. That’s why she let us in.”

Jayce stayed quiet for a moment, just breathing in the quiet warmth of Viktor’s presence.

“She’s so brave,” he said eventually. “Braver than I ever was.”

Viktor nodded. “Me too.”

They stood there together for a long time, two hearts stretched thin by worry but still full of love—and one step closer to healing the girl they both would do anything to protect.

Chapter Text

She was underwater.

Not just underwater—drowning.

The weight pressed on her chest like concrete, water choking her nose, her throat, her lungs. Every breath burned. Her arms flailed uselessly, trying to reach the surface, but it was too far, impossibly far. Her legs ached from kicking, but they wouldn’t move fast enough. She couldn't see the top. Just darkness above and below.

And the voices.

They came through the water like knives, muffled but sharp enough to cut.

“You’re worthless!”

“You ruin everything!”

“No one wants you!”

“You’re a freak!”

Each voice struck her like a slap—first her sister’s voice, sharp and bitter. Then a foster mother’s, cold and impatient. Another man, whose face she couldn’t remember but whose fists she never forgot. They surrounded her in the water, shadows pressing in close, watching her drown.

“You should’ve never been born.”

Powder opened her mouth to scream, but only more water rushed in.

She was sinking now. Sinking fast.

No one was coming.

No one was going to save her.

She gasped, choking—but it wasn’t water. It was air.

The room spun. Her chest heaved. Her arms were tangled in the blankets, soaked with sweat, her whole body shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

It was dark. Her room. She was in her room.

She couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t even remember waking up—just the sense of panic slamming into her like a truck. The cold. The heat. The noise in her head screaming and screaming and screaming. The blankets were too tight. Her skin crawled. Her throat hurt.

Was she still dreaming?

She pressed her back against the headboard, curling in, arms around her knees, trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Stop it stop it stop it—” she whispered under her breath, but the words didn’t help. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. Her breath was all short and fast, like she was running but sitting completely still.

She couldn’t stop shaking.

She didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt the tears slip down her face.

A part of her wanted to scream, another part wanted to disappear.

And all of her just wanted it to stop.

*****

The scream tore through the quiet like glass shattering.

Viktor sat bolt upright in bed, heart in his throat. Jayce jerked awake beside him at the same moment, wide-eyed and breathless.

“That was Powder,” Jayce said, already throwing back the covers.

Viktor didn’t need to answer—he was already moving.

They scrambled down the hallway in the dark, feet pounding against the wood floor. The scream had stopped, but now he could hear the fast, panicked gasping from behind her door.

Viktor pushed it open.

She was on the bed, curled up against the headboard, knees to her chest, shaking like she was freezing—even though she was soaked in sweat. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, staring at nothing. She didn’t seem to see them. Her arms were wrapped around her legs so tightly it looked like she might bruise herself.

“Powder!” Viktor rushed to her side, slowly dropping to his knees beside the bed. “Powder, it’s us. Viktor and Jayce. You’re safe.”

She didn’t blink. She didn’t respond at all.

Just rapid, shallow breaths and silent tears.

Jayce crouched behind him, voice low and urgent. “She’s having a panic attack. A bad one.”

Viktor reached out gently, not touching her yet—just letting her see his hand. “Powder, muffin, you’re not alone. We’re here. You’re okay. Can you hear me?”

No answer. Her breaths were faster now—too fast. Her whole body trembled with every inhale.

He looked up at Jayce. “She’s not coming out of it.”

Jayce nodded, already moving to the other side of the bed. “We need to ground her.”

Viktor took a slow breath, then spoke softly, carefully. “Powder, I’m going to touch your hand, all right? Just your hand. You’re safe. It’s Viktor. I’m right here.”

He reached out and gently placed his hand over hers.

She flinched—but didn’t pull away.

“Good, Powder,” Viktor said softly. “You’re doing so good. Can you squeeze my hand?”

No response—but she blinked. Just once.

Jayce knelt beside her and began speaking, slow and steady. “Can you tell me five things you can see?”

Still no answer.

“Four things you can feel?”

Nothing.

“Three things you can hear?”

But then—a flicker. Her head twitched slightly toward him.

“There you are,” Jayce whispered. “We’re here, Powder. You’re not alone. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Viktor gave her hand the lightest squeeze. “You are safe, love. You’re home.”

Her breathing began to hitch—less frantic now, though still shallow. A sob escaped her lips. Her arms uncurled just slightly.

“It’s okay to cry,” Viktor said softly. “You’re not in trouble. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She collapsed into him like a wave breaking.

He caught her gently as her body sagged forward, weak and trembling. Her sobs were quiet but sharp, painful things—like she was trying to cry without making a sound.

Viktor held her close, rubbing slow circles on her back, whispering the same thing again and again.

“You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Jayce wrapped a blanket around them both as he sat down behind her, letting her rest between them.

Together, they stayed there until her sobs faded into shaking breaths and her head fell against Viktor’s chest.

Her breathing slowed bit by bit, each gasp giving way to shaky inhales. Viktor felt the tremors in her shoulders begin to soften, her grip on his shirt loosening ever so slightly. Jayce sat close on the other side, his hand gently rubbing her back through the blanket.

Powder didn’t lift her head, but her voice came out in a dry, whispery rasp.

“I… I was drowning.”

Viktor stilled, listening.

She took another breath, like she wasn’t sure if she could keep talking. But she did.

“I was in this room. But it wasn’t a room. It was—it kept changing. Like all the houses I’ve lived in. All the ones before.”

Jayce’s hand paused for a moment, then resumed its soft, steady motion. “Okay… You’re doing really good, Powder.”

Her fingers twisted in the blanket.

“They were all yelling. Not just one person—everyone. My old foster families. My sister. I couldn’t move. I tried to talk but nothing came out. They just kept yelling.”

She squeezed her eyes shut like the sound was still in her ears.

“My sister—she said it was my fault. That I ruined everything. That I was broken.”

Viktor’s chest ached. He tightened his hold on her slightly, not enough to trap her—just enough to let her feel he was solid, real, here.

“I was trying to scream back. But I couldn’t breathe. I was sinking. It felt like I was underwater, and I couldn’t get out.” She opened her eyes just a little, watery and bloodshot. “And then I woke up. But I didn’t know I was awake. I thought it was still happening.”

Jayce reached out and brushed her damp hair gently from her face. “It’s not happening now. You’re here. That was the past. You’re safe.”

“It felt real.” Her voice cracked. “I was so scared.”

Viktor pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay to be scared. That was a terrible dream. But you came out of it, Powder. You’re stronger than it.”

She sniffled. “I hate that it still gets me. Like I’m still stuck there.”

“You’re not stuck,” Viktor said softly. “But your mind and body remember things. And sometimes they try to protect you in the only way they know how.”

Jayce leaned in closer. “And you’re not facing any of it alone. You’ve got us. We’re going to help you through it, every step.”

There was a long pause. Powder curled a little more into Viktor’s side, letting out a shaky sigh.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to,” Viktor said. “How about we make some tea or cocoa? Sit together for a while.”

Jayce stood and offered a small smile. “We can all crash on the couch and put on something quiet. Even if we don’t sleep—at least we’re not alone.”

Powder hesitated… then slowly nodded.

Viktor stood, lifting her blanket with care and wrapping it around her shoulders. She held it tightly, still pale and trembling but grounded now—like someone who’d made it through the storm.

*****

The soft flicker of the early Saturday morning light crept in through the living room curtains, turning the snow outside a pale shade of gold. The TV was still on, frozen on the streaming service’s home screen, quietly humming. The couch creaked beneath Jayce as he stirred, blinking slowly into the calm hush of the morning.

They were all still there—tangled in blankets, warmth, and the faint scent of cocoa. Powder lay curled up between him and Viktor, her head tucked under Viktor’s arm, a knit blanket bunched up beneath her chin. She looked peaceful now. Her lashes rested lightly against her cheeks, and the lines of panic and fear that had carved into her face last night were finally gone.

Jayce exhaled softly, like releasing a breath he’d held all night.

Viktor was half-awake beside her, shifting a little as Jayce moved. His hair was a mess and his hoodie was twisted, but he looked at Powder with the same gentle concern he always did—the kind that said I’d stay like this for a thousand hours if it meant she felt safe.

Jayce whispered, “You awake?”

“Barely,” Viktor murmured back, rubbing his eyes. “But yes.”

“She’s still asleep.”

Viktor nodded, keeping his voice low. “Good. She needs it.”

Jayce stretched out his legs slowly to keep from disturbing Powder. “She had a hard night,” he said, the weight of those words still clinging to him. “I didn’t know what to do at first. I was just—scared.”

“I was too,” Viktor admitted quietly. “But you were calm when she needed you to be.”

Jayce smiled faintly, eyes on Powder. “We both were.”

They sat there for a moment in the quiet, watching her breathe.

Powder stirred just a little, pulling the blanket closer and mumbling something incoherent before settling again. She looked so young like this—smaller than usual. The fear from the night before had stripped away her usual quiet edge, revealing just how much pain she still carried inside.

Jayce’s chest tightened. We’re doing everything we can, he reminded himself. Therapy. Dr. Rao. Medication. We're here.

“She’s going to get through this,” Viktor said softly, as if reading his thoughts. “It’s just going to take time.”

“I know,” Jayce whispered.

The heater clicked on, sending a warm draft through the room. Outside, the snow had covered the world in white. It was beautiful, quiet, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like maybe they had a little peace.

Jayce leaned his head back against the couch. “Let’s not wake her yet.”

Viktor nodded. “Let her sleep. Just a little longer.”

They stayed like that—still and close and quiet.

The smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the kitchen, the kind of comforting scent that made the whole house feel safe. Powder sat at the table, still wrapped in one of the big fleece blankets from the couch, her hair a sleepy mess and a mug of hot chocolate cupped in both hands. She hadn't said much yet, but there was a softness to her silence—tired, not tense. Her eyes followed the steam rising from the cup.

Jayce flipped the last of the eggs onto a plate and slid it across the counter to Viktor, who was buttering toast and humming faintly under his breath.

"Okay," Jayce said, drying his hands on a dish towel. "So, hear me out. I had an idea this morning."

Viktor raised an eyebrow as he passed the toast to Powder. "That’s always dangerous."

Jayce rolled his eyes, grinning. “I’m serious. I was thinking... what if we got a Christmas tree today?”

Powder looked up from her hot chocolate, blinking.

“A real one,” Jayce continued, walking over and leaning against the table. “Something big and piney and ridiculous. We could decorate it tonight, maybe get some new ornaments. Lights in the windows. Make it feel more like the holidays in here.”

Viktor paused, then smiled slowly. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Jayce grinned. “Thank you for your approval.”

He turned to Powder, softening. “What do you think, kiddo? You up for that? You don’t have to if you’re not feeling it, but... I thought it might be something nice. Something just for us.”

She hesitated, eyes lowering to the rim of her mug. For a second, Jayce thought she wasn’t going to answer. But then she gave the smallest nod.

“I think I’d like that,” she whispered.

Viktor smiled gently. “We could even play music while we decorate. I know you like those cheesy Christmas songs.”

Jayce laughed. “Guilty.”

Powder gave a tiny smile, almost invisible—but it was there.

“Then it’s settled,” Jayce said. “Christmas tree mission is a go.”

He ruffled Powder’s hair as he passed behind her. She didn’t duck away this time. That alone felt like a little victory.

*****

The car ride smelled like coffee and cold air. Powder sat in the backseat, her cheek pressed lightly against the window as frost traced tiny feathers across the glass. They had the heater on, and Christmas music played softly from the radio—something cheerful with bells. She didn’t know the name.

Jayce was talking to Viktor in the front, teasing him about how many lights they could possibly fit on one tree before the house caught fire. Viktor argued that aesthetics mattered more than quantity, and Jayce called him a tree snob. Their voices made a low, comforting hum that Powder let sink into her chest. She didn’t say much, but they weren’t trying to make her. That helped.

The Christmas tree lot sat in the corner of a grocery store parking lot, surrounded by a makeshift fence of wooden posts and green garland. Red bows were tied to the ends. Strings of white lights blinked above them in the gray afternoon sky, and the air smelled like pine needles and sawdust.

As soon as they stepped out of the car, Powder pulled her hoodie tighter around her, wishing she’d brought her thicker coat. The cold bit into her fingers, but it felt sharp and real and present, which she liked more than she expected.

“Alright,” Jayce said, clapping his hands. “Mission Christmas Tree begins now.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “We are not buying a twelve-foot monstrosity.”

Jayce gasped. “Blasphemy.”

Powder smiled quietly behind them.

They wandered through rows and rows of trees, each one tied to a stake in the frozen ground. Powder ran her hand along one of the branches, letting the needles brush her palm. It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place—maybe a good memory, maybe a made-up one. But it wasn’t bad.

Jayce stopped in front of a full, round tree with slightly drooping branches. “This one looks like a tree that would hug you back.”

“That is not how trees work,” Viktor said, but he was smiling.

Powder stepped beside them and tilted her head. The tree wasn’t perfect—some of its branches were crooked and it leaned a little to the left. But maybe that was why she liked it.

“I think it’s cute,” she said softly.

Jayce blinked, and a smile spread across his face like sunlight. “Sold.”

Viktor nodded. “A good choice.”

The worker at the lot helped them wrap it up and strap it to the roof of the car. Powder stood back and watched, arms wrapped around herself. She wasn’t sure when her chest had started feeling a little lighter, but it did. For the first time in a while, her feet didn’t feel like they were stuck in concrete.

As they drove home, Jayce and Viktor bickered over ornament colors—again—and Powder leaned back into the seat, the hum of the road beneath them.

“I think we should get that cocoa again,” Viktor said suddenly, turning in his seat.

Jayce grinned. “With the peppermint marshmallows?”

“Yes. For decorating tonight.”

They looked back at her through the rearview mirror.

“What do you think, Powder?” Jayce asked. “Hot chocolate while we decorate?”

Powder nodded slowly. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

And she meant it.

They brought the tree inside with a lot of grunting and swearing from Jayce, who insisted it would fit perfectly in the corner by the window. It almost didn’t. Viktor had to tilt it sideways and then wedge the base into the stand while Jayce held it steady, muttering, “Almost there, almost… okay, now twist—twist, Viktor—”

“I am twisting!”

Powder watched from the couch, covering her mouth to hide the smallest laugh. Her cheeks hurt a little from smiling.

Eventually, the tree stood tall—leaning just a little to the left, but sturdy. Jayce stepped back, hands on his hips, and looked at it like it was a masterpiece. “See? Perfect.”

Viktor dusted pine needles off his sweater. “Debatable.”

Jayce turned toward Powder with a proud grin. “You ready, Powderbug?”

She blinked. “…What did you call me?”

“Powderbug,” Jayce said without missing a beat. “It just kinda slipped out.”

Powder’s ears turned warm. “I… like it,” she mumbled.

Jayce’s grin softened into something gentler, and he walked over to ruffle her hair. “Good…”

They spent the next hour stringing lights and digging through a big box of mismatched ornaments. Some were shiny, some were wooden, and some looked like they were probably older than Powder. There were lopsided snowmen, a reindeer missing an antler, a glittery star that Jayce said had “personality,” and one strange blob of ceramic with googly eyes that Viktor said Powder had to hang because it was tradition now.

“I think it’s supposed to be a penguin?” Viktor offered as he handed it to her.

Powder stared at it. “Looks like a burnt potato.”

Jayce nearly dropped a string of lights laughing.

Viktor made hot chocolate while they finished the tree. The cocoa was thick and sweet, topped with peppermint marshmallows that melted just a little. Powder cupped her mug close to her chest and let the warmth sink in. They turned on a Christmas movie—something animated with silly jokes and talking snowmen—and curled up together on the couch.

Jayce on one side, Viktor on the other.

Outside, snow had started falling in slow, lazy spirals. Powder rested her head against Viktor’s arm, half-watching the screen. Her eyes felt heavy, but in a peaceful way—not the drained, empty exhaustion from before. Just soft, quiet tiredness.

For the first time in a long while, she felt okay not talking. Just being here was enough.

Jayce glanced over after a while and whispered, “Hey, Powderbug?”

She looked up, blinking slowly.

“We’re really glad you’re here.”

Powder didn’t answer right away. But she smiled—just a little—and leaned her head back down.

She didn’t have to say it. They knew.

Chapter Text

The school halls buzzed louder than usual, kids already halfway checked out, dreaming of snow days, presents, and two weeks of freedom. Powder didn’t exactly feel excited—mostly just relieved. One more day. Just a few more hours, and she could breathe again.

She tugged on her sleeves as she walked through the morning crowd, eyes on the floor, trying to block out the noise and the stares she still felt sometimes. But it was getting easier. Not easy—but easier.

“Yo,” a familiar voice called as she neared her classroom.

Ekko leaned against the wall just outside the door, backpack half-zipped and his hair looking as wild as always, like he’d fought off a windstorm on his way in. He gave her a crooked grin, one she was starting to get used to.

“You ready to survive the chaos?” he asked, pushing off the wall to walk beside her.

Powder gave a small shrug. “Barely.”

Ekko chuckled. “Same. You doing anything after school?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really.”

“Cool,” he said. “We should hang out. Walk home together? My dad’s working late anyway.”

Powder blinked, caught off guard. But then she nodded slowly. “Okay.”

*****

The cold air hit her cheeks the second they stepped outside. Powder buried her hands deeper into her coat pockets and kept close to Ekko as they walked along the slushy sidewalk. The snow from a few days ago had crusted into ice in some places, and the sky hung low and gray. Their boots crunched through frozen patches, the only sound between them for a few minutes.

Ekko didn’t push her to talk, which she liked. He just walked beside her, his steps slightly quicker than hers but always slowing when she lagged behind. She could hear the soft jangle of the keychain hanging off his backpack — some kind of cartoon character, but she hadn’t asked.

“You know,” Ekko said finally, “this is, like, the most boring last day I’ve ever had.”

Powder blinked at him, then looked down at the sidewalk. “Yeah. But boring’s not always bad.”

He gave a soft laugh. “True. Beats getting shoved into lockers.”

Powder flinched a little—not because of what he said, but because it reminded her too much of the weeks before.

Ekko must’ve noticed. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean… yeah. Bad joke.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “Just… yeah.”

They walked in silence again for a few steps.

Ekko kicked a small chunk of ice off the sidewalk. “You ever had one of those Christmases where, like, you didn’t want anything? Not presents, not food, nothing?”

Powder looked at him. He wasn’t smiling this time.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “More than one.”

He nodded like he’d already guessed. “This one’s… different, though. For me. I think it might be okay this year.”

Powder didn’t answer, but she tucked that thought away. Maybe this year could be okay for her too. Maybe.

They turned down a quieter street. Ekko pointed toward a small two-story house with a crooked mailbox and a string of lights lazily draped over the porch. “That’s mine.”

It looked lived-in. The kind of house where people left their shoes at the door and forgot to water plants. Powder liked it instantly.

Ekko held the gate open for her. “My dad’s probably not home yet, but he’ll be cool you’re here. He’s kinda loud, though. Just a heads up.”

“Okay,” Powder said, stepping through.

The warmth hit her face the moment she stepped inside Ekko’s house. It smelled like laundry and something faintly sweet — maybe cinnamon — and the heater hummed softly from the vents.

“Shoes off,” Ekko said, kicking his boots into a pile by the door. “Benzo’s big on that.”

Powder nodded, carefully pulling hers off and setting them beside his. Her socks were mismatched — one with stars, one plain — but Ekko didn’t seem to notice. He was already heading down a short hallway toward what she assumed was the living room.

She stayed back for a second, her fingers twitching in her coat pockets. Then she looked up. “Um… can I use your phone?”

Ekko paused, halfway into tossing his backpack on the couch. “Yeah. You wanna call your parents?”

She nodded.

“Cool. I’ll grab the homephone.”

He fished the phone from the kitchen counter and handed it to her. Powder stepped off to the side, near a framed photo of Ekko and Benzo grinning with ice cream cones. She dialed the number from memory.

Jayce picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Powder? You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she said softly. “I just… I wanted to tell you I’m at Ekko’s house. He invited me over after school. I should’ve asked first, I’m sorry.”

There was a pause — not a bad one. Just Jayce taking a breath.

“No, I’m really glad you called, Powderbug. Thanks for letting us know. Do you want to stay for a while?”

“Yeah. Just for a bit.”

“Okay. We’ll come get you later. Just text or call if anything comes up, alright?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She handed the phone back to Ekko, who gave her a thumbs-up. “All good?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Come on, I’ll show you my room. I’ve got snacks and, like, five different weird board games if you’re into that.” Powder followed him down the hallway.

Ekko’s room was small but cool. The walls were covered in posters — comic books, a few bands she didn’t recognize, and one giant one of a spaceship in neon colors. A lava lamp glowed on the nightstand, casting orange ripples over the walls. His bed wasn’t made, and a blanket hung off the end like it had tried and failed to stay in place.

“You can sit wherever,” he said, kicking a pair of socks under the bed. “Sorry it’s kind of a mess. I usually don’t have people over.”

Powder hovered by the door for a second before sitting cross-legged on the floor beside a beanbag chair. “It’s fine,” she said. “It’s cool in here.”

Ekko flopped down on the beanbag and started digging through a plastic crate. “Okay. Board games. I’ve got weird stuff. Let's play this."

They set the game up on the floor, cards fanned out between them. Ekko explained the rules quickly but didn’t get annoyed when she forgot or had to ask again. They played two rounds, then switched to another game.

At some point, she laughed. Not loud, not for long — but it slipped out. Ekko didn’t make a big deal about it, but he smiled when it happened.

“You’re not bad at this,” he said, watching her slap down a revenge card.

“You just keep letting me win.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re secretly a card shark.”

She shook her head but smiled, tucking her knees to her chest as she leaned against the wall.

She felt… okay. Still tired. Still not all the way better. But okay. Ekko didn’t ask her heavy questions or make her talk if she didn’t want to. He just let her be. And somehow, that made the quiet in her head a little easier to sit with.

After a while, he tossed a pack of fruit snacks her way and laid back on the beanbag. “I’m glad you came over,” he said, casually, like it didn’t mean a lot.

But to her, it did.

She looked down at the little bag in her hand and nodded. “Me too.”

*****

Jayce kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other wrapped around a to-go cup of lukewarm coffee. The road was quiet, the bare trees casting long shadows as the sun started its slow descent behind the mountains.

Viktor sat in the passenger seat, his body angled slightly toward Jayce. He’d been silent for most of the drive, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee.

Jayce finally broke the silence. “She sounded... okay on the phone.”

Viktor nodded, his gaze distant out the window. “Better than last week.”

Jayce sighed. “Yeah. Still feels weird letting her go off somewhere without us. I know it’s normal, I know it’s good, but…” He trailed off and glanced at Viktor.

“You are worried,” Viktor finished, his voice soft. “So am I.”

Jayce nodded, his jaw tense. “It’s just… she’s been through so much. And we’re barely starting to find stable ground. I don’t want to....."

Viktor looked over at him, his expression calm but firm. “Letting her breathe doesn’t mean letting her fall. And it doesn’t mean we’re going anywhere.”

Jayce let out a breath through his nose, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. “I know. I do. It’s just hard to turn that part of my brain off.”

Viktor smiled faintly. “You’re a good father, Jayce. That part of your brain is part of the job.”

Jayce gave a dry laugh. “God, I hope we’re doing this right.”

“We are,” Viktor said simply. “We listen to her. We show up. And today… letting her spend time with someone who gets it? That’s a good thing. She needs connection, not just from us.”

Jayce was quiet for a beat. “You like Ekko?”

Viktor tilted his head. “I do. He has good instincts. Protective. Smart. And Powder… she doesn’t put her guard down easily. But it seems that she does with him. Even just a little.”

Jayce nodded, his shoulders easing slightly. “That’s true. I saw it too.”

They turned the corner onto Benzo’s street, the old houses bathed in soft evening light.

Jayce slowed the car and glanced sideways at Viktor again. “I’m glad we’re in this together.”

Viktor reached across the center console and squeezed his hand. “Always.”

Jayce smiled, warmth rising in his chest despite the cold outside. “Okay,” he murmured as he pulled to the curb. “Let’s go get our girl.”

Jayce rang the doorbell and stepped back onto the porch, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. The sky was already getting dark, the blue fading into streaks of lavender behind the trees. Viktor stood beside him, arms crossed, breath fogging in the cold air.

He was about to knock again when the door opened.

A man—Benzo, Jayce assumed—smiled and waved them in. “You must be Powder’s folks. Come in, come in. They’re just in Ekko’s room.”

“Thanks,” Jayce said, stepping inside and immediately hit by the smell of something savory cooking in the kitchen. “Sorry we’re a bit early.”

“No worries. They’ve been laughing in there for the past hour. Sounded like they were having a good time.”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance.

A few seconds later, Powder emerged from the hallway with Ekko behind her. She had her backpack slung over one shoulder and her hair was slightly messy. She looked tired—she always did these days—but there was something else in her face too. Less tension around her eyes. Her shoulders weren’t so tight. Her jaw wasn’t clenched.

“Hey, kiddo,” Jayce said, his voice warm.

Powder’s eyes flicked up to him and then back down again, but she gave a small nod. “Hey.”

“You ready to go?” Viktor asked gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me hang out,” she added, glancing at Ekko, then at Benzo.

“Anytime,” Ekko said. “You’re cool.”

Powder didn’t answer, but she gave a soft smile. That was enough.

On the way to the car, Jayce opened the back door for her. “You have fun?”

“Yeah,” Powder murmured, climbing in. “It was nice.”

He closed the door carefully and got behind the wheel, glancing at her through the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb.

She was staring out the window, fingers twitching in her lap—but her expression was calm.

Jayce didn’t say anything for a while. Just let the silence settle.

But eventually, as they turned onto their street, he smiled and said quietly, “I’m glad you went. You look like you breathed a little easier today.”

Powder didn’t answer right away. Then she whispered, “Yeah… it was nice to just be normal for a little.”

Jayce’s heart clenched, but he kept his tone light. “You’re more than normal, Powder. You’re you. And that’s pretty damn great.”

From the back seat, a soft “thanks” drifted forward.

Jayce caught Viktor’s eye and nodded. They were getting somewhere.

*****

The house smelled like garlic, butter, and something warm roasting in the oven. Viktor had gotten a head start on dinner before they went to pick up Powder from Ekko’s, and now the kitchen felt alive — not just from the food, but from the quiet hum of being together.

They all sat around the table, soft yellow light washing over them. Powder was curled slightly forward, hoodie sleeves bunched in her hands, but her shoulders didn’t look quite so heavy. She wasn’t talking much, but she wasn’t completely withdrawn either. That was something.

Viktor studied her carefully, though not in a way that he thought she’d notice. Her face was tired, eyes a bit distant, but she didn’t look like she was bracing herself — not the way she had some nights before.

“Ekko’s place seem cool?” Jayce asked as he passed her the pasta.

Powder gave a small nod. “Yeah. He’s got a bunch of posters and robot stuff everywhere. One of them walks… kind of.”

Viktor smiled as he sat down across from her. “Oh? One that walks?”

“He tried to make it follow a line but it tripped,” she said, just faintly amused.

“Then it’s officially better than my first attempt,” Viktor said. “Mine caught fire.”

Powder looked up, the corners of her mouth twitching just slightly. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was real. Viktor felt a subtle warmth in his chest.

They ate in a comfortable rhythm. Powder picked at her food at first, but eventually took a few real bites. She wasn’t forcing it — just eating slowly, which Viktor took as a good sign.

“Did you tell him you like building things too?” he asked gently.

She gave a small shrug. “Not really. I didn’t know what to say.”

“That’s alright,” Viktor said. “You don’t have to say everything right away.”

Jayce nodded. “Yeah. I think he already kind of knows.”

Powder hesitated, then added, “He kind of gets it.”

Viktor and Jayce exchanged a glance. That meant more than anything she could’ve said. Someone her age, someone who had walked a similar road… That mattered.

Viktor leaned over and poured her more water from the glass pitcher. “Any plans for winter break?”

Powder shook her head, chewing slowly. “Not really.”

“Well,” Jayce said, “we could do a movie night. Go to an art store. Stay up late, drink too much hot chocolate.”

“Maybe,” she mumbled. Then, after another pause: “I’m glad you picked me up.”

The words were soft, but they hit Viktor hard. Not because they were dramatic, but because she meant them. He could hear it.

Jayce reached for her hand across the table. “Always will.”

Viktor added, his voice quiet, “You won’t ever have to wonder again.”

Powder didn’t respond, not with words. But she didn’t pull away from Jayce’s hand, and she kept eating. Almost cleared her plate.

After dinner, the kitchen was still cozy with the warmth of the oven, and Jayce had already pulled out the ingredients with that subtle spark he got when he was excited about something domestic. The mixing bowls, cookie cutters, and sprinkles were all set out, and Powder stood by the island with her hands in her hoodie sleeves, watching.

Viktor dried his hands and turned to her with a small smile. “Would you like to help?”

She hesitated, then nodded once.

Jayce beamed. “Perfect. Because I’m terrible at measuring and Viktor is a perfectionist, so you’re our only hope.”

That earned the tiniest snort from her, barely audible — but Viktor caught it, and his heart clenched in the best way.

They started with the sugar cookie dough — soft butter, sugar, eggs, vanilla. Viktor showed her how to pack the brown sugar just right, his hands guiding hers gently but never holding too long. She was tentative at first, like she was afraid of messing something up, but once she cracked the egg and Jayce exaggerated a cheer like she’d just won a gold medal, she relaxed a little more.

Flour dusted across the counter, and she even flicked a bit at Jayce when he wasn’t looking. He gasped like she’d committed a mortal sin, eyes wide in mock betrayal. “Oh, it’s war now, Powderbug.”

Viktor leaned on the counter, smiling to himself. He hadn’t seen that look on her face in… maybe ever. Mischief. Lightness. Not just surviving.

“You want to roll the dough?” he asked her, sliding the pin toward her.

Powder nodded and pushed up her sleeves, a tiny spark of determination in her eyes. She gripped the rolling pin like it was an old tool she’d forgotten she knew how to use. Her hair was a little messy from cooking, a smudge of flour on her cheek, but Viktor thought she looked beautiful like this — not because of the smile exactly, but because of the presence. She was really here.

Jayce pulled the tray closer and placed the cookie cutters out. “We’ve got stars, trees, snowmen, and a crooked reindeer.”

“That one’s not crooked,” Powder mumbled. “Just… different.”

Jayce grinned. “Exactly. My favorite.”

They cut out shapes together, Powder pressing the metal cutter into the dough, peeling away the edges with precision. She focused hard — Viktor could see it in the way her brows pinched — but not in a tense, guarded way. She was just concentrating. Grounded.

The cookies baked as the kitchen filled with that soft, buttery aroma. While they cooled, Powder wandered to the window and watched the snow fall in a quiet hush, her arms crossed over her chest.

Viktor moved beside her and stood silently for a moment before speaking.

“It’s peaceful, isn’t it, muffin?”

She nodded. “I like how quiet it is when it snows.”

“I do too.”

Jayce broke the stillness with a dramatic gasp from the table. “Alright! Decorating time!”

Powder padded over, and this time, she didn’t need prompting. She grabbed a tree-shaped cookie and dipped the butter knife into the green frosting. Jayce handed her a bowl of red sprinkles.

“They’re kind of lumpy,” Powder said, studying her work.

“Perfectly imperfect,” Viktor replied. “Like all good things.”

She looked up at him then. Not with a smile — but with something gentler.

Jayce nudged her shoulder with his own. “Lumpiest tree wins. Go wild.”

They decorated in a rhythm of music, laughter, and soft pauses. Powder didn’t talk a lot, but she didn’t need to. The way she swirled the blue icing into swirls, how she lined up each sprinkle like circuitry — she was present. Here. With them.

By the end, the counter was a mess of frosting smears and scattered candies. Jayce had a streak of icing on his cheek, and Viktor had somehow managed to spill green sugar into his lap. Powder looked at the tray of cookies and gave a small, shy laugh. Not because it was funny, necessarily, but because she felt okay enough to.

Viktor felt something settle in his chest then — quiet relief. Not everything was fixed. She was still healing. But this was a step. A soft, bright step toward something better.

He reached over and gently bumped her elbow. “You did good, Powder.”

She looked down at her cookie — a blue snowflake with red dots — and whispered, “Thanks.”

And the three of them stayed right there in the kitchen, warm and safe while the snow fell in soft blankets outside.

*****

Powder was finishing up the last batch of cookies, her hands moving a little quicker now, no longer stiff with uncertainty. She'd made a snowman, a couple of stars, and some little Christmas trees, each one decorated with sprinkles or frosting — anything to make them look as perfect as she could.

The doorbell rang, and Powder tensed for a moment, but Jayce was already on his feet, brushing flour from his hands. “I’ll get it!” he called out, his voice full of warmth.

Viktor caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile. "Just a visit. It'll be fine."

Powder nodded, her hands still resting on the countertop. She didn’t move right away but could hear voices through the door as the sound of boots on the porch followed the familiar ring of the doorbell. Her stomach did a small flip, but there was a soft sense of curiosity now too.

Jayce’s voice carried back through the house, cheerful and inviting. “It’s Caitlyn! Come on in!”

Powder's fingers brushed the edge of the table, her eyes darting between the doorway and the cookies. Her thoughts were swirling — Caitlyn, who hadn't pushed her, who always seemed so sure of herself, and yet... here she was, visiting their home, bringing Christmas treats.

Viktor was already moving toward her, standing by her side without saying anything, just letting her know he was there if she needed him.

Caitlyn came in first, holding a large tin of cookies wrapped with a bright red ribbon. Her smile was easy, her voice light. "Hi, Powder," she said, warm but not pushy. "We brought some cookies from my family. Mom insisted we bring them over."

Behind her, her parents followed into the kitchen, holding bags and more tins of treats. Caitlyn's mother gave a polite smile, while her father nodded at Viktor and Jayce.

Viktor moved to greet them, taking the tins from Caitlyn with a smile. "Thank you so much, Caitlyn. This was really kind of you."

Jayce, ever the conversationalist, was already moving around the kitchen, making space for the new treats. Powder watched them from behind the table, trying to stay grounded but still a little unsure.

Caitlyn turned back toward her, noticing Powder’s quiet presence. “So,” she said, settling down at the counter, “how’s the cookie-making going? You, Jayce, and Viktor have been busy!”

Powder bit her lip and glanced down at the batch of cookies on the counter. “We’ve been... yeah. Just finishing up.” Her voice came out soft, quieter than usual, but Caitlyn didn’t seem to mind.

“Nice,” Caitlyn said. “These look awesome. My mum always makes the best shortbread, but I can’t even manage to get that right half the time.”

Powder’s lips twitched into a small, unsure smile. “I think these are good. I like decorating them.”

“Well, they look amazing,” Caitlyn said sincerely. "You’re really talented."

Powder couldn’t help but feel a little lighter at the compliment, though it was hard to let herself believe it. She just nodded and went back to the cookies, busying herself with adding a few sprinkles on top of the last batch.

The conversation continued with Jayce and Viktor joining in. There was laughter, the warm hum of friendly chatter, and Caitlyn’s parents exchanged pleasantries with Jayce and Viktor as if they’d known them for years, which they probably had.

Eventually, Caitlyn picked up a cookie from the tray and glanced at Powder. "These are really good. You should definitely bring some over to our house sometime over break."

Powder felt a flicker of surprise. It was a simple invitation, but still, it was a kind one. “You want me to come over?” Powder asked, her voice soft but clearer this time, like she wasn’t afraid of saying it.

Caitlyn nodded, smiling. “Yeah! You should totally come. It’d be fun to hang out. Maybe we can decorate cookies together again, or just watch movies. No pressure, of course. Just thought it’d be nice.”

Powder blinked, feeling something warm spread through her chest. She didn’t have to think long about it, her mind racing through all the other moments in her life that had been full of expectations. But Caitlyn didn’t seem to expect anything from her. It was just a simple offer. One that didn’t make her feel small.

“I... I’d like that,” Powder said, her voice quieter but more sure than before. It felt good to say it out loud.

“Awesome! I’ll have my mom text Jayce the details.” Caitlyn’s smile was bright, and she looked genuinely happy at the idea. “We’ll have fun.”

The rest of the visit went by quickly, with more chatting, laughter, and cookies. When Caitlyn and her family finally left, Caitlyn gave Powder a wave and a soft, “See you soon, Powder. Take care!”

Powder was still standing by the counter, but this time, it wasn’t because she was trying to hide. It was just that warm feeling she didn’t know how to explain, like maybe she wasn’t so alone.

Jayce looked at her with a soft smile. “You okay?”

Powder nodded, the feeling still there, floating in her chest. “Yeah, I think so.”

Viktor joined them by the door. “That went well.”

Powder looked up at him, her voice quieter but with more strength. “I think I might go to her house over break. I... I think it’ll be fun.”

Viktor’s smile softened, and he squeezed her shoulder. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Jayce grinned. “Look at you, making new friends.”

Powder managed a small smile. “Maybe.”

She couldn’t explain it yet, but something in her felt a little steadier. A little more hopeful.

Chapter Text

The scent of rosemary and roasted garlic drifted through the house, wrapping around Powder like a blanket she wasn’t sure how to hold. She sat curled up in the armchair in the living room, legs tucked beneath her, the glow of the Christmas tree lighting her face in soft golds and reds. From the kitchen, she could hear Jayce and Viktor talking—something about the mashed potatoes being too lumpy, followed by Viktor’s low laugh and the clatter of a wooden spoon against a pot.

It was Christmas Eve.

Her first real Christmas Eve since… well, since everything fell apart.

She hugged her knees tighter.

There had been holidays before this—sort of. The group homes would put up half-hearted decorations, sometimes pass out cheap plastic toys or mismatched socks from donations. One of her old foster families made a big deal out of presents but never noticed when she stayed in her room the entire day. Another one forgot it altogether.

But this felt different.

The tree they picked out together still had some clumps of fake snow in its branches from when Viktor insisted they get the “realest looking fake one” in the store. The ornaments were mismatched—some new, some old, a few clearly handmade—and there were warm white lights wrapped around it like soft whispers. 

Now, though, as dinner simmered and the windows fogged from the heat of the kitchen, something tugged in her chest. A deep ache, quiet and familiar. Grief, maybe. Loneliness, maybe.

She rested her chin on her knees.

Her parents used to make Christmas special. She remembered her dad sneaking extra marshmallows into her cocoa when her mom wasn’t looking. Her mom always let her open one present early—just one. They used to all wear pajamas that didn’t match and make pancakes shaped like reindeer.

A lump rose in her throat before she could stop it.

She wasn’t sure why the memories were hitting so hard tonight. Maybe because things had finally slowed down. Maybe because for the first time in years, she felt like she could want something again. Like maybe this could actually be hers—this family, this warmth, this quiet safety.

“Powder?” Viktor’s voice drifted over, gentle but grounded. “Dinner will be ready soon, if you want to help set the table.”

Jayce popped his head around the corner a second later, his cheeks a little red from the heat of the stove. “We made that apple stuffing you liked. Well—tried to. Viktor won’t stop sneaking bites.”

“I do no such thing,” Viktor called.

Powder smiled faintly and stood up, brushing her hands on her leggings.

Her chest still ached. But it was quieter now. Softer.

“Okay,” she said, voice a little hoarse but steady. “I’ll come help.”

The kitchen was warm, full of clinking dishes and soft conversation. Powder helped set the table—stacking plates, folding napkins the way Viktor showed her, lining up the forks just right. Viktor and Jayce were talking about the next steps for the turkey, or maybe it was about the wine they bought—she wasn’t really listening. Their voices blended together like background noise, soft and steady, a heartbeat in the room.

But as she stood there watching them move around each other so naturally—laughing, teasing, touching each other’s backs in passing—her eyes started to sting.

She blinked, tried to swallow it down, but something inside her cracked open again. Just like it had in the living room. A quiet breaking. A hollow ache.

She backed away from the kitchen slowly, careful not to draw attention. They didn’t notice—still laughing about something—and she was almost glad. Almost.

Her room was dim when she slipped inside and gently closed the door. The string lights Viktor hung last week glowed faintly on the wall, casting little soft reflections over her blankets. She climbed onto the bed, pulled her knees up, and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face into the space between.

She didn’t mean to cry.

She didn’t want to ruin tonight.

But the tears came anyway—hot and slow and quiet.

It was Christmas Eve.

And for the first time in so long, she actually had something good. Something safe. Jayce. Viktor. A home. A real Christmas.

But the good was tangled with so much grief.

She remembered one Christmas when she was little—maybe four or five. Vi had found an old box of decorations and hung paper snowflakes all over their shared bedroom, even taped some to the ceiling. She made Powder a crown out of silver pipe cleaners and declared her “Queen of Snow Days.” They ate cold cereal on their floor and tried to catch snowflakes on their tongues out the window.

Vi had wrapped her arms around her and said, “One day it’ll be better, Powder. I promise. Just us. We’ll make our own family. I’ll make it better.”

She hadn’t meant to lie.

Powder squeezed her eyes shut, letting herself remember Vi’s arms around her, the scratch of her scarf, the warmth of her laugh.

“I miss you,” Powder whispered into the dark. Her voice cracked. “I miss you, Vi.”

She stayed curled up on the bed, quiet and still, letting herself cry for everything she lost—and maybe, just maybe, for everything she was starting to hope for again.

*****

The turkey was finally in the oven, and the kitchen smelled like rosemary and citrus and roasted garlic. Jayce leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a dish towel while Viktor fussed with the side dishes.

“This is going to be perfect,” Viktor said with a soft smile, nudging the green beans into an orderly row on the pan.

Jayce smiled back, warmth blooming in his chest. “She’s going to love it.”

He looked toward the dining room, expecting to see Powder adjusting silverware or folding napkins the way Viktor had shown her—but the space was empty.

“Huh.” He frowned a little, glancing around. “Where’d Powder go?”

Viktor looked up. “She was just here. Maybe she went to her room?”

Jayce set down the towel and moved toward the hallway, something tight and uneasy starting to build in his chest. She’d been quiet today—thoughtful, distant in that way he was beginning to recognize. Sometimes she was like a shaken-up snow globe, all glitter and storm inside, even when the outside looked still.

He knocked softly on her door. “Powder?”

No answer.

He opened it gently and stepped in, Viktor just behind him.

And there she was—curled up on her bed, her back to them, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. The soft light from the string of fairy lights made the tears on her cheeks shimmer.

Jayce’s heart cracked.

He stepped closer and sat slowly on the edge of the bed. “Hey, sweetheart…”

Powder flinched a little but didn’t move away.

Viktor sat on her other side, carefully—close, but not too close. “We were wondering where you went.”

Powder sniffled and buried her face deeper into her knees.

“I didn’t want to ruin anything,” she whispered, her voice raw and small.

“Oh, Powder…” Jayce reached out and gently stroked her back. “You could never ruin anything. We love you, okay? All of you. Even the sad parts.”

There was a long silence. She didn’t say anything, but she leaned slightly into him, just enough to feel it.

Jayce glanced over her to Viktor, who gave him a quiet nod.

“Wanna talk about it?” Jayce asked.

Powder shook her head.

“That’s okay,” Viktor said softly. “We’re here. You don’t have to say anything right now.”

Jayce wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently into his side. She hesitated for a second… and then melted into him, pressing her face against his chest.

“I was thinking about Vi,” she mumbled, barely audible.

Jayce closed his eyes for a second, holding her tighter.

“I miss her,” she whispered. “Even after everything. I still miss her.”

Viktor leaned in and rested a hand over her arm. “Missing someone doesn’t mean everything they did was okay. It just means they mattered to you.”

They sat like that for a while, the three of them in the soft glow of the bedroom lights. Powder didn’t cry as hard now—just quiet, slow tears that came and went like the tide.

Eventually, Jayce whispered, “You wanna come back out and help us with dinner? Or just sit with us while it cooks?”

Powder nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said gently, brushing her hair back from her face. “We’ll go slow. One thing at a time.”

She took a deep breath and sat up between them, and Jayce didn’t let go of her hand.

Dinner was warm and soft and golden—the kind of night Jayce had dreamed about when they first thought about fostering. The dining room lights were dimmed just enough for the candles to glow, and the snow outside the windows shimmered like icing sugar on rooftops.

Powder sat between them, her cheeks still a little blotchy, but there was a gentleness to her now.

Viktor ladled gravy carefully over her mashed potatoes, and Jayce passed her the basket of rolls.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, and then—after a second—she added, “These look like the kind my mom used to make.”

Jayce froze just a little, but he didn’t let it show. He smiled gently. “Yeah? Did she bake a lot?”

Powder nodded, picking at her roll before taking a bite. “She used to let me help. I was really little, but she’d let me do the sprinkles or stir things. I liked when we made cookies because she'd hum while we waited for them to cool.”

Jayce felt Viktor glance at him, a quiet exchange between them—just a shared breath of gratitude that she was opening up.

Powder’s gaze stayed low, but her voice was steady. “She would sing Christmas songs in a really goofy voice to make me laugh. Vi used to roll her eyes, but I thought it was the funniest thing.”

Jayce chuckled softly. “I bet that was the best.”

“It was.” Powder smiled, just a little, and it was the first time that day it reached her eyes.

Dinner continued, quieter in moments, brighter in others. Viktor told a story about burning a pie crust so badly once that the fire alarm screamed for ten minutes. Jayce threw in a memory about how he’d accidentally tried to deep-fry a frozen turkey in college—“don’t ever do that, by the way”—and Powder laughed for real that time, a little snort escaping before she covered her mouth, embarrassed.

“Hey, don’t hide that,” Viktor said with a grin. “That’s the best sound I’ve heard all day.”

Later, as they passed around dessert—pecan pie, soft gingerbread, and a small plate of cookies they’d made the night before—Powder looked up from her plate.

“My dad used to take me and Vi out late on Christmas Eve just to look at lights,” she said. “He’d say it was ‘mission sleigh-spotting.’ Like… maybe we’d see Santa if we looked hard enough.”

Jayce smiled, heart aching a little. “That sounds like something I would totally do.”

“It was dumb,” she said—but she was still smiling.

“It sounds magical,” Viktor said gently. “And really special.”

Powder shrugged, but her face stayed soft. She reached for another cookie and nibbled on it, then leaned slightly into Jayce’s arm as she chewed.

And in that quiet, full-bellied, warm-lit space, Jayce saw it clearly: something in her had loosened. Not healed—not yet—but softened, enough to let them in.

She was still grieving. Still hurting.

But she was also laughing.

Sharing.

And staying.

Jayce stretched his arms over his head and let out a satisfied sigh. “Alright,” he said, pushing back from the table and glancing at the kitchen clock. “Dinner: successful. Dishes: conquered. Bellies: officially full.”

“Too full,” Viktor groaned, holding his side dramatically.

Powder snorted into her sleeve.

Jayce grinned at the sound. “Which means,” he continued, with the tone of someone about to announce something extremely important, “it’s time for the gingerbread house showdown.”

Powder’s eyes flicked up, cautious but curious. “Showdown?”

“Oh yes,” Jayce said, grabbing a box from behind the counter and setting it on the table with a flourish. “This isn’t just gingerbread house decorating. This is a battle for architectural greatness. Bragging rights are on the line.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “You always make everything a competition.”

“Because I always win,” Jayce shot back smugly.

Powder actually laughed at that, and Jayce felt his chest bloom a little. He slid two more kits onto the table. “One for each of us.”

They moved back to the table, now cleared and wiped down. Viktor laid out parchment paper to catch the mess. Jayce opened the boxes and pulled out the little gingerbread walls and roofs, tiny candies and icing bags.

“This one has gumdrops!” Powder said, picking through the decorations.

“You can use whatever you want,” Jayce said. “Creativity is encouraged. Structural integrity is optional.”

“Optional?” Viktor said dryly, already arranging his pieces like a precision engineer. “Not in my house.”

Jayce smirked. “Don’t let him fool you, Powder. His last gingerbread house collapsed in under five minutes.”

“That was sabotage,” Viktor muttered, inspecting a crooked wall piece. “You bumped the table.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Powder started squeezing icing into the seams of her house, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. She didn’t talk much at first, but her shoulders were relaxed, her eyes focused, a soft hum under her breath that Jayce almost missed. She was happy. Not bouncing-off-the-walls happy—but calm, safe, present.

“My mom used to help me with these,” she said suddenly, not looking up. “We’d make one together every year.”

Jayce met Viktor’s eyes, quiet for a second.

“You’re doing an awesome job,” Jayce said, not pushing.

Powder glanced over at Viktor’s, which was looking suspiciously like a gothic cathedral. “Okay, that’s not fair. His looks real.”

Jayce leaned over to inspect. “How did you even make that archway?”

Viktor smirked and popped a candy into his mouth. “Talent.”

“I demand a recount, and the judging hasn’t even happened yet.”

“Mine’s better than both of yours,” Powder said with a small grin, sticking a gumdrop chimney on her slanted roof.

It was a little crooked. A little off-center.

It was perfect.

An hour later, there was more icing on the table (and on Jayce’s face) than on the houses. Laughter had filled the room, quiet at first, then louder. Powder even playfully shoved Jayce’s shoulder when he claimed she was copying his gumdrop color scheme.

By the end of the night, they stood back to admire their masterpieces.

Jayce’s leaned precariously to the left, covered in mismatched candy and what might’ve been a reindeer made out of pretzels.

Viktor’s stood tall, stately, and wildly overengineered.

Powder’s was cheerful, colorful, and… whole. Strong. Her name written in red icing on the snowy white base.

“Alright,” Jayce said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “Be honest: which one would Santa move into?”

“Mine,” Powder and Viktor said at the same time.

Jayce groaned. “Traitors. Both of you.”

They laughed again.

And as they cleaned up, Powder lingered at the table, looking at her house like it meant something more. Like she’d made something that would stay standing, no matter what.

*****

Viktor stirred awake to the soft gray light of Christmas morning spilling in through the curtains. Outside, the snow had blanketed everything deeper overnight, laying thick and undisturbed across the world. He could see it piled high on the railing of the back porch, silent and glittering in the cold sun.

Jayce was still beside him, awake already, hair a mess and his hand resting against Viktor’s arm.

“Merry Christmas,” Jayce whispered with a small, sleepy smile.

Viktor smiled back, voice low and rough. “Merry Christmas.”

For a moment, they just lay there in the quiet warmth of their bed, listening to the heater hum and the soft ticking of the old wall clock in the hall. No footsteps yet. No movement from Powder’s room.

“She’s still asleep,” Viktor murmured, glancing toward the doorway.

Jayce nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “She stayed up later than usual. I think… she needed last night. All of it.”

Viktor nodded slowly, his chest heavy with memory. “When we found her… before dinner. She was so quiet. She didn’t even hear us come in.”

“I know,” Jayce said, voice barely audible. “She looked like she was trying to hold it all in. And when it started to come out, she couldn’t stop it.”

Viktor stared at the ceiling. “Do you think we’re doing enough?”

Jayce reached for his hand under the blanket, lacing their fingers. “We’re doing what she needs. And we’ll keep doing it. She opened up last night. That means something.”

“It’s just…” Viktor hesitated, trying to find the words. “Seeing her cry like that—so quietly, like she didn’t think she had the right. It broke my heart, Jayce.”

Jayce nodded solemnly. “Mine too.”

Viktor turned onto his side to face him. “But then she laughed. Later. At the gingerbread house. And she made that terrible icing tree.”

Jayce grinned faintly. “With like three gummy bears on top.”

“She was happy.” Viktor’s voice was soft, thoughtful. “It was real.”

There was a stretch of silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just full. Full of feeling, full of hope, full of something fragile but growing.

“I think this is the first Christmas she’s felt safe since she was little,” Viktor said at last.

Jayce squeezed his hand. “And now she’s not alone.”

They lay there a few more minutes in the warmth of shared understanding. No rush. No chaos.

Just the quiet beauty of Christmas morning, and the sound of the house breathing gently around them.

Then, from down the hall, a soft creak.

Footsteps.

Viktor smiled, already sitting up. “She’s awake.”

Jayce yawned and pushed the blankets back. “Let’s go get Christmas started.”

Viktor and Jayce padded quietly into the living room, the soft rustle of the rug under their feet the only sound as they turned the corner. The tree stood tall in the corner, its lights glowing gently in the early light, casting soft reflections across the windows and ornaments. Underneath it, the presents were still neatly stacked — a mixture of careful wrapping and lopsided bows, a few with smudged Sharpie names written in Jayce’s handwriting.

Powder was already there on the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, one of the blankets wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was messy from sleep, and her eyes looked a little puffy, but when she saw them, she offered a small, genuine smile.

“Morning,” she said softly.

“Merry Christmas, muffin,” Viktor said as he walked over and gently ruffled her hair.

Jayce leaned down and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, Powderbug.”

She hugged the blanket tighter around herself, and for a few moments they all just sat like that — in the hush of Christmas morning, surrounded by the soft glow of lights and the smell of pine.

Then, Viktor nodded toward the tree. “Do you want to open your gifts now?”

Powder hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah... okay.”

Jayce handed her the first one — a medium-sized box wrapped in blue paper with snowmen and a silver bow, Viktor’s precise handwriting on the tag.

She pulled at the tape slowly, carefully — like she didn’t want to mess it up — and peeled back the paper. Inside was a wooden art box filled with watercolors, sketch pencils, charcoal, and a whole palette of soft pastels.

Viktor saw it happen — the tiny hitch in her breath, the way her hand paused on the lid, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of a pastel stick like it was something too precious to be real.

She blinked a few times, then looked up at them with glassy eyes.

“You remembered,” she whispered.

Jayce sat beside her. “Of course we did.”

She reached out slowly and hugged Viktor first, tight and quiet. Then Jayce. She didn’t say much else, just sat back and cradled the box in her lap for a moment like it was a treasure.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but only a few escaped. She wiped them quickly with her sleeve and gave a little laugh, soft and self-conscious. “I’m okay,” she said quickly.

“We know,” Viktor said gently, brushing her bangs from her face. “Happy tears are allowed today.”

She nodded and opened the next box — a soft hoodie in her favorite color, the one she’d pointed at in a store window weeks ago and then pretended she hadn’t. Then a stack of sketchbooks. A silly mug with a sleepy kitten on it. A small snow globe with a fox curled up in the snow beneath tiny pine trees. Jayce had picked that one out himself.

Each gift opened her up a little more — not just in smiles but in the way her shoulders lowered, the way her knees slowly came down from her chest. She even made a quiet joke about Jayce’s messy wrapping job, and Viktor caught the way Jayce grinned like it was the best sound he’d heard all week.

By the time the last package had been opened, Powder sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the tree, surrounded by scraps of paper and ribbon, her art box still open beside her. She looked around at the gifts, at the tree, at Viktor and Jayce, and for the first time that morning — maybe for the first time in a long time — she looked content.

“This is… the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” she said quietly.

Viktor’s throat felt tight. He reached out and touched her shoulder gently. “We’re so glad you’re here with us.”

She looked down for a moment, then up again, eyes shining but steady. “Me too.”

Jayce stood up and stretched. “Alright, who’s ready for breakfast?”

Powder raised her hand slowly.

And Viktor smiled as he watched them head toward the kitchen — the little pieces of something whole slowly falling into place.

*****

The smell of cinnamon and coffee drifted through the air as Powder padded into the kitchen, her new hoodie already on and sleeves half-covering her hands. It was soft and warm, like being wrapped in a hug. She tugged the hood up for a second just because it felt nice, then pulled it down again.

Jayce was at the stove flipping pancakes with one hand and sipping coffee with the other. Viktor stood nearby stirring something on the stove—eggs, she thought—and humming under his breath. The table was already set with plates and glasses, a bowl of fruit in the center, and a little candle burning softly in a ceramic holder shaped like a pine tree.

She sat down at her usual spot, pulling one foot up on the chair and resting her chin on her knee. The morning light came through the window above the sink, making everything look soft and gold. Her chest still felt heavy, a little tired, but lighter than it had been yesterday. A different kind of heavy. A full kind.

“Hungry?” Viktor asked, glancing over his shoulder.

She nodded. “Yeah. It smells really good.”

Jayce grinned. “Good, because I made way too many pancakes.”

“You always do,” Viktor said with a smirk.

“Better too many than not enough,” Jayce replied dramatically, flipping another pancake onto the growing stack.

Powder smiled to herself. It was always like this—Jayce being silly and Viktor pretending to be annoyed. She liked the way they filled the space with warmth. It made it easier to just… sit. Breathe.

Jayce brought over a plate stacked with pancakes and set it down in front of her. “Maple syrup, fruit, or powdered sugar?”

She thought for a second. “All of it?”

Jayce gave an approving nod. “Excellent choice.”

She giggled, just a little, and started fixing her plate. She noticed Viktor watching her from the stove, eyes soft. She met his gaze, and for a moment, he just smiled and nodded—no words needed.

She was halfway through her second pancake when the doorbell rang.

Jayce wiped his hands on a towel. “I got it.”

The door opened, and a few seconds later Powder heard the unmistakable voice of Ximena.

“Merry Christmas, darlings!”

Powder sat up straighter and smiled. She liked Ximena. A lot. There was something safe about her. Maybe it was how she talked like everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn’t.

Ximena appeared in the doorway a second later, carrying a tin wrapped in gold foil. She was in a bright red coat and a knit hat with a pompom on top. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold.

“Well, don’t you three look cozy,” she said, walking in and setting the tin on the table. “I brought buñuelos and spiced hot chocolate.”

Jayce let out a happy sound. “You’re a saint, mom.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ximena replied with a wink.

She came over and gave Powder a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Powder smiled shyly. “Merry Christmas.”

Ximena pulled off her coat and hat, and soon she was sitting with them at the table like she belonged there. The kitchen was filled with laughter, soft chatter, the clinking of forks and mugs. Powder listened more than she talked, but she didn’t feel left out. Not today. Not here.

At one point, she glanced around the table—at Jayce leaning back in his chair, laughing at something Ximena said; at Viktor calmly buttering a slice of toast and handing it to her without even asking; at Ximena sipping her hot chocolate and looking at everyone like they were her own.

Powder took a bite of her pancake, let the sweetness settle on her tongue, and quietly leaned her head against Viktor’s shoulder for a second.

He didn’t say anything. Just reached up and gently held her hand where it rested in her lap.

*****

The world outside was blanketed in white. Thick, fluffy snow covered every rooftop, tree branch, and fence like powdered sugar over gingerbread. Powder stood by the front door with her new coat zipped up to her chin, fingers fidgeting with the zipper tab. She watched as Jayce stomped into the yard, dramatically flailing his arms as he yelled, “I claim this land in the name of Pancake Kingdom!”

She giggled.

“Come on, Powder,” Viktor called gently behind her, already pulling on his gloves. “Let’s take Pancake Kingdom for ourselves.”

“You can’t take what’s already mine!” Jayce shouted from outside, then made a snowball and lobbed it harmlessly into the air.

Powder pulled on her mittens and stepped out into the cold. The air was crisp and sharp on her cheeks, but the sky was clear and bright, and something about it made her heart beat a little faster. The kind of fast that wasn’t from panic. The kind that felt… alive.

Ximena was already crouched behind a tree, packing a snowball with expert precision. “Alright, team. Powder and I versus the Pancake Tyrants.”

“I am the tyrant?” Viktor asked, stepping down the porch steps.

“You are,” Ximena said sweetly. “Jayce is just dramatic.”

Powder couldn’t help but laugh again, muffled behind her scarf.

They all scattered then. Powder ducked behind a bush and scooped a handful of snow into her mittens. It was soft and fluffy—not too wet, not too icy. Perfect. She packed it slowly, carefully, then peeked out from behind the bush.

Jayce was pretending not to see her, making a big show of turning his back as if he were focused on Viktor. She grinned.

She aimed, hesitated, and then threw.

The snowball hit Jayce right in the side of the arm.

He gasped. “I’ve been betrayed!”

“You never saw it coming,” Powder said, breathless with laughter.

Viktor whooped. “That’s my girl!”

The game turned into chaos. Jayce started running, shouting something about revenge. Powder ran too, laughing hard now—real, full-body laughter that left her cheeks warm even in the cold.

Ximena cheered her on, helping her build a mini fort out of snow. Viktor was surprisingly quick, managing to dodge most snowballs while still throwing with deadly precision. At one point, Jayce tackled him into a snowbank and they both vanished in a puff of white, yelling and laughing the whole time.

Powder stood nearby, hands on her knees, panting from running. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed this much. Or smiled this wide.

She looked up at the sky—bright blue with streaks of sunlight shining down through the trees. Snowflakes still drifted from the trees overhead, soft and slow.

She felt warm. Not just from the layers of clothes, or the running, but from something inside.

She wasn’t thinking about the things that usually clung to her. Not about the memories or the cuts or the heavy fog in her mind. Just this moment. This now.

“You okay?” Ximena asked, coming to stand beside her.

Powder nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m… I think I’m really okay right now.”

Ximena smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

And then Jayce came barreling toward them with another snowball, and Powder shrieked, laughing as she ran.

*****

The living room was full of warmth and the gentle scent of chocolate and pine. The soft glow of the Christmas lights wrapped the room in gold and red, and outside the windows, the world lay hushed under a fresh layer of snow. After the snowball fight, everyone had peeled off wet layers and swapped them for cozy pajamas and blankets.

Powder sat wrapped in a thick throw, her knees tucked up, holding a warm mug in both hands. Her cheeks were still pink from the cold, and her hair clung in soft, damp curls to her forehead. She looked tired, but peaceful—content in a way Jayce hadn’t seen often.

Ximena was nestled into the other armchair, legs folded under her, a blanket across her lap and a cup of cocoa in her hands. She’d stayed after breakfast and never left, helping bake cookies, joining in the snowball chaos with surprising aim, and now winding down with them.

Jayce sat on the couch beside Viktor, their legs tangled under the same blanket, a bowl of popcorn between them, mostly ignored. Viktor had an arm around him, and Jayce leaned into it with a quiet sigh.

The movie on screen was familiar and cheerful, full of snowmen, jingles, and magic. Powder’s eyes were fixed on it, but Jayce could tell she wasn’t really watching. She was just... there. Present. Settled.

It was miles from how she’d been just a couple months ago. The difference wasn’t just in the way she sat closer now, or how she didn’t flinch when someone laughed too loudly, or even how she’d let herself laugh during the snowball fight, shrieking when Ximena nailed her square in the back with a perfectly aimed shot.

It was in the softness of her shoulders now, the little, quiet smiles that flickered when she didn’t think anyone was looking. The fact that she was letting herself be happy—even just a little—meant everything.

Jayce let his gaze drift to Viktor, who was watching Powder too, his expression unreadable but full of love. He glanced at Jayce, met his eyes, and gave his hand a small squeeze beneath the blanket.

Ximena glanced over too, and offered him a tired but warm smile. She was part of this. She had been, from the beginning—her presence like scaffolding around their little family, holding them up when they didn’t know how to do it alone.

“This is nice,” Viktor murmured, just loud enough for Jayce to hear.

“Yeah,” Jayce whispered. “It really is.”

He looked back at Powder and thought of how she was when she first came—guarded, silent, lost. And now... now she was still healing, still navigating the hard days. But she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t hiding. She had people.

Jayce closed his eyes for a second, letting the warmth settle in deep. This—this night, this family, this sense of peace—was everything he hadn’t even known he needed.

And somehow, he had it. They all did.

Chapter Text

She didn’t know why she felt like this today.

The sky outside was pale and bright, with soft snow falling over rooftops and sidewalks in that peaceful way it always did here. The kind of snowfall people took pictures of, or said things like “It looks like a postcard.”

She sat on the far end of the living room couch, knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie sleeves covering her hands. Her chin rested on her knees, her breath warm against the fabric. Her hair kept slipping into her face, but she didn’t brush it back. She just sat there, unmoving, eyes tracking the snow out the window, trying to feel something.

Nothing bad had happened. No nightmares. No fights. No memories that had crept up and dragged her under. But something about the day pressed down on her chest like thick fog. Her limbs felt heavy, her thoughts slow and dim. She sat curled up on the couch in the corner of the living room, half-watching the snow drift lazily outside the window, half-lost in nothing at all.

There was a quiet stillness in her chest that wasn’t peace—it was more like… emptiness.

She didn’t understand it. She should feel fine. Christmas had been good. Really good, even. She’d laughed. Smiled. Felt like she belonged. But now?

Now it just felt like something was wrong with her. Again.

Muted. Like someone had put a wall between her and the rest of the world again.

She hated it.

She hated feeling like this on a day where nothing was wrong. Because if nothing bad had happened, then it must mean something was wrong with her.

She tugged on a loose thread at the hem of her hoodie, twisting it around her fingers until it almost snapped. Her stomach felt heavy and her shoulders low and tired. She didn’t want to talk. Or move. Or do anything at all.

A floorboard creaked near the hallway.

She didn’t move.

“Hey, Powderbug?”

Jayce’s voice was quiet, warm—like he knew already she wasn’t in a good place but didn’t want to push too hard. She heard the jingle of keys in his hand as he stepped closer, around the side of the couch so he could see her better.

She glanced at him slowly, dragging her eyes away from the snow.

His face softened when he saw her. His smile wasn’t big or forced—it was gentle and real. A little concerned.

“I was gonna go run some errands,” he said. “For Viktor’s birthday tomorrow. Thought maybe you’d want to come with me. Help me pick something out.”

She blinked.

It took longer than it should have to respond. Her mind moved like syrup—slow and reluctant. She wanted to say no. To curl tighter into herself, to stay exactly where she was and maybe disappear into the couch cushions. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to pretend to be okay when she wasn’t.

But… she also didn’t want to be alone.

“…Okay,” she whispered, barely audible.

Jayce smiled a little more, like he hadn’t expected her to say yes but was glad she had.

“Awesome. You can help me make sure I don’t buy him another ugly tie,” he said, nudging her shoulder lightly with his knuckles. “You got like, infinitely better taste than I do.”

She didn’t smile, not really. But her lips twitched a little. Just a little.

He didn’t say anything about how slow she moved when she got up, or the way she rubbed her eyes like she hadn’t slept enough. He just waited by the door, keys in hand, scarf wrapped around his neck.

“I’ll turn the heat up in the car,” he said casually. “We can stop for hot chocolate if you want.”

She gave the smallest nod.

The car was warm. Not just from the heater Jayce had turned on before she got in, but from the way he had glanced at her as she slid into the passenger seat, making sure her seatbelt was on and that her coat was zipped.

He didn’t say anything at first.

The windshield wipers scraped gently across the glass, pushing away a fine layer of snowflakes. Outside, the streets were still half-silent from winter break, the sky pale and cloudy.

Powder pressed her cheek to the window for a second. It was cold. It helped a little.

Jayce hummed along softly to the music playing from the radio—some soft indie band she didn’t know. It filled the silence enough that she didn’t feel like she needed to speak.

He finally said something, voice quiet, like he was checking to see if the words would float or sink.

“Was school okay? Before break?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

Jayce didn’t press. He nodded like that was enough.

After a moment, he tried again. “You and Ekko still hanging out?”

Powder traced a line in the condensation on the window with her fingertip. “A little.”

He glanced at her, then back at the road. “He seems like a good kid. Glad you have someone like that at school.”

She didn’t answer. Not because she was mad or upset with him—just because talking felt too heavy today. Even that small conversation had pulled at something in her chest that made her want to curl into herself.

Jayce didn’t say anything for a while after that. The silence settled again, but not in a bad way. He let it be quiet without making her feel like she had to fix it. That was something she’d noticed about him. He was good at being near without taking up too much space.

They stopped at a light.

Out of the corner of her eye, Powder saw him rest one arm on the wheel, glancing at her briefly. “You ever have days where it’s just… hard?”

Her heart clenched.

She didn’t look at him. But she nodded once. A tiny movement.

Jayce smiled gently. “Yeah. Me too sometimes.”

Something in her throat caught, but she didn’t say anything.

“I’m really glad you came with me,” he said after a moment. “It’s nice, spending time with you.”

That caught her off guard.

She looked at him for just a second, and he wasn’t teasing or trying to make her feel better in a fake way. He meant it. Just that. That he liked being around her.

She looked back out the window quickly, blinking fast. She didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not for no reason.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Jayce just smiled softly and kept driving, letting the silence return like a blanket.

The heater hummed, soft and low. Powder blinked hard, but it didn’t stop the tears.

She wasn’t even sure when they had started — maybe sometime after Jayce said he liked spending time with her, maybe before that. They weren’t loud, not the kind of crying that needed sobs or movement. Just a quiet wetness slipping down her cheeks, as if her body had decided for her.

She swiped at them quickly, but Jayce noticed. Of course he noticed.

He didn’t say anything. His hand just moved, gently turning the volume knob until the music faded into silence. Powder let out a shaky breath, trying to keep herself small.

Jayce glanced over again, slow and calm. “Hey.”

That one word cracked something open. Not in a painful way, but in a way that made her want to say something, even if it didn’t make sense.

“I feel... bad,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes stayed on the glove compartment in front of her. “Just... really bad today.”

Jayce’s expression didn’t shift into concern or panic. He just listened.

“I don’t know why,” she continued. “It’s not like anything happened. Everything’s fine. You guys are great. It's almost Viktor’s birthday. But I still feel like—” She paused, swallowing, “—like I’m full of lead. And I hate it. I hate that I feel like this when there’s no reason to.”

A couple more tears slipped down. She didn’t bother wiping them away this time.

“I just wanna be normal,” she whispered. “I wanna wake up and not feel like I’m already tired of the day. I don’t wanna keep being like this.”

There was a pause. Not a long one, just a breath.

Jayce reached over gently, hand landing on hers. He didn’t squeeze too hard. Just enough that she knew it was real. Steady. Warm.

“I’m so glad you told me,” he said softly. “It’s okay that there isn’t a reason. Sometimes feelings don’t need a reason. That doesn’t make them any less real.”

Powder didn’t answer, but she looked at him for the first time.

Jayce gave her a small smile. “I know it’s hard. Really hard. But you’re not alone in this. Me and Viktor, we’re here. Every part of you, even the parts that feel too heavy to carry. We’re staying.”

Her throat tightened again, but it wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t just sadness. It was something like relief, too.

She gave the tiniest nod, barely there. But Jayce saw it. He squeezed her hand once before letting go and started driving again.

The store was warm. Too warm, really — the kind that made Powder want to crawl out of her hoodie and hide at the same time. She kept her hands shoved deep in her sleeves, trailing after Jayce as they moved past balloons and banners and shelves of party things that were a little too bright.

Jayce didn’t rush her. He never did.

They stood in front of a rack of cards for a while. Powder stared at them blankly. Most of them were loud — too many glittery letters or cheesy jokes. She drifted toward the simpler ones. Blue and silver. Something quiet.

Jayce leaned close. “Think Viktor would like this one?” He held up a card with a cartoon wrench holding a birthday cake. “'Wishing you a tool-tally awesome birthday.'”

Powder blinked at it.

“…That's horrible,” she said, her voice a little hoarse but steady.

Jayce laughed. “Exactly. He’d hate it. Which means I’m definitely buying it.”

She smiled. Just a little. But it was real.

They picked out a card together — a dark green one with gold stars and no words on the front. “It feels like Viktor,” she said when Jayce asked why. He just nodded.

They wandered toward the decorations next. Powder didn't really talk much, but she found herself pointing out the garland that looked like tiny gears and wires. Jayce tossed it in the cart without question.

“Think we should get candles?” he asked, holding up a pack shaped like lightbulbs.

“They’ll melt weird,” she murmured.

“That’s what makes them special.”

Powder let out a soft breath that might’ve almost been a laugh. A fragile one, but still.

She followed Jayce through the aisles, picking out a small tablecloth with dark blue swirls, a banner that said “Happy Birthday” but in minimalist block letters, and a little gold party hat that she picked up, stared at, and then quietly placed in the cart without saying anything.

Jayce didn’t comment. He just smiled a little to himself.

At the back of the store, they found a display of candles and gifts. Powder stood still for a long moment before walking over to the shelves of small items — things like fountain pens, leather-bound notebooks, old-fashioned keychains, pocket watches. They wandered over to a plant aisle and Powder looked for one that Viktor would like.

Her fingers brushed a small plant that would be perfect for Viktor. Twisted branches. Soft leaves.

Jayce glanced over. “That one’s very Viktor.”

She nodded.

“I’ll get it,” she said softly.

They went through the checkout together. Jayce let her carry the small bag with Viktor’s gift. Outside, the cold air bit at her cheeks, but it felt better than the heavy warmth of the store.

Jayce glanced at her while unlocking the car. “Wanna pick up hot chocolate before we head home?”

Powder hesitated. Then gave the smallest nod.

In the car, she looked out the window as they pulled out of the parking lot. Her chest still felt heavy, but not crushing. Not like before. She wasn’t fixed — she wasn’t even sure she wanted to think about it that way.

When they pulled into the driveway, the sky had begun to dim, the soft winter light fading into slate blue. Powder didn’t move at first. She held her cup of now-lukewarm hot chocolate in both hands, staring down at the swirls on the lid.

Jayce killed the engine and looked over at her gently. “Hey,” he said softly, not forcing anything. “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?”

Powder didn’t answer right away.

Her throat tightened again. The kind of tight that made it hard to breathe or think or speak. She wasn’t sure why a hug — something so small — felt so big in that moment.

But after a pause, she gave the faintest nod.

Jayce opened his door and came around to her side. When he opened hers, he crouched a little so he was closer to her level.

“Come here,” he said, barely above a whisper, his arms open but not pushing.

Powder slid out of the car, slow and unsure. She stood there for a second before stepping into his arms.

Jayce held her gently — not too tight, not too loose, just enough. His hands rested on her back, warm through the layers of her hoodie.

And that was all it took.

Powder felt herself break, just a little. Her face tucked against his chest, and she cried — not loudly, not in gasping sobs, but quiet, tired tears that slipped free before she could stop them. She clutched the back of his coat with cold fingers, shaking just enough that he noticed.

Jayce didn’t rush her.

He stood with her, patient and calm, letting her cry. The hug lasted longer than most people would’ve let it. But Jayce knew better. He knew sometimes you needed time to fall apart before you could piece yourself back together.

Powder’s breath hitched. “I hate feeling like this,” she whispered into the fabric of his coat. “I don’t know why I feel like this.”

“I know,” Jayce murmured back. “I know. And I’m so proud of you for saying it. For letting me be here with you.”

She nodded a little, face still hidden, tears slowing.

Eventually, when her breathing settled and the sharp edge of the moment softened, she pulled back — just a few inches.

Jayce gave her a small smile. “Better?”

Powder wiped her eyes. “A little.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s enough.”

Together, they walked into the house. The warmth from inside wrapped around them as soon as the door closed behind them — and for the first time all day, Powder didn’t feel completely alone.

Not fixed. Not perfect. But not alone.

And that mattered more than anything.

*****

Jayce balanced a tray of cupcakes in one hand and a roll of streamers in the other, kicking the front door open with his foot. “Alright! Operation ‘Surprise Viktor With an Overly Thoughtful Birthday’ is officially underway!”

Powder, sitting on the floor surrounded by balloons and ribbon, looked up with a small smirk. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

Jayce grinned, setting everything on the table. “Oh, absolutely. We have, like—" he glanced at the time, "—three hours to make this place look festive, finish cooking dinner, and wrap the world’s weirdest plant that you insisted on getting him.”

“It’s cool!” Powder argued, pulling a piece of tape off her sleeve to secure a balloon. “It’s got twisty roots and it looks like something he’d keep in the lab.”

Jayce couldn’t argue with that. Viktor had a soft spot for strange, stubborn things.

Jayce stepped over the mess of decorations and crouched next to her, ruffling her hair. “You feeling okay today?”

She gave a little nod. “Yeah… better. A lot better.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave her shoulder a light squeeze before standing again. The difference from yesterday was like the first crack of sunlight after a stormy night — subtle, but unmistakably there.

She was smiling more. Not big, forced smiles, but the kind that reached her eyes when she wasn’t thinking about it. She’d eaten breakfast without being asked. She’d asked to help with decorating. She even teased him once already when he dropped a spoon.

And yeah — it was just one day. But it mattered.

Jayce glanced toward the kitchen, where pasta was boiling and something in the oven smelled dangerously close to burning. “Alright, you’re on balloon duty. I’ll handle the food. We do this right, Viktor won’t even suspect that we’ve turned his birthday into a semi-chaotic festival of love and carbohydrates.”

Powder giggled. It was soft, but real.

Jayce grinned, pointing at her with a spoon. “That’s the sound I live for.”

They fell into a rhythm — Jayce running back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, Powder tying up ribbons and adding little drawings to the birthday card she’d made. At one point, she stuck a streamer to the wall with too much tape and muttered, “This tape sucks.”

Jayce poked his head out of the kitchen. “Language.”

She gave him a look. “I said the tape sucks. Not a bad word.”

“That’s subjective,” he said, disappearing back into the kitchen with a laugh.

By the time they’d finished, the dining table was set with mismatched but festive placemats, the walls were decked out in gold and blue streamers, and the whole house smelled like garlic bread and candle wax.

Powder sat on the couch, hugging her knees and watching the lights flicker on the mantle. Jayce sat beside her, letting the quiet settle.

He glanced over and said gently, “I’m really glad you’re feeling better today.”

She nodded, resting her head lightly on his arm. “Me too.”

He thought about yesterday. How she cried into his coat and told him she didn’t understand why she felt the way she did. How helpless he’d felt not being able to fix it.

But he didn’t need to fix it. He just needed to stay. And she let him.

“Some days are just hard,” he said softly. “But I think you’re doing really well.”

Powder didn’t answer, but he felt her lean a little more into him.

They sat like that until Viktor texted to say he was on his way home — completely unaware of the glitter, garlic bread, and love waiting for him on the other side of the door.

*****

Viktor turned onto their street slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other absently fiddling with the cuff of his coat. The car was warm, filled with the hum of the heater and the quiet static of the radio — but his thoughts were elsewhere.

He kept seeing Powder’s face from yesterday. The way her eyes didn’t quite focus. The way her voice had gone flat, distant, when Jayce told him she'd said, “I don’t know why I feel this way.”

That sentence had stuck with him, stung more than he expected. He’d known, of course, that healing wouldn’t be linear. He told himself that often. But when he saw her hurting — especially when she couldn’t explain why — he felt like the ground gave a little under his feet.

Jayce had reassured him. Said they'd had a good talk. That she cried, yes, but let him in. That she wanted to feel better. And today, when Viktor left the house, she’d given him a sleepy little wave from the hallway. That had to mean something.

He pulled into the driveway, cutting the engine and sitting for a moment in the quiet.

She’s okay. You’re all okay.

He opened the front door—and was immediately met with a loud, overlapping shout.

“Surprise!!”

Viktor startled back half a step, blinking as streamers dropped from the ceiling and something popped loudly from the direction of the kitchen.

Jayce stood with a huge grin, a paper party hat already lopsided on his head. Powder was next to him, holding a balloon that said “Happy Birthday, Old Man!” in terrible handwriting. She looked sheepish — but she was smiling.

Warmth bloomed in Viktor’s chest so fast it nearly stole his breath.

“Oh,” he breathed, stepping inside. “You two really—”

“Went overboard?” Jayce asked. “Yes. That’s the goal.”

Powder reached up and handed him the balloon. “It was Jayce’s idea.”

“But she did the decorations,” Jayce added. “And picked out one of your presents. I mostly just burned things in the kitchen.”

Viktor laughed quietly, shaking his head as he looked around the room. It was covered in streamers and the table was set, candles flickering between dishes. It looked chaotic and wonderful. It looked like home.

“Thank you,” he said softly, eyes finding Powder’s first. “This means more than I can say.”

She looked away, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome.”

“Okay!” Jayce clapped his hands. “Before the pasta dies a second death in the oven — let’s eat.”

They gathered at the table, passing plates and teasing each other over burnt garlic bread and slightly overcooked noodles. Powder was quiet, but she didn’t look distant. She listened. She smiled. She even rolled her eyes when Jayce told a dramatic story about almost getting attacked by a goose on his way to the store.

Viktor caught her glancing at him a few times, and each time he met her eyes, she didn’t look away.

It wasn’t perfect — none of this was. But as Viktor sipped his wine and watched Powder carefully cut her food into tiny bites, laughing quietly at one of Jayce’s jokes, he felt something settle inside him.

She was trying.

They all were.

And that made this — the crooked decorations, the lopsided cake on the counter, the warmth threading through the air like music — the best birthday he’d ever had.

Dinner wound down, laughter softening into a comfortable hum. Powder seemed more relaxed than she had been in days—quiet, but present—and Viktor felt the weight in his chest lift just a little.

Jayce cleared his throat, a sly grin playing at his lips. “Alright, alright. Time for presents.”

Powder’s eyes lit up a bit, and she shuffled forward to hand Viktor a small, carefully wrapped box.

Viktor took it, fingers gentle as he peeled back the paper. Inside was a beautiful potted plant—a tiny evergreen with delicate branches, just right for the windowsill at the lab.

“A plant,” Viktor said, his voice warm. “Thank you. I’ve wanted one for the lab.”

Powder nodded shyly, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “I thought it’d be nice. Something to remind you that things can grow.”

Jayce grinned and reached under the table, pulling out a much larger package wrapped in bright paper.

“This one’s from me,” Jayce announced, eyes sparkling. “Prepare yourself.”

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up as he took the box, careful not to tear the paper too fast. When he opened it, the long, sleek shape of a telescope revealed itself, nestled in foam.

Jayce beamed. “For stargazing nights. Figured you’d love it.”

Viktor’s heart warmed beyond words. He lifted the telescope, turning it over in his hands as a wide smile spread across his face.

“I love it,” he said quietly, eyes shining. “Both of these. Thank you... both of you.”

Powder’s cheeks flushed as she glanced between them, and for a moment, the three of them just sat there, sharing something simple and perfect.

Jayce nudged him. “Come on, space explorer—wanna test it out later?”

Viktor laughed softly, the sound full of peace. “Absolutely.”

He looked over at Powder, who was watching him with something like hope shimmering in her eyes. And he knew—this family, this home, was exactly where they were all meant to be.

Chapter Text

The world outside the car windows was still wrapped in a sleepy kind of winter. Snow clung to the sidewalks in quiet patches, and the trees looked like they’d been dusted with powdered sugar. Everything felt still, hushed like the morning hadn’t fully woken up yet.

Powder sat curled in the passenger seat, her backpack hugged close to her chest. Viktor was driving today, with Jayce in the seat behind her, sipping coffee from a thermos and humming softly to the music on the radio. It was calm. Almost too calm.

Jayce leaned forward, resting his chin on the edge of the front seat.
“You nervous?” he asked, voice gentle.

Powder shrugged, keeping her eyes on the school building coming into view. Her stomach felt tight—not as tight as the first day of school in the fall, but enough to make her legs feel heavy.
“A little,” she mumbled. “But… it’s better knowing Ekko’s there.” She caught the small smile that tugged at Viktor’s mouth in the rearview mirror.

“He seems like a good friend,” Viktor said.

“He is.” That part came easier. Saying it out loud made her chest feel less crowded. Ekko was kind of like… a branch you could grab onto when the water got too deep. He just got it.

Jayce gave her shoulder a light squeeze from behind. “Well, if you need anything at all—text, call, send smoke signals—whatever. We’ve got you.”

Powder cracked a small smile at that, the kind that barely lifted one corner of her mouth, but it still counted. “I know.”

As Viktor pulled into the drop-off lane, Powder took a breath and reached for the door handle. Her hand paused for a second.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Jayce said quietly. “Just take it one hour at a time.”

She nodded. Her heart was thumping, but not too loudly. It felt more like nerves, not dread.

“We’ll see you after school,” Viktor said, offering her a soft, encouraging look.

Powder stepped out into the cold. Her boots crunched the snow. She tightened the straps on her backpack and looked over her shoulder once more.

Jayce rolled down the window. “You got this, Powder.”

She nodded again—more firmly this time—and headed toward the school doors.

The hall smelled like crayons and wet coats.

Powder stomped her boots on the mat by the front doors and slipped off her gloves, stuffing them into her coat pockets. The building felt warmer than she remembered—maybe because of all the bodies, or maybe because it was familiar now. Not safe, exactly. But not awful.

She looked around, unsure if she should head to class yet. Some kids were still peeling off coats or chatting near the bulletin board. Her backpack felt heavy on her shoulders—not because of books or anything, but because she wasn’t sure what today would be like. Would people still stare? Whisper? Would Maddie say something?

Then she saw him.

Ekko was sitting on the bench near the front office, his bag next to him and a stripe of snow still in his hair. He was wearing a hoodie with a patch on the elbow and his sneakers were kind of messy, like he didn’t care where he stepped. When he saw her, he stood up and grinned.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she said back, quieter.

“Break was boring without school,” he said, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “Benzo made me help clean the garage. Twice.”

Powder blinked. “Twice?”

“Yeah, he ‘forgot’ we already did it the first time. I think he was just bored.” Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled. “What about you?”

Powder shrugged as they started walking toward class. “We baked a lot. And watched Christmas movies. It was… nice.”
She hesitated for a second before adding, “I got art supplies for Christmas.”

“Cool!” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Are they the good kind?”

She nodded a little, almost shyly. “Yeah. There’s real watercolor stuff in it.”

Ekko gave an impressed whistle. “Dang. I just got socks. Well, and a game, but mostly socks.”

Powder giggled, surprising even herself. It slipped out before she could stop it, soft and real. Ekko looked over at her and grinned wider, proud like he’d made something important happen.

They turned down the hall toward their classroom, the floor squeaking under their boots.

“Think Maddie’s gonna act like nothing happened?” he asked, voice casual but watchful.

“I don’t know,” Powder said honestly. Her fingers twisted around the strap of her backpack. “Maybe.”

Ekko kicked at a bit of fuzz on the floor. “Well… if she does, we ignore her. Or I throw another snowball at her.”

“Inside?” Powder asked, her eyebrows raising.

“I didn’t say it was a smart plan.”

She smiled again, smaller this time, but it felt good. Real.

As they got to the classroom door, Ekko nudged her shoulder with his. “We got this, okay?”

Powder nodded. The knot in her chest hadn’t gone away, not fully, but it didn’t feel as tight anymore. Not with him walking beside her.

The classroom still smelled like pencil shavings and dry-erase markers. Powder stepped in slowly behind Ekko, the soft chatter of kids filling the room. Her eyes darted to Maddie without meaning to.

Maddie was at her usual desk, sitting next to Hannah, both of them hunched over a glittery notebook. She didn’t even look up. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t sneer. Just… acted like Powder wasn’t there.

Powder exhaled quietly. Her chest loosened a bit.

Ekko caught her eye and gave a small, encouraging nod as they walked to their seats.

Their teacher—a tall woman with a long cardigan and bright earrings that swung when she moved—clapped her hands twice.

“Okay, friends, eyes up front. We’ve got someone new joining our class today,” she said with a warm smile.

Powder blinked. Another new kid?

The door creaked behind them and a boy walked in. He looked older than the rest of them—maybe not by much, but it felt like he was. His black hair was messy and stuck out at odd angles, and his eyes were a deep green, sharp and bright. He wore a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up and had a small scar on his cheekbone that caught the light when he turned.

“This is—” the teacher began.

“Scar,” the boy cut in before she could say anything else.

The teacher blinked. “Oh—um, well, his given name is—”

“No. Just Scar,” he said, his tone steady but not rude. He crossed his arms and scanned the class, not smiling.

Powder sat up a little in her seat.

There was a pause, then the teacher recovered, nodding politely. “Alright then. Everyone, please welcome Scar.”

A few kids mumbled “hi” or waved halfheartedly. Maddie barely looked up.

Scar didn’t wave back. He just walked over and took the empty seat in the second row without waiting to be told. He sat stiffly, his arms still crossed, like he didn’t want to touch the desk.

Powder couldn’t stop staring. Not in a rude way—just… curious.

Ekko leaned toward her and whispered, “He looks like he’s in a movie or something.”

Powder nodded slightly. There was something sharp and quiet about Scar. He seemed like the kind of person who didn’t talk unless he had to—and meant it when he did.

The teacher moved on, starting the morning schedule, and Powder tried to focus. But her eyes kept drifting to Scar.

*****

The cafeteria smelled like pizza and fruit cups today. Powder clutched her tray tightly, following Ekko through the maze of chattering kids. They found an empty table near the window and sat down, trays clunking softly against the table.

Ekko was in the middle of tearing open his chocolate milk when he leaned toward her. “Do you think Scar’s gonna sit with anyone?”

Powder shrugged, picking at her grapes. “Maybe not today.”

“Maybe he likes being alone,” Ekko said thoughtfully, sipping his milk. “Or maybe he’s just figuring people out.”

Powder gave a tiny nod. “Like… testing if they’re safe.”

Ekko glanced at her, eyes softening. “Yeah.”

Just as she picked up her pizza, voices started rising behind them.

She turned. A few tables over, Scar stood, his shoulders tense. Maddie was standing too, arms crossed, her face twisted into a smug smirk. Preston and Hannah flanked her like usual.

“I didn’t ask you to sit here,” Maddie was saying, loud enough for half the lunchroom to hear. “There’s a million other places. Go sit in the trash or something.”

Scar didn’t flinch. His green eyes stayed locked on hers. “You don’t own the table.”

Maddie scoffed. “No, but I don’t want to sit near someone who looks like they crawled out of a dumpster fire.”

“Ooooh,” Hannah chimed in, giggling.

Powder winced.

Scar took a slow breath. “Maybe I don’t want to sit near people who talk like they’re on a bad TV show.”

Preston made a show of laughing. “You got jokes now? You barely even talk.”

Then Maddie’s gaze shifted. Powder froze.

“Well, maybe you should hang out with the freaks,” Maddie snapped, lifting a finger and pointing straight at Powder and Ekko. “You’d fit right in with them.”

Powder’s stomach twisted. All around them, some kids looked over. A few snickered.

Scar’s expression didn’t change much—just a flicker of something in his eyes. Quiet anger, maybe. The kind that burns cold, not hot.

“I’d rather be a freak than a fake,” he said flatly.

A few kids nearby let out surprised little gasps. Maddie’s face turned red.

Scar stepped away from the table, not looking back, and walked across the cafeteria.

To Powder’s shock, he sat down right across from her and Ekko.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a milk from his tray like nothing happened.

Ekko blinked. “Hey.”

Powder just stared for a second. Then nodded slowly. “Hi.”

They ate in silence for a moment before Scar muttered, “Your friend’s got a loud mouth.”

Ekko snorted. “She’s not our friend.”

Scar gave a small, half-smile that disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

Powder didn’t smile back, but she felt something shift. Something warm. Just a little.

Scar bit into his pizza like nothing had happened five minutes ago. He didn’t say anything right away, just chewed, eyes flicking between her and Ekko. Powder glanced down at her tray again. The pizza suddenly felt cold.

Ekko broke the silence first. “So… cool move back there.”

Scar raised an eyebrow. “What move?”

“You know. Telling Maddie off like that.”

“Oh.” Scar shrugged. “She talks too much.”

Powder almost smiled. Almost.

Scar set down his milk carton, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, casually, like he wasn’t even sure he cared about the answer, he asked, “You two always sit alone?”

Ekko nodded. “Mostly. People don’t really like us.”

Scar tilted his head. “Why not?”

Ekko flicked his spoon at his applesauce. “Because we’re not… like them. I dunno. It’s stupid.”

Scar looked at Powder. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Powder shook her head.

“Why?”

She hesitated. Fidgeted with her napkin. Finally muttered, “Talking gets me in trouble sometimes.”

Scar nodded like he understood. “Yeah. Same.”

The three of them sat in silence again. Not a bad kind, though. Not awkward. Just quiet.

After a moment, Scar asked, “You guys live close?”

“Kind of,” Ekko said. “I live with my adopted dad. He works on cars.”

“I live with my foster parents,” Powder mumbled.

Scar blinked. “Foster?”

She nodded.

He didn’t say anything right away, just kind of studied her for a second. Then looked away.

“I live with my aunt,” he said. “Kind of. She’s not home much.”

Powder didn’t know what to say, so she just looked at her tray again.

“Do you like them?” Scar asked suddenly. “Your foster parents.”

She blinked, surprised by the question. It took her a moment, but she finally whispered, “Yeah. I think so.”

“They’re not like the others,” Ekko added. “They’re cool.”

Scar didn’t smile, but his eyes softened just a little. “That’s good,” he said. “That’s real good.”

Powder took a tiny bite of her pizza, something easing in her chest she hadn’t realized was tight.

*****

Recess had always felt too long. Too open. Too many places for people like Maddie to spot her and say something sharp or mean or worse—laugh.

But today, Powder followed Ekko and Scar out onto the playground, their footsteps crunching over packed snow still clinging to the edges of the blacktop. The sun was out but low, casting long shadows that made the tetherball pole look like it reached up into forever.

Ekko jogged ahead. “C’mon, let’s play!” he shouted, already unhooking the ball from where it was wrapped around the pole.

“I haven’t played in forever,” Powder murmured, rubbing her mittened hands together.

Scar tilted his head at her. “You good at it?”

Powder shook her head quickly. “No. Not really.”

“I’m terrible,” Scar admitted with a grin. “So you’re already better than me.”

Ekko tossed the ball to him. “Then you’re up first. Me and Powder’ll team up against you.”

Scar raised an eyebrow. “Unfair, but sure.”

They took their spots—Ekko on Powder’s side, both standing behind the line, and Scar on the other. He smacked the ball with a rough swing, and it came whirling toward them fast. Powder flinched but Ekko jumped, smacking it back with a loud thwack. She couldn’t help it—she laughed.

And then she was laughing more, ducking under the rope, trying to hit it, missing sometimes, catching it sometimes. Scar’s grin was all teeth, and Ekko was shouting, “Powder, now! Hit it!”

She swung—and hit the rope instead of the ball.

“Ah, so close!” Ekko called, his voice bright.

Scar leaned against the pole, panting. “Okay, that was actually fun.”

“Rematch,” Ekko said, pointing dramatically at Scar.

Scar bowed with exaggerated flair. “I accept your challenge, small sir.”

Powder stood to the side, cheeks red from the cold and maybe from laughing so hard. Her heart still felt heavy sometimes. Weird. But not now. Not in this moment.

Scar looked over at her, the wind tugging at his shaggy black hair. “You’ve got a good swing,” he said. “Just gotta aim better.”

Powder smiled—just a small one. “Thanks.”

Ekko nudged her shoulder. “We’ll get him this time.”

“Not a chance,” Scar said, hands on his hips.

The bell rang too soon, echoing across the playground. They groaned but started walking back toward the building together, Ekko talking about how he totally could’ve won if he had a second chance, and Scar already listing his demands for a rematch.

Powder stayed quiet, just listening—but she walked close to them. Shoulder to shoulder.

*****

The sky was already turning orange by the time they left the school building. Powder pulled her coat tighter, watching her breath cloud in front of her face as she walked between Ekko and Scar.

It had been a good day. Maybe not perfect, but better than most. And better was still good. They had just passed the gate when a voice called from across the street.

“Hey! Freak squad!”

Powder’s stomach dropped. Her feet faltered.

Maddie.

She stood with two of her friends, laughing. Her voice was sharp and bright and cruel. “Guess weirdos really do stick together.”

Powder didn’t say anything. She didn’t look back.

Scar stopped walking. “Cool. Real original.”

“Don’t,” Ekko muttered, tugging his sleeve.

Scar scoffed but kept walking.

Ekko grumbled under his breath. “We seriously need a better name. ‘Freak squad’ sucks.”

Scar kicked at a bit of ice. “Yeah. Something cooler. Like—like a team name.”

“Like superheroes?” Powder asked, soft.

Ekko’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! But not cheesy. Something awesome.”

They walked a bit in thoughtful silence.

Powder stared up at the sky. The first stars were starting to peek through, barely visible above the glow of streetlamps.

She remembered something—a story from when she was little, something about glowing bugs in the dark. “What about... Firelights?”

Ekko turned to look at her. “Firelights?”

Scar grinned. “That’s... actually kinda cool.”

Powder felt a tiny rush of warmth bloom in her chest. “They’re little bugs. That glow in the dark. But they’re soft. Gentle.”

“But still bright,” Ekko added.

“Exactly,” Powder whispered.

Scar shoved his hands in his pockets, his grin crooked. “Firelights. I like it.”

Ekko nodded, smiling at her. “We’re the Firelights then.”

And just like that, something shifted. A little more solid. A little more real.

They kept walking—three kids with coats zipped up and cheeks pink from the cold. Three Firelights, small but glowing, finding their way home together.

*****

The house was warm when she stepped inside, the kind of warm that didn’t just hit your skin but sank in deep. Powder kicked off her boots, brushing the snow from her sleeves as Jayce peeked his head around the corner from the kitchen.

“There she is!” he said with a smile. “How was the first day back?”

Viktor followed behind him, a dish towel tossed over his shoulder. “Did Ekko survive without you over break?”

Powder dropped her backpack by the door and gave a tiny shrug. “It was okay.”

Jayce gave her that soft look—the one that asked a question without pushing it. “Just okay?”

She nodded, pulling off her coat. “Better than before.”

“Better sounds good to me,” Viktor said gently.

Powder glanced down at her socks, then back up at them. “There’s a new kid.”

Jayce raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“He’s... kinda weird.” She gave a small half-smile. “But in a good way.”

“Weird is welcome here,” Viktor said, walking over and brushing some hair out of her face. “What’s his name?”

“He said to call him Scar.”

Jayce blinked. “Scar?”

Powder nodded. “He’s got black hair that sticks out everywhere. He argued with Maddie at lunch.”

“Oh,” Jayce said with a knowing glance toward Viktor. “One of those kinds of first days.”

“She called us freaks,” Powder said quietly, picking at the hem of her shirt. “Again.”

Viktor frowned but didn’t say anything right away.

“But Scar didn’t care,” she added quickly. “And Ekko said we should have a better name.”

Jayce leaned in, curious. “Did you come up with one?”

Powder hesitated, then looked up at them. “Firelights.”

Jayce blinked. “Firelights?”

“Yeah,” she said, a bit more confidence in her voice now. “Like the little glowing bugs. We said we’re kind of like them. Small. But... bright.”

There was a pause.

And then Jayce’s face broke into a smile. “That’s perfect.”

Viktor put a hand on her shoulder. “I think it fits you three perfectly.”

Powder felt warmth settle in her chest again, even deeper than before. She ducked her head, but couldn’t help the soft smile that crept onto her face.

Firelights.

Yeah… she liked that.

Chapter Text

January turned to February… The days were still short, but the light lingered a little longer in the windows each evening. The snow had softened on the sidewalks, the worst of the icy chill gone—replaced with that strange in-between feeling that came when one season began slowly surrendering to the next.

Viktor stood by the kitchen window, his hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The steam curled in front of his face as he stared outside, watching a few brave birds pick at the last of the feeders Jayce had refilled. Behind him, Jayce moved through the kitchen, quieter than usual.

“You still want to do it today?” Jayce asked, his voice low. He was leaning on the counter, pouring the rest of the coffee into his thermos.

Viktor didn’t turn around. He took a breath and gave a small nod. “Yes. I think she will need it after today.”

Jayce gave a thoughtful hum. “I’ll pick it up while you’re at the session with Powder. I already cleared the time. I’ll be quick.”

Viktor finally looked back at him. “You’re sure you don’t want to come with us?”

Jayce smiled, just a bit. “I want it to be home for her. I’ll meet you both at home after.”

They didn’t say what it was. Not out loud. Not yet. It wasn’t a secret, not really—it was just something gentle, something special. Something meant for Powder.

From the hallway, the sound of footsteps: Powder, sleepy but ready. Viktor glanced at the clock. “We should go soon.”

Jayce came over and kissed Viktor’s cheek. “Good luck with therapy. Tell her I’ll see her later.”

“I will.”

As Powder stepped into the kitchen, tugging her coat sleeves over her hands, Viktor gave her a small smile. “Ready?”

She nodded, eyes still heavy from waking. Jayce waved her off gently and Viktor held the door for her as they stepped out into the still-cold morning.

The car ride was quiet, the kind of stillness that came from early morning routines and heavy thoughts. Powder sat beside him, bundled in her hoodie with the sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, staring out the window. Viktor glanced at her briefly as he turned down the familiar street toward the therapist’s office. She hadn’t said much since they left, but he could feel something turning in her.

Halfway through the ride, her voice finally broke the quiet.

“Where’s Jayce?” she asked, not looking away from the window.

Viktor shifted his hands on the steering wheel. “He’s picking something up.”

Powder frowned, just a little. “What kind of something?”

Viktor smiled softly. “A surprise. Something we think you’ll like. He’ll meet us back at the house after your session.”

She didn’t respond right away. Viktor let the silence breathe. Then, quieter than before, Powder asked, “Are you still gonna come with me?”

He looked over at her at a red light, saw the way her shoulders curled in a little. The vulnerability there was quiet, but not invisible.

“Of course,” he said gently. “I told you, I’ll come with you every time if you want me to.”

Powder’s fingers picked at the end of her sleeve. “I just… I don’t want to go in by myself.”

“You won’t,” Viktor promised. “You never have to do this alone.”

She nodded, slowly. Didn’t say anything else. But she didn’t pull further away either. Her hand settled in her lap, and after a long pause, she turned slightly toward him.

“Okay.”

The office came into view not long after, the familiar building with the soft blue door and the same little potted plant by the steps that never seemed to die, even in the winter.

Viktor pulled into the parking space, turned off the engine, and sat for a second before speaking.

“I’m proud of you,” he said simply, not needing a reason to say it. “Just for showing up.”

Powder looked over at him, her eyes soft and unreadable. And though she didn’t smile, she gave him the smallest of nods—just enough to say she heard him.

They got out of the car together, and Viktor gently held the door open for her. She walked in first, and he followed, like always.

*****

The waiting room always felt too quiet. Powder sat curled into the corner of the couch, her knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. Viktor sat beside her, not too close, not too far. Just enough.

The sound of the door opening made her stomach twist, and when Nora appeared, smiling softly, Powder looked down at her shoes.

“Hi, Powder. Hi, Viktor,” Nora greeted gently. “You ready?”

Powder didn’t move at first, but Viktor stood, and when he offered his hand, she took it and stood up too. Her voice felt small and trapped, so she just nodded.

Nora led them back to the familiar room—soft lighting, shelves of supplies, the big squishy armchairs. Powder sat in her usual spot, close to the little table of art supplies but not reaching for anything yet.

Nora didn’t push. She just waited until they’d settled.

“Would it be alright if we talked a little more today about some of the families you’ve been with?” she asked gently. “Whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

Powder’s throat felt tight. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. She thought about saying no. About asking for the markers and just drawing in silence. But her eyes flicked toward Viktor—his quiet encouragement—and somehow, she found her voice.

“Some of them were mean,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Like… really mean.”

Nora’s voice stayed calm and warm. “Can you tell me what that looked like?”

Powder shrugged. “They… yelled a lot. Took my stuff. Told me I was bad. That I ruin things. One lady locked me in the garage because I forgot to clean up. She said I was lucky she didn’t send me back.”

Viktor made a soft sound, barely a breath, but she felt his reaction like a warmth beside her. Not angry at her—never at her. Angry for her.

Powder kept going, slowly, like peeling off a bandage an inch at a time. “Another house... I didn’t even have a bed. Just a blanket on the floor. Said that I had to earn the bed."

Her voice cracked then, and she blinked hard.

Nora’s voice came soft. “That’s not okay, Powder. None of that is okay.”

Powder nodded, but her eyes were glassy now. She kept picking at her sleeve.

“Can I ask…” Nora began gently, “do you remember when the cutting started?”

The room felt too full all of a sudden. Powder’s hands tightened. She didn’t want to say it. But it was there, pressing on her chest, waiting to be said.

“When I lived with my sister.”

Her voice was so quiet it didn’t feel like hers.

Nora didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush.

“She wasn’t… she wasn’t like what I thought sisters were supposed to be like. She hurt me. A lot. And I didn’t know how to stop it. So I… I started hurting myself. Because then… at least I was the one doing it. And it made the bad stuff feel smaller. For a while. When we got separated, the thoughts and feelings got worse with each family I went to. Cutting made me feel in control.”

A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away fast, like it burned.

“It’s not like I want to,” Powder whispered. “It’s just… the feelings get too big sometimes. And I don’t know where to put them.”

She broke down then. Not loudly. Not all at once. But the quiet kind of crying that came from somewhere deep—where things were tangled and tired and hurting.

Viktor moved closer, gently placing a hand on her back. Powder turned toward him without thinking, burying her face into his shoulder as the tears came harder. He wrapped an arm around her, warm and steady, holding her like she wasn’t too much.

She stayed there for a while, breathing in his familiar scent, letting the tears come and go.

When she finally sat up, red-eyed and drained, Nora was holding something out to her.

A soft blue rubber band.

“This isn’t magic,” Nora said gently, “but when those overwhelming feelings come up—when you feel like you might want to cut—snap this gently against your wrist. It won’t hurt you, but it’ll give your brain something else to focus on. Just a little pause, a little space to breathe.”

Powder reached out and took it, sliding it on her wrist slowly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Nora smiled. “You’re doing really brave work today, Powder. I’m proud of you.”

Powder didn’t say anything right then, but she held onto the rubber band like it meant something. Maybe not everything. But something.

*****

The sky had turned a soft gray by the time they stepped out of the building, the air brisk but not bitter. Viktor walked slowly beside Powder, not saying anything just yet. She held his hand, her grip loose but present, and he didn’t let go.

He could tell the session had been heavy—he could see it in the way she walked, her shoulders hunched, her gaze low. She hadn’t said much since they left the room, but that was okay. He knew silence could speak volumes.

They climbed into the car, and Viktor started the engine, letting the warm air hum to life. Powder curled up in the seat beside him, staring out the window, her arms wrapped around her knees.

He glanced over at her once, then focused on the road, giving her space but staying close.

They were halfway home when he heard it—soft at first, like a breath caught wrong. Then another. Powder was crying.

Not the loud, gasping sobs he had seen before. These were quieter. Sadder, in a way that reached straight into his chest and twisted something tender. He didn’t say anything at first. Just turned the music down until the car was quiet again, save for her quiet sniffling.

After a minute, he spoke softly. “Powder?”

She didn’t look at him. Just wiped her eyes quickly with her sleeve and tried to breathe through it. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Viktor said gently, eyes still on the road. “You’ve had a very heavy day. It makes sense.”

Her voice was small. “It’s just… it’s hard. Talking about it. Thinking about it.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s incredibly brave of you to talk at all.”

She sniffled again, then finally turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were red, but wide open. “Why do I feel worse after talking about it?”

Viktor exhaled slowly. “Because sometimes… healing doesn’t feel good at first. It’s like cleaning a wound. It stings, even if it’s helping.”

Powder blinked, then nodded like she understood—even if it still hurt.

“I didn’t think it would still make me cry,” she whispered. “I thought it wouldn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters,” Viktor said softly. “Because you matter. And what you went through… that wasn’t small. It was unfair and painful. But it’s not who you are.”

She looked down at her lap, fiddling with the rubber band around her wrist.

“I want to stop feeling broken,” she said after a long pause. “I don’t want to be the girl who cuts herself or cries or messes everything up.”

Viktor’s heart cracked a little. He pulled over to the side of the road, letting the car idle, then turned in his seat so he could look at her fully.

“You are not broken,” he said firmly but gently. “You are hurting, yes. You’ve been through more than any child should have. But you are still here. Still trying. That doesn’t make you broken. That makes you strong.”

Her chin trembled again, but this time she didn’t turn away. She just looked at him, wide-eyed and glassy, taking in every word like she needed to believe it but didn’t quite know how.

He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “You are loved, Powder. By me. By Jayce. And you don’t have to carry all this by yourself anymore. Alright?”

Powder nodded, then crawled across the seat and leaned into him without a word. He held her tightly, right there in the parked car, the sky gray and quiet around them.

They sat like that for a while—no rush, no pressure. Just breathing, together.

Eventually, Powder whispered, “Thank you.”

Viktor kissed the top of her head gently. “Always, muffin.”

*****

Jayce was halfway through fixing the inside of the cardboard box that the surprise was in when he heard the car pull in.

He glanced at the clock, heart picking up a little. Perfect timing. He hurried to the front door, practically bouncing on his heels as he waited. 

The door opened, and Viktor stepped in, his hand resting gently on Powder’s back.

Jayce’s smile stretched wide—until he saw her face.

Powder didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look up. Just gave a tiny nod in his direction, murmured a quiet “Hi,” and slipped off her shoes before heading straight down the hall.

To her room.

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

Jayce’s heart sank. “I… she didn’t even see the—”

“It was a hard session,” Viktor said quietly, setting his keys down. His eyes followed the path Powder had just walked. “She talked about some of the really rough stuff. Families that hurt her. The cutting. Nora gave her a rubber band.”

Jayce nodded slowly, his excitement deflating. “Yeah. That makes sense.” He looked toward the hallway again, aching to go after her but not wanting to overwhelm her.

“She cried on the way home,” Viktor said softly, not for drama but because Jayce needed to know. “She said she feels broken. Like she hates feeling like this. Like it’s all still living inside her.”

Jayce closed his eyes for a second. “God.”

“She’s trying, though,” Viktor added, voice warm but quiet. “She let me hold her.”

Jayce nodded again, running a hand through his hair. “She’s so strong. I just wish she didn’t have to be, you know?”

“I know.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

Jayce looked back at the little surprise      

“I think now would be the perfect time to give it to her.” Viktor put a hand on Jayce's back. Jayce nodded and carefully picked up the box.

*****

There was a gentle knock on her door.

Powder sniffled, wiping at her eyes quickly with the sleeve of her hoodie. Her room was dim—just the soft glow of the little lamp by her bed and the quiet hum of her thoughts still swirling around from therapy.

“Powder?” It was Jayce’s voice, soft and cautious. “We… have something for you. Can we come in?”

She hesitated. Her fingers twisted around the rubber band on her wrist, giving it the tiniest snap. It didn’t hurt—it wasn’t meant to—but it helped ground her.

“…Okay,” she said quietly, curling her knees up as the door opened.

Jayce stepped in first, holding a large cardboard box gently in his arms. Viktor followed behind, eyes warm, but not too full of pity—just calm, steady love.

Powder sat up straighter as Jayce crossed the room and set the box down at the edge of her bed. Her eyes darted between the two of them. “What… what is this?”

They didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, and Jayce nodded toward the box. “Go ahead.”

Powder leaned forward and opened the flaps carefully.

At first, she just saw the blanket inside—soft and blue, bunched slightly in the middle. But then the blanket moved.

Her breath caught.

Tiny ears. A twitching tail. And then wide, curious eyes looked up at her.

A kitten. Fluffy, long-haired, and snow-white with faint gray markings—just like a little cloud. Or a ghost. Or maybe even a dream. The kitten gave a soft, high meow.

Powder covered her mouth with her hands.

The kitten blinked slowly, then stepped forward with its tiny paws, mewing again before curling right into her lap like it had always belonged there.

Her chest tightened, and she felt her throat burn. “I—what… why?”

She looked up, tears already brimming in her eyes.

“It’s for you,” Viktor said softly, sitting beside her. “She’s yours.”

“For me?” Powder whispered. “Why?”

“Because you deserve comfort,” Jayce said, sitting on the other side of her. “You deserve something soft and kind and warm. And we thought… maybe this little one could help you on the hard days.”

Tears spilled over. She hugged the kitten gently to her chest, careful and shaky. “She’s perfect.”

“We thought maybe you could name her,” Viktor added, brushing her hair gently behind her ear. “Something special.”

Powder nodded, speechless for a moment. The kitten purred, a soft vibrating sound against her chest.

“I… I’ve never had something like this before,” she said, her voice trembling. “Something that’s mine. That’s just… for me.”

Jayce reached over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You have us too, Powderbug. We’re yours.”

She pressed her face into Jayce’s side, still cradling the kitten, and cried.

But this time it wasn’t the kind of crying that made her feel like she was falling apart.

This time it felt like something was being gently put back together.

They stayed like that for a while, curled up on her bed—Jayce, Viktor, and Powder—quiet and close, with the tiny kitten purring in the middle of them all.

The little kitten had made herself at home in Powder’s lap, kneading softly at the blanket with her tiny paws and purring so loudly it filled the whole room.

Powder gently ran her fingers over the kitten’s soft fur. Her tears had mostly stopped now, though her eyes still felt puffy and warm. Jayce’s arm remained loosely around her shoulders, and Viktor sat beside her on the floor, his hand resting on the bed like he wasn’t in a rush to go anywhere.

The quiet felt okay now.

Not heavy. Not scary. Just… full.

Powder looked down at the kitten again, watching her blink up at her with those big, curious blue-green eyes.

“I think…” she began softly. “I wanna name her Gizmo.”

Jayce looked over at her with a smile. “Gizmo?”

She nodded, a little unsure at first. “Yeah. I just… I don’t know. It fits. She’s small, and her little noises are all squeaky and weird like little gadgets. And… I like it.”

Viktor chuckled gently. “Gizmo. That’s perfect.”

“She definitely looks like a Gizmo,” Jayce agreed, reaching out to stroke the kitten’s head. Gizmo leaned into his touch, purring even louder.

Powder smiled—really smiled—at the sight.

“I think she likes it,” she said, hugging Gizmo a little closer.

“I think she likes you,” Viktor said, his voice warm. “And I think you needed her.”

Powder didn’t answer at first. Just sat there with Gizmo in her lap and the two people she trusted most in the world on either side of her.

After a while, she whispered, “Yeah. I think I did.”

Gizmo curled into a fuzzy little ball and fell asleep against her chest, and Powder felt something quiet and soft settle inside her.

*****

Jayce stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Powder’s slow, even breaths. She was curled on her side, one arm draped protectively around the tiny kitten snoozing on her pillow. Gizmo was tucked into her like she belonged there, like they’d been together forever instead of just a couple hours.

He felt Viktor step up beside him, quiet as always. They stood there a moment in silence, just watching her.

“She’s out,” Jayce said quietly.

“She needed it,” Viktor murmured.

Jayce nodded and slowly pulled the door to, careful not to let the latch click. Once it was closed, he followed Viktor down the hallway toward the kitchen, their socked footsteps soft on the floors. The house had that gentle hum it always did at night—just the fridge, the heater, the quiet.

Jayce poured them both mugs of tea. Not because they needed it, really, but because it gave him something to do with his hands.

“She really lit up when she saw that kitten,” he said after a moment, sliding Viktor his cup.

Viktor nodded. “More than I thought she would, honestly. It was the right thing.”

Jayce leaned against the counter. “I wasn’t sure. I mean, I hoped—but after her session today…”

“She was hurting,” Viktor said softly, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. “And she still is. But she let us in tonight. Even if just a little.”

Jayce’s throat tightened. “I hate that she has to carry all that. That she went through what she did.”

“I know,” Viktor said, glancing toward the hallway like he could still see her. “But she’s here now. And every day, she’s healing. Even if it’s slow. Even if it’s messy.”

Jayce looked down at the tea, swirling gently in his mug. “She told me once that she didn’t know if she’d ever feel safe. Not really. But… I saw something different in her eyes tonight. When she was holding Gizmo. It was small, but… it was there.”

Viktor reached over and gently rested a hand over Jayce’s. “It’s because of you. Because of what we’re building. Because she knows we’re not going anywhere.”

Jayce let out a breath, one that felt like it had been sitting in his chest all day. “You think we’re really getting through to her?”

“I think,” Viktor said, with quiet conviction, “that she’s starting to believe she’s allowed to be loved.”

Jayce’s eyes burned. He blinked fast and looked away, trying to hold it back. “She’s just a kid.”

“I know.”

“She’s just a kid,” Jayce repeated, “and she’s been through more than most adults ever will.”

Viktor’s grip tightened briefly. “That’s why we keep showing up. That’s why we stay.”

Jayce nodded, then gave a small, tired smile. “And I guess now… we stay with a cat.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, sipping their tea and letting the weight of the day settle.

Then Viktor said softly, “She named her Gizmo.”

Jayce grinned. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Chapter Text

The living room was dim, the late winter sun already starting to dip behind the trees outside. The soft flicker from the TV danced across the walls as the movie played—something funny, light, and a little old, the kind Jayce always picked when he wanted everyone to relax.

Powder was curled on the couch between Jayce and Viktor, a blanket draped over her knees. She didn’t say much, but she didn’t have to. It was the kind of quiet that felt full instead of empty. Viktor was holding a bowl of popcorn in his lap, occasionally offering it to her without saying a word. She’d take a few pieces and nibble slowly, her eyes not really locked on the movie, but not wandering either.

Gizmo, still so small and fluffy, was having the time of her life. She climbed from Powder's lap to Viktor’s chest, then tried to balance herself on Jayce’s shoulder, purring like a tiny engine. Powder giggled when she nearly slid off and scrambled, only to end up half-buried in the blanket between them.

Jayce gently scooped the kitten up and placed her back on Powder’s lap. Gizmo immediately curled into a soft ball against Powder's stomach, pawing at her sweatshirt like she was kneading dough.

“You’re her favorite,” Viktor teased, nudging her shoulder lightly.

Powder shrugged, her voice quiet but warm. “She likes all of us.”

“Yeah, but she follows you like a shadow,” Jayce added, grinning. “It’s cute.”

She looked down at Gizmo and gently ran her fingers through her fur. She didn’t stop purring. Her chest felt warm in a way that wasn’t overwhelming, just steady and soft. There was still a heaviness in her bones sometimes, but this—this moment—helped. It made her feel like maybe that weight could shift.

The movie was almost over when Jayce’s phone buzzed. Powder glanced over as he pulled it from the couch cushion and checked the screen. His face lit up a little, that soft kind of happy he always had when it was Ximena.

“It’s Ximena,” he said quietly, already swiping to answer. “Hey, Mom.”

Powder stayed quiet, gently stroking Gizmo’s fur while Jayce talked.

“Mmhm… yeah, we’re just watching a movie. No, she’s right here.” He chuckled. “Why, what’s up?”

There was a pause as he listened. Powder caught Viktor raising an eyebrow, curious. Jayce’s expression shifted into something amused but hesitant.

“Oh—yeah?” He glanced over at Powder. “Uh-huh… yeah, I think she’d like that, but… let me ask her.”

He lowered the phone slightly and turned toward her, still sitting close. “Powder? My mom wanted to know if you’d like to spend the weekend with her. She says she misses you, and she has plans for crafts and cooking and probably way too much cocoa.”

Powder blinked. “Really?”

Jayce nodded. “Really. She said you could bring Gizmo too. But it’s totally up to you. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Powder didn’t answer right away. Her hand paused on Gizmo’s head, her thumb resting near her ear. Powder liked Ximena. She was warm, funny, and gentle in the way she moved and talked. But the idea of leaving Jayce and Viktor, even for a weekend, made her chest feel strange. She wasn’t sure if it was nerves, or fear, or just the idea of being somewhere without them.

Viktor nudged her knee gently. “She doesn’t bite, you know.”

Powder looked down, quiet. After a moment, she whispered, “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Jayce said right away. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

“We’ll call her back later,” Viktor added. “No pressure.”

Powder gave a small nod, and Jayce returned to the phone.

“She wants to think about it,” he told his mom gently. “But I’ll let you know in a bit. Love you too.”

He ended the call and set his phone on the arm of the couch. Powder curled up again, hugging her knees slightly as Gizmo adjusted in her lap. She wasn’t sure how she felt. She liked being here, close to Jayce and Viktor. But she also liked Ximena. She didn’t want anyone to think she didn’t.

“We’d miss you, if you go,” Jayce said after a few quiet minutes.

“But we’d be excited for you too,” Viktor added, his voice calm. “It’s okay to try something new. It’s okay to say no, too.”

Powder nodded slowly. “Okay.”

They finished the movie, but Powder hadn’t really paid attention to the last half. Her thoughts were too loud, circling around the idea of leaving for the weekend. She liked Ximena. She felt safe around her. And the idea of baking and painting and listening to her funny stories was… nice.

But it was still hard. The idea of going somewhere without Jayce or Viktor made her feel a little floaty inside, like she might disappear.

After the credits rolled, Viktor turned the volume down and looked at her gently. “Still thinking?”

Powder nodded slowly. Gizmo purred in her lap.

Jayce leaned in. “You don’t have to go, Powder. But… if you do, we’ll pack some cocoa mix in case Ximena’s runs out.”

Powder gave a soft snort.

Viktor smiled. “We’ll be right here when you come home.”

She looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I think… I want to go.”

Both men looked surprised for a second, then proud. Jayce reached out and brushed a bit of hair behind her ear. “Yeah?”

She nodded again, more confidently this time. “Yeah. I want to go.”

Jayce pulled out his phone, smiling. “I’ll call Mom.”

He stood and walked toward the kitchen for better signal. Powder leaned into Viktor’s side just a little, still clutching Gizmo.

From the other room, she heard Jayce’s voice:

“Hi, Mom. Yeah—she says yes… She’d love to come.” A pause, and then: "Morning’s perfect. See you then!”

He came back in a few minutes, dropping onto the couch again with a grin. “She’s so excited. She said she’ll be here around nine.”

Powder felt something warm bloom in her chest. It still felt scary—but a little less now.

“She said to bring a big appetite.” Jayce added.

Powder gave a small smile. “Okay.”

“Good,” Viktor said softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “She’s going to love having you.”

“And we’ll miss you,” Jayce added, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “But we’re really proud of you.”

Powder didn’t say anything, but she leaned into them both, and that was enough.

*****

Saturday morning came fast.

Powder stood near the door, dressed and ready, her small overnight bag packed and sitting by her feet. Gizmo rubbed against her ankles, tail flicking lazily as if nothing unusual was happening. Powder bent down and scratched behind her ears, biting her lip.

She’d barely touched breakfast. Her stomach was tight and twisty, like it had knotted itself during the night.

Jayce came into the hallway with her coat, smiling gently. “Mom just texted—she’s a couple minutes away.”

Powder nodded, eyes darting to the front door, then to Viktor who was coming down the stairs.

“You okay, muffin?” Viktor asked, walking over and brushing his hand softly over her back.

“I… I think so,” she whispered.

Jayce knelt down and helped her into her coat. “You’ve got your sketchbook, right?”

She nodded.

He looked up at her, voice warm. “You know you can call us anytime, even just to say hi or ask where the peanut butter is.”

A tiny smile tugged at her mouth, but it fell away quickly. Her hands clenched her sleeves.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made her flinch. Jayce stood and looked out the window. “She’s here.”

Powder’s throat tightened. She wanted to go—she did. But now that it was time, her feet didn’t want to move.

Viktor crouched beside her and looked up at her face. “We’ll be here when you get back. You’re not alone. You’re never alone anymore.”

She stared at him, and suddenly her chest cracked open. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He held her firmly, like he knew she needed it.

Jayce joined them a moment later, warm arms circling around both of them. “We’re proud of you, Powder,” he said quietly against her hair. “So proud.”

She didn’t say anything. But her fingers gripped tighter and she didn’t let go for a long time.

Then—slowly—she stepped back and wiped her face with her sleeve. No tears had fallen, but they were sitting there behind her eyes, waiting.

Jayce opened the door.

Ximena stood there, bundled in a warm coat and smiling brightly. “Hello, Powder!” she greeted.

Powder managed a soft, “Hi.”

Ximena’s eyes twinkled. “Are you ready for the coziest weekend of your life?”

Powder nodded, grabbing her bag.

She turned one last time. Viktor was smiling, and Jayce gave a little wave.

“Have fun, Powderbug,” Jayce said. “We love you.”

“Always,” Viktor added softly.

Powder opened her mouth to say something back. But the words didn’t come. Not yet. She gave them a tiny nod instead, a small, grateful smile.

And then she turned and walked down the steps to the car with Ximena and Gizmo.

*****

The car was warm and quiet, and Powder stared out the window as they pulled onto the main road. Her hands were folded in her lap, and Gizmo’s carrier was buckled in beside her. She could hear the faint, rhythmic purring from inside.

Ximena didn’t say much at first, just hummed along softly to the music playing on the radio. Not loud or annoying—just soft and familiar, like something you’d hear in the background of a cozy kitchen.

Powder kept glancing at the passing trees, at the gray sky, at the little flecks of snow beginning to fall. She felt... weird. Her chest still felt a little tight. Her throat scratchy. But she wasn’t shaking anymore.

About fifteen minutes into the drive, Ximena asked, “Is Gizmo doing okay in there?”

Powder nodded. “Yeah… she’s purring.”

“Of course she is,” Ximena said, smiling. “She’s with her girl.”

That made Powder’s mouth twitch a little. She rubbed her thumb against her fingertips, nervous energy slowly quieting.

“I was thinking we could make hot cocoa when we get to my place,” Ximena said casually. “I have marshmallows… and whipped cream, if you're a whipped cream girl.”

“Whipped cream,” Powder said, barely louder than a whisper.

Ximena nodded like it was the most serious thing in the world. “Got it. Whipped cream. Extra tall swirl.”

That made Powder smile, a real one, though she kept her eyes out the window.

By the time they turned into the quiet neighborhood where Ximena lived, Powder’s shoulders didn’t feel so tight. Her fingers weren’t clenched anymore. She wasn’t excited, exactly… but she didn’t want to go home either. That felt like something.

Ximena’s house was cute, two stories with soft yellow trim and a little front porch. There was a wreath on the door, still up from Christmas, and a few ceramic animals poking out of the snow in the yard.

“Here we are,” Ximena said, pulling into the driveway. “Welcome to the chaos.”

Powder blinked. “It looks… really nice.”

Inside was even better. The house smelled like cinnamon and citrus, with soft rugs, plants in every corner, and warm wood everywhere. Ximena helped Powder out of her coat, and Gizmo’s carrier was set down gently near the living room.

“You can let her out if you want. She’s free to explore,” Ximena said.

Powder carefully opened the carrier, and Gizmo stepped out, stretching and sniffing around curiously before hopping onto the couch like she already owned it.

“I set up the guest room for you upstairs,” Ximena said, leading Powder up a small staircase. “There’s a window seat too. I figured you might like that for drawing or reading.”

The room was small but cozy—soft blankets, a fuzzy rug, and little shelves with books and art supplies. Powder set her bag down quietly and looked around, her heart starting to feel just a little bit lighter.

“I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re ready,” Ximena said, touching her shoulder gently. “Take your time.”

Powder nodded. “Thank you.”

She sat on the bed for a while, Gizmo hopping up beside her and curling into a ball.

It was quiet. But not a bad quiet.

A good one.

Powder came downstairs slowly, Gizmo trailing after her with soft little paws. The kitchen smelled even better now—like cinnamon and sugar and something buttery.

Ximena looked up from the stove and smiled. “Perfect timing. Cocoa’s ready.”

Powder slid into one of the tall kitchen chairs, watching as Ximena poured steaming liquid into two mugs. She added a tall swirl of whipped cream to Powder’s, just like she promised, then dropped a couple of small cinnamon sticks in for flair.

“Extra tall swirl,” Ximena said as she slid it across the counter. “As requested.”

Powder took the mug in both hands. It was warm and smelled like comfort. She took a tiny sip—sweet and creamy—and let out a quiet sigh she didn’t even know she’d been holding.

Ximena leaned on the counter across from her. “How are you holding up, mija?”

Powder shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“Just okay?”

Another small shrug. Powder wasn’t sure how to describe how she felt. Not great, but not terrible. Tired, but calm. Nervous, but also not. It was all mixed up inside.

Ximena didn’t push. She just nodded and took a sip from her own mug, the silence between them warm and soft.

After a moment, she said, “I thought we’d make something special tonight. Ever heard of pan dulce?”

Powder blinked. “I don’t think so.”

“They’re sweet Mexican breads. Kind of like pastries. You see them in bakeries with all the pretty colors on top. We’ll make conchas—they’re like soft, fluffy rolls with a sugary topping.”

“Oh…” Powder sat up a little straighter. “That sounds… nice.”

“You like baking?”

Powder nodded. “Yeah. A little. I helped make sugar cookies before Christmas.”

“Good. Then we’ll be a great team.”

They worked together, slowly and gently. Ximena handed her ingredients one at a time, showing her how to knead the dough, how to gently roll it into little balls and space them just right. Powder liked the feeling of the flour on her hands, the warm yeasty smell that started to rise as the dough rested.

“Now for the best part,” Ximena said, grinning. She showed Powder how to mix the sugar topping, how to press it over each roll, and then how to use a little shell-shaped cutter to make the signature concha pattern.

Powder watched the swirls take shape under her fingers. “It’s pretty.”

“You’re doing great,” Ximena said, her voice warm. “And your conchas are gonna be beautiful.”

They slid the tray into the oven, and Powder leaned against the counter, her cocoa long gone. Gizmo was curled up in a sunbeam on the rug near the door, tail flicking softly in her sleep.

“You’re welcome here any time, you know,” Ximena said softly. “No pressure, no expectations. Just… if you ever need somewhere safe.”

Powder nodded, eyes still on the oven window. “Thank you.”

The timer beeped a while later, and the smell that filled the house made her stomach growl. The conchas came out golden and soft, the sugar tops slightly crackled and warm.

They sat down at the kitchen table, each with a warm roll and fresh mugs of cocoa.

Powder took a bite. Sweet, soft, just a little chewy. Her eyes widened.

Ximena smiled. “Told you.”

Powder nodded. “They’re really good.”

And for the first time in hours something in her chest felt a little less heavy.

*****

The house felt still in a way it hadn’t for months.

The silence wasn’t bad—not empty, not cold. Just… different. There were no quiet footsteps down the hall, no faint hums from Powder’s room, no soft meows from Gizmo hopping off her bed and padding toward the kitchen. Viktor kept waiting for them.

He adjusted the focus on his magnifying lens and leaned over the circuit panel on his desk, soldering tool poised. His hands worked on instinct, but his mind was elsewhere. Mostly with her. Wondering if Powder had eaten enough, if she was warm, if she was nervous. Wondering if she’d remember to give Gizmo a fresh scoop of food, if she’d let herself relax. If she missed them yet.

He didn’t hear Jayce approach until arms slid around his shoulders from behind.

“You’re still working?” Jayce asked, resting his chin gently on Viktor’s head.

Viktor paused. “Only a little. I was adjusting the—”

“You should stop.”

Viktor turned slightly to look up at him. “Am I not allowed to be productive anymore?”

Jayce smiled, not letting go. “You’re allowed. But not tonight. Come on. It’s the first time we’ve had the house to ourselves since Powder came.”

Viktor hesitated, his eyes drifting back to the half-finished circuit, then to the faint outline of the kitten’s food dish just visible down the hallway.

Jayce followed his gaze. “She’s okay. You know she’s okay. She’s with my mom. Gizmo’s with her. They’re probably making cinnamon chocolate or watching movies or both.”

“I know,” Viktor said softly. “It’s just… quiet.”

Jayce nodded, squeezing his arms a little tighter. “I miss her too.”

There was something in his voice—something soft and tired and full. Viktor turned his chair the rest of the way, reaching for Jayce’s hand.

“Alright,” Viktor said. “No more circuits tonight.”

Jayce grinned and tugged him up from the chair. “Good. Come with me.”

“To do what?”

“You’ll see.”

Jayce led him through the dim hallway, past the living room still slightly scattered with blankets and pillows from the day before. The lights were low, warm. The kind Viktor liked. Jayce stopped in the middle of the room, then turned to him with a crooked smile.

“Dance with me.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “There’s no music.”

“I don’t need music,” Jayce said. He pulled Viktor in close and began to hum—a soft, slow melody that wavered a little off-key, but still managed to feel familiar. Safe.

Viktor chuckled under his breath, resting one hand on Jayce’s shoulder and the other on his waist. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jayce grinned. “You love that about me.”

They swayed gently, turning in slow circles under the low golden light. Viktor let his head rest against Jayce’s. The hum kept going, quiet and rhythmic. No words. Just warmth.

After a few minutes, Jayce whispered, “Our life’s different now.”

“Yes,” Viktor murmured.

“I mean, we used to just work. All the time. Stay late in the lab. Eat at our desks. Half the time, we forgot to sleep.”

“I remember.”

Jayce pulled him a little closer. “And now we’ve got a kid. A kitten.”

“A daughter,” Viktor said quietly. “It still catches me off guard sometimes.”

Jayce’s voice dropped even softer. “Yeah. Me too.”

They didn’t say anything else for a while. Just danced, slowly, Jayce still humming. The quiet wasn’t heavy now. It was full. Laced with memories. With warmth.

With love.

Eventually, Jayce pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Do you ever think… this is what we were always supposed to become?”

Viktor smiled. “All the time.”

Jayce leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep.

And for a while, the only sound in the house was the rustle of fabric as they danced in the soft light.

*****

The sky was dusky pink when they pulled into the gravel lot of the drive-in, the neon sign flickering overhead like it had seen a thousand summers and winters. Powder sat curled in the passenger seat, her legs tucked up as Gizmo stretched across her lap, purring loudly. She wasn’t sure what movie they were seeing. She didn’t ask. It didn’t matter.

Ximena hummed softly as she rolled the windows down a little and passed her a blanket from the back seat. “It might get chilly once the sun goes down. Here.”

“Thanks,” Powder murmured, pulling it over her knees. Gizmo immediately tried to burrow under it, then changed her mind and stuck her head out instead.

The air smelled like popcorn and pine trees and cold metal. Powder pressed her cheek against the cool window for a second, watching as a few more cars filed in, most of them packed with kids or couples. It didn’t feel lonely though. Not like she thought it might.

Ximena reached for the thermos at her side and poured two cups of warm cinnamon hot chocolate. “Here, dear.” She passed Powder a cup in one of those travel mugs with a rubber grip and cats all over it.

Powder smiled a little. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I know today was a lot. New place, different house… But I’m really glad you’re here.”

Powder didn’t know what to say to that. She just nodded a little, sipping the cocoa. It tasted like comfort and nostalgia.

Gizmo kneaded her sweater with soft little paws before curling up on her lap again, her tail flicking slightly under the blanket.

“You know,” Ximena said after a quiet moment, glancing out the windshield, “Jayce used to be nervous about drive-ins. He always thought the speakers wouldn’t work or that he’d miss something. But then he’d end up falling asleep ten minutes in anyway.”

Powder’s lips twitched. “He still does that on the couch.”

“I know,” Ximena laughed, a soft, warm sound. “I heard he was caught snoring through half of The Grinch last year. Viktor told me you two built gingerbread houses?”

Powder nodded, tracing her finger around the rim of her cup. “Yeah… mine kind of fell over.”

“But did you eat it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I say that’s a success.”

Powder gave a small laugh. It felt good in her chest, like shaking something loose. She looked down at Gizmo and scratched her between the ears. The purring got louder.

The screen flickered to life, and the old previews started to play—cartoon hot dogs doing a weird little dance to encourage people to visit the snack bar.

Ximena leaned back in her seat, one hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel. “You okay?”

Powder hesitated. She looked out at the big screen again, the pink sky almost fully faded now.

“I think so,” she said finally. “It’s… nice. This is nice.”

“I’m really glad,” Ximena said gently.

They didn’t talk much after that. Powder slowly uncurled her legs and let herself lean sideways, letting Gizmo climb up to settle between her and the door. Ximena didn’t say anything when Powder rested her head gently against her arm. She just gave a soft pat to her hair.

As the movie started and the stars came out one by one, Powder found herself smiling, really smiling.

She felt warm.

She felt okay.

*****

The house was still.

Jayce stood in the doorway of their bedroom, one hand resting on the frame, just watching Viktor. He was sitting on the bed now, still in that half-zoned state he always slipped into after focusing too long—one hand on his knee, the other absently twisting the edge of the blanket like he didn’t realize it.

The lamp on the nightstand cast everything in soft gold. It made Viktor look somehow softer. Or maybe Jayce was just looking at him with soft eyes. He often did.

Jayce crossed the room slowly, sat beside him without a word, and touched Viktor’s hand.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Viktor gave a slow nod, still a little distant. “Yes. Just… adjusting.”

“I know.” Jayce brushed his thumb along Viktor’s knuckles. “But she’s in good hands.”

“I know she is.” Viktor finally looked at him, his eyes clearing a little. “Still feels… quiet.”

Jayce leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, letting it linger. “Too quiet?”

Viktor smiled faintly. “A little. But maybe not in a bad way.”

Jayce grinned. “Good. Because I have plans.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm.” He stood, gave a mock little bow, and offered Viktor his hand. “You danced with me in the living room. Now I want to steal you away again.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, but his smile deepened. “Steal me where?”

Jayce tugged him up and led him by the hand through the darkened hall, the only light coming from under the cabinets in the kitchen. But Jayce didn’t stop there. He opened the door to the back porch.

The cold hit them both instantly, but Jayce was already grabbing the thick blankets he’d laid out on the cushioned bench. The sky overhead was crisp and clear, the stars stitched in every direction. A little heater hummed near the wall, not doing much—but just enough.

Viktor blinked. “You’re serious.”

“Very,” Jayce said, pulling him into the blankets, both of them sinking down onto the bench together. “We haven’t done this since before Powder.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t pull out a bottle of wine.”

Jayce did not answer. He simply reached over and produced a thermos from the shadows, grinning.

Viktor laughed quietly. “Of course you did.”

They leaned in together, shoulder to shoulder, their hands entwined under the blanket. Jayce poured a little mulled wine into two small metal mugs, handed one over, and exhaled into the cold night.

“Remember the first time we did this?” Jayce asked softly. “I think we were both pretending we weren’t freezing.”

“And I fell asleep halfway through your story about constellations.”

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

Jayce chuckled. “You were pretending not to be into me.”

“I was doing a terrible job.”

“You were.”

They both laughed again, easy and warm. Then it quieted. Viktor shifted and rested his head lightly on Jayce’s shoulder. Jayce kissed the top of his hair.

“I’ve never been this happy,” Jayce whispered into the dark. “Not just tonight. I mean… in my life.”

Viktor turned slightly, looking up at him.

Jayce met his eyes. “I love our life. I love you. And I love that we get to do this. All of this. Even the hard parts.”

Viktor didn’t say anything for a moment. He just reached up and touched Jayce’s face, his thumb brushing along his cheek like he was memorizing him all over again.

“I love you, too,” Viktor said. “And I feel the same. Even when it’s hard… I wouldn’t trade a single part of it.”

Jayce leaned in and kissed him—slow and grounding, a quiet kind of intimacy that didn’t need anything else. The heater hummed low in the background. The stars blinked on, cold and endless above them.

Only them.

The kiss lingered a moment longer, soft and slow, like a promise neither of them needed to say out loud. When they pulled apart, Viktor’s hand stayed warm in Jayce’s, fingers interlacing tighter.

Jayce glanced up at the stars again. The sky was so vast and quiet it felt like a secret just between the two of them.

“We should do this more often,” Jayce said softly, breath curling in the cold air.

Viktor smiled against his shoulder. “Agreed. We get so caught up in everything else… it’s easy to forget to just be.”

Jayce nodded. “Especially now. Powder changed everything, but I think we need to remember moments like this — just us.”

The heater flickered, casting a gentle orange glow. Jayce shifted so he could look fully at Viktor’s face, tracing the soft line of his jaw, the way his eyes held quiet strength and tenderness all at once.

“You know,” Jayce said with a small grin, “sometimes I think about all the chaos before she came. The uncertainty. The hard nights.”

Viktor’s smile softened, touched with something almost wistful. “We both did. It wasn’t easy.”

“No, it wasn’t. But I don’t regret any of it. Because it brought us here.”

“Here,” Viktor echoed, his voice low, “to this moment. To us.”

Jayce reached up and tucked a stray curl behind Viktor’s ear, his fingers lingering. “I love you, Viktor. More than I ever thought possible.”

Viktor’s eyes glistened. “I love you too, Jayce. Every day. Especially tonight.”

They sat in comfortable silence, holding each other close as the night deepened around them. The quiet was full of unspoken promises — that no matter what came next, they would face it together.

Eventually, Jayce glanced at his watch. “We should head in soon.”

Viktor nodded, standing slowly and pulling Jayce up with him. Their hands stayed linked as they made their way inside, the warmth of the house welcoming them back.

As they closed the door behind them, Jayce whispered, “Tonight was perfect.”

Viktor smiled, brushing his lips over Jayce’s again. “Yes. Perfect.”

*****

Powder woke slowly, sunlight filtering softly through the curtains. The gentle hum of the house was comforting — nothing like the sharp edges of her old worries. She stretched, still feeling the soft weight of Gizmo curled against her side.

From the kitchen, she heard the clatter of pans and the sweet smell of something sizzling. Curious, she slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs, her slippers making quiet taps on the floor.

Ximena was humming as she flipped a pancake with a flourish that made it land perfectly back in the pan. She glanced over and smiled warmly. “Good morning, sleepyhead! Ready for breakfast?”

Powder nodded, feeling a small smile tug at her lips.

Ximena slid a plate across the counter piled high with fluffy pancakes, syrup glistening like liquid gold. “Here, try these — my special recipe.”

Powder took a bite, and the sweet, buttery flavor made her eyes widen. “These are really good.”

Ximena chuckled. “I’m glad! Cooking’s my way of saying I care.”

As Powder ate, Ximena suddenly grabbed a spatula and, with a mischievous grin, made a funny face — puffed cheeks, crossed eyes, and a mock pancake flip that sent a bit of batter flying. Powder burst out laughing, the sound light and genuine.

“Oh no!” Ximena said, wiping batter off her cheek. “Looks like the pancakes want to fight back!”

Powder giggled, the tension inside her easing like sunshine breaking through clouds. She realized how nice it felt to laugh without holding back.

Ximena smiled at her, eyes warm. “You’re welcome here, Powder. Always.”

After breakfast, Ximena set up a little painting area by the back windows where the morning sun spilled in warm and golden. The table was covered with newspaper, a few blank canvases, jars of brushes, and a rainbow of paints in plastic trays.

“I thought we could do something fun today,” Ximena said as she pulled two stools over. “No rules. Just paint whatever you feel like.”

Powder hesitated, but the sight of the brushes and the smell of paint reminded her of the little art station at Nora’s office — the part of therapy that made her feel calmer.

She nodded quietly and sat down.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Powder dipped her brush into a soft lavender and began painting slow, swirling shapes. Ximena was painting, too — something with big, abstract flowers and soft green leaves.

Powder found herself settling into the rhythm: dip, brush, rinse, repeat. It was quiet, but not in a heavy way. Just peaceful.

“You’re really good at choosing colors,” Ximena said after a bit, glancing over at Powder’s work. “They feel... gentle. Like a dream.”

Powder blinked at the compliment and looked at her painting. She didn’t really know what it was — just shapes and color — but she liked it.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

That was when Gizmo jumped onto the table, tiny paws landing right in the edge of the paint tray.

“Gizmo—!” Powder gasped, reaching for her.

But it was too late. She trotted across the newspaper, leaving a trail of pink and blue paw prints.

Ximena burst out laughing, and even Powder couldn’t help but smile.

Then Powder had an idea. “Wait,” she said, reaching gently for Gizmo. She dipped her paw lightly into a bit of gold paint and pressed it onto the edge of the canvas. A soft, golden paw print bloomed beside the swirls she’d been working on.

Ximena watched her with a fond look. “That’s going to be the best part of the whole painting.”

Powder nodded quietly and added a couple more paw prints, careful not to upset Gizmo, who didn’t seem to mind at all.

It wasn’t a big thing. Just painting at a table on a Saturday. But Powder could feel something light blooming in her chest — something like warmth, something like home.

*****

Jayce stirred awake slowly, sunlight warming the bedroom through the sheer curtains. Viktor was still asleep beside him, his hair messy, one hand resting against Jayce’s chest. Jayce didn’t move for a while. He just watched him — peaceful, relaxed, the lines of stress that usually lived between Viktor’s eyebrows completely smoothed out.

It was rare for Viktor to sleep in. Even rarer for him to look so still.

Jayce smiled softly, brushing a thumb along Viktor’s cheekbone. “You’re allowed to rest,” he whispered, even though Viktor couldn’t hear him.

Eventually, Viktor blinked awake. His eyes landed on Jayce, and the corners of his mouth curved into a drowsy smile. “Morning.”

“Morning, love,” Jayce murmured.

They stayed like that a while, legs tangled under the blankets, not rushing anything. It was the first time in months the house had felt this quiet. Not empty — just… slower. No clinking breakfast plates, no footsteps, no gentle knock at the bedroom door. Just the two of them and the echo of soft music still looping in Jayce’s head from the night before.

“How’re you feeling?” Jayce asked eventually.

Viktor stretched. “Like I should be doing something useful.”

Jayce snorted. “You are doing something useful. You’re resting. You’re here. That counts.”

Viktor turned onto his side to face him more fully. “It is strange… quiet.”

“Yeah,” Jayce said, nodding. “It’s weird without her here. I keep expecting to hear the floor creak or her mumble something to the cat.”

“Or her asking where her hoodie went.”

Jayce chuckled. “She knows we do laundry. She just likes the drama.”

They both laughed quietly.

Then Jayce’s expression softened. “I can’t wait for her to come home.”

Viktor reached over, took his hand. “Me too. But I’m also… really grateful. That she felt safe enough to go. That she wanted to. A few months ago, she would’ve begged not to leave.”

Jayce nodded slowly. “Yeah. That means we’re doing something right, huh?”

They both lay still for a while, fingers laced.

“I like who we are now,” Jayce said finally, voice quiet. “With her. With us. This version of our life… I didn’t know I needed it until I had it.”

Viktor leaned in and pressed his forehead to Jayce’s. “I know. Me too.”

Eventually, they got up, moving slow. They made breakfast together — toast, scrambled eggs, and fruit. They played soft music in the background, danced a little as they cooked, moving like they had all the time in the world.

*****

The car was quiet for a while, just the hum of the engine and the soft music Ximena had playing — something in Spanish, the kind of melody that felt like sunlight and warm kitchens.

Gizmo was curled up in a little fuzzy carrier with the front zipped open so she could poke her head out, blinking slowly at the world as it passed. Powder kept her hand near Gizmo, fingers barely grazing her soft fur. She made her feel steady. Or at least, less shaky.

They were almost halfway home.

Ximena glanced over. “You good, mija?”

Powder nodded once. “Yeah.”

But Ximena didn’t rush to fill the space like some adults did. She waited.

And maybe that’s why Powder found herself saying, after a few more minutes, “This was nice.”

Ximena smiled at her, eyes crinkling. “I’m really glad you came. I’ve been wanting to spend time with you. And you were brave, you know. Saying yes.”

Powder shrugged but looked out the window with a small smile. “It wasn’t scary like I thought.”

“Good.” Ximena tapped the steering wheel thoughtfully. “You’re really special, Powder. You’ve got this quiet strength to you. Reminds me of someone I know.”

“Jayce?” Powder asked.

Ximena laughed. “No. Definitely not Jayce.”

Powder blinked and then looked at her. “…Viktor?”

Ximena gave a little shrug. “Maybe. But I meant you, sweetheart.”

Powder didn’t know what to say to that. Her chest felt warm and tight in a good way. She looked back down at Gizmo, who shifted and gave a soft chirp.

“I liked painting,” Powder said quietly after a while.

“You’re good at it,” Ximena said, without any kind of forced praise. Just easy truth. “You see the world in a way not everyone does. That’s a gift.”

Powder felt her throat get tight, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she nodded and reached into the carrier to pet Gizmo’s head. “I think she liked it too.”

“She’s a little artist now,” Ximena teased.

Powder giggled under her breath.

As they pulled onto the final stretch of road, the sun was starting to lower, brushing the sky with gold and lavender. Powder felt something settle inside her — like the weekend had smoothed out some of the jagged edges she still carried.

“I’m glad I came,” she said again, just to be sure.

“I’m glad you did too,” Ximena said, reaching over to squeeze her hand gently.

And Powder squeezed back.

*****

The front door opened before they even heard the car pull up. Jayce had been pacing the kitchen a little — not in a worried way, but in that restless, excited way he sometimes got. Viktor had just finished rinsing out their coffee mugs when he heard it:

“They’re here!” Jayce called, already heading for the door.

Viktor moved slower, more measured, but there was no denying the small lift in his chest, that fluttering little beat of anticipation. It had only been a day, and yet…

He stepped into the front hallway just as Powder was stepping out of Ximena’s car.

And then she saw them.

Before Viktor could fully take in the moment, Powder was running — not a jog, not a shy shuffle, but running toward them. Toward them.

Viktor blinked in surprise and barely had time to brace himself before her arms wrapped tight around his middle. For a second, he just stood there — stunned in the best way — and then instinct took over. He bent down and returned the hug, one hand at her back, the other gently cradling her head.

“I missed you guys,” Powder mumbled, voice muffled against his shirt.

Jayce stepped in, kneeling beside them and wrapping his arms around both of them. “We missed you too, Powder. So, so much.”

Viktor felt her nod between them, and when she pulled back, her eyes were a little misty, but she was smiling — really smiling.

Gizmo popped her head out of the little carrier Ximena handed over, letting out a tiny meow as if to say she’d missed them too.

“Oh!” Powder reached back for her bag and dug around for a flat, wrapped object. “I made something.”

She handed it to Viktor, unwrapping it carefully herself as if the painting was too precious to let go fully.

It was a beautiful swirl of blues and purples — soft but wild — with tiny Gizmo paw prints dancing across the corners like stars. Viktor took it in, the detail, the texture, the emotion embedded in it. The little touches only Powder could’ve added.

Jayce let out a soft “Wow,” his eyes wide and admiring.

“You made this?” Viktor asked, already knowing the answer but needing to say something.

Powder nodded, suddenly a little shy again. “Yeah. Ximena painted too. But this one’s mine. I thought… it could go in the living room maybe.”

Viktor exchanged a quick glance with Jayce, who was grinning like he’d just been handed the moon.

“I think that’s a perfect idea,” Viktor said softly. “It’s beautiful, Powder.”

She looked up at them — cheeks a little flushed, smile a little crooked — and for a moment, everything felt whole again.

They were home.

Chapter Text

March had crept in like a slow thaw. The snow hadn’t vanished completely—it still clung to shaded corners and the edges of rooftops—but the air smelled different now. Softer. Brighter. When Jayce opened the front door that morning, sunlight filtered through the trees in slanted beams, and for the first time in months, it felt like the season was shifting. The sidewalks were wet with melt, little rivers running toward the drains. Somewhere far off, a bird was singing.

Powder was at school. Gizmo had taken over a patch of sunlight on the living room rug, her paws twitching in a dream.

Jayce stood in the kitchen, stirring a second cup of coffee, when Viktor came in from the lab room, fingers smudged with pencil and a thoughtful crease between his brows.

“You've been thinking about it again, haven’t you?” Jayce asked gently, handing over the coffee without needing to be asked.

Viktor took it, but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked toward the window, where the sunlight danced off the last of the icicles. Then he gave a small nod.

“I have,” Viktor said. “A lot.”

Jayce leaned against the counter. “Me too.”

They stood there for a quiet moment, sipping. The unspoken words between them were soft and full.

“She’s ours,” Viktor said finally, setting his mug down. “In every way that matters.”

Jayce nodded. “Yeah. She’s been ours since the first day she showed up to live with us.”

Viktor smiled at that, but his eyes were damp. “I don’t know what our life was before her. I can’t picture it anymore.”

Jayce walked over and rested a hand on Viktor’s back. “Neither can I. It’s like… we were waiting. And now that she’s here, it’s like a piece of the world clicked into place.”

There was a pause.

“I want to adopt her,” Jayce said, voice quiet but certain. “I want to make it real. Legal. I want her to know—without a shadow of a doubt—that we’re her family. Forever.”

Viktor exhaled slowly. “I do too.”

They looked at each other, and the weight of the decision felt less like pressure and more like promise.

Jayce’s chest swelled. “We’ll talk to her. When the time is right.”

Viktor nodded. “She might be scared. But I think she’ll say yes.”

Jayce turned to the window, where the world was slowly waking from winter. “It’s the right time to start something new.”

*****

The hallways buzzed with chatter and the squeak of rubber soles on the polished floors. Powder stood near the classroom door, backpack snug on her shoulders, her fingers picking at a loose thread on the strap. She was early. Too early. Ekko and Scar usually met her at this corner before the bell, but for now, she was alone.

She didn’t mind the quiet. Most of the time it was a relief. But today, something about it made her chest feel tight.

She glanced toward the far end of the hallway—and froze.

Maddie was walking toward her.

Just the sight of her made Powder’s stomach curl. She tried to look away, pretend she didn’t notice, but it was too late. Maddie had seen her.

“Well, look who it is,” Maddie said, her voice a little too sweet. “Little Powder. Waiting all alone, like always.”

Powder didn't answer. She kept her eyes low, hoping maybe Maddie would just walk past.

She didn’t.

Maddie stopped right in front of her, tilting her head. “So how long do you think it’ll last this time?”

Powder blinked, confused. “What?”

“You and your little happy foster family,” Maddie said, her tone sharp and sing-song at the same time. “I mean, let’s be real. They’ll get tired of you. They always do, right? You’re not exactly easy.”

Powder felt her face go cold. The words hit like a rock to the chest.

“That’s what happens to kids like you,” Maddie continued. “They pretend to care, but give it time. A month, maybe two more? You’ll be back in the system. Probably already looking at your next stop, huh?”

Powder’s breath caught in her throat. She took a small step back, but her feet felt like they were stuck in place. Her arms tightened around herself. She hated how her heart was pounding, how fast the panic was rising.

Maddie smiled like she’d won something.

“Thought you should know,” she said with a shrug. Then she turned and walked off, her footsteps light and careless as she disappeared around the corner.

Powder stayed frozen, the sounds of the hallway dimming around her. It was like the walls had closed in. Her throat felt tight. She tried to swallow the lump rising up, but it wouldn’t go away.

What if Maddie was right?

What if Viktor and Jayce... What if she was just temporary?

She blinked fast. Her vision blurred.

“Hey!” Ekko’s voice broke through the haze. “Powder! You good?”

She looked up, barely managing a nod as Ekko and Scar jogged over, laughing about something. Powder tried to smile, but it wobbled. Her eyes were still glassy, but she blinked again—hard—and hoped they wouldn’t notice.

*****

She closed the front door softly behind her, the familiar creak barely making a sound. Her backpack hung heavy on her shoulder, but she didn’t move past the entryway. Gizmo trotted in after her, tail flicking, but Powder didn’t call out. Not yet.

There were voices from the kitchen.

Jayce’s. Viktor’s.

She could hear them talking—laughing even—but something about it made her chest tighten. Maddie’s words from earlier echoed in her head, louder than ever.

They always leave. They always get tired of you. It’s only a matter of time.

She moved a little closer to the hallway corner and stood still. She didn’t mean to listen. Not really. But her legs wouldn’t move.

Jayce’s voice came first. “It’s a big step. I still can’t believe it’s really happening.”

Then Viktor replied, soft but sure, “I know. But I think it’s time. She’s not just some temporary stop.”

Powder’s breath hitched.

Jayce let out a sigh. “I just hope she understands. I mean... this changes everything.”

“I know,” Viktor said. “She’s going to have to leave a lot behind.”

Leave?

Leave what?

Leave them?

Her stomach dropped.

Jayce’s voice again, a little more serious now. “We have to make sure she knows it’s not because of anything she did. It’s just... what happens next.”

The blood rushed in her ears. Her palms started to sweat.

This was it, wasn’t it?

They were going to send her away. She’d messed it up somehow. Or maybe they’d just realized what Maddie said was true—she was too much. Too broken. Too complicated. And now it was time to move on. Like all the other families did.

She backed up a little too quickly and Gizmo gave a soft chirp, her tail brushing Powder’s leg. Powder shushed her gently, tears already forming in her eyes.

She didn’t want to hear more. She didn’t want it to be true. But her thoughts were already spinning, racing in tight circles.

Leave a lot behind... it’s not because of anything she did... a big step... this changes everything...

Because of her.

Because of her.

Because of her.

The words wrapped around her neck like rope.

Suddenly, the world was tilting. The air too thick. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a drum. Her fingers curled into her palms. Everything in her body screamed danger.

“No—” she gasped, stumbling back into the hallway wall.

“They lied!” she cried out suddenly, her voice cracking, too loud and too broken.

Her back slid down the wall as she dropped to the floor, clutching her head. “They lied—they said it was safe—they said I could stay—”

Her breath came in sharp, choking gasps.

“It’s a lie—it was all a lie—” she whispered and shouted at the same time, voice caught between rage and fear. Her arms wrapped tight around her body like she was trying to hold herself together.

“I’m not safe—I’m not safe—it’s not real—” Her hands gripped her hair.

Gizmo meowed, circling her anxiously, but Powder didn’t see her. She didn’t see anything anymore.

The panic consumed her like a fire. Her screams grew louder, echoing through the house.

Somewhere—somewhere far away—she heard footsteps.

A voice calling her name.

Then another.

But she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She couldn’t feel anything but terror.

All she knew was that it was ending. All of it.

That safety had been a lie.

That love was a trick.

And that she was alone again.

Hopelessly, helplessly alone.

The hallway stretched and blurred, warping like it was underwater. The walls felt like they were pulsing in and out, like a heartbeat she couldn’t control.

Her own heartbeat was too loud. Too fast.

Too much.

And then—

A voice.

“Powder.”

She whipped her head up, gasping.

Standing at the end of the hallway was Vi.

But it wasn’t really her. Not how Powder remembered her.

This Vi was distant, cold. Her arms were crossed, her expression sharp. “You never belonged anywhere, Powder. You ruin things. You always have.”

Powder whimpered, her nails digging into her arms.

More voices.

“Yeah,” sneered another figure now appearing beside Vi—a foster mother she had only stayed with for three weeks. “You were too much. Too quiet. Too weird.”

Another step.

A different face—another foster father.

“You think those two are going to keep you? They’re just waiting for you to mess up. It’s only a matter of time.”

“No—” Powder gasped, shrinking into herself, squeezing her eyes shut. “You’re not real. You’re not real.”

“Of course we are,” Vi said again, her voice harder now, echoing inside her skull. “You think you’re loved? You’re broken.”

“You don’t deserve a family,” said the others, one after another.

“You never did.”

“You’ll end up alone again.”

“You always do.”

“You always will.”

“STOP IT!” Powder screamed, tears streaming down her face. She pressed her hands over her ears, trying to block them out, but their words were inside her now, crawling under her skin, wrapping around her bones.

“I tried—I tried so hard,” she sobbed, rocking. “I just wanted to stay.”

The hallway twisted again, darkened at the edges. Even Gizmo’s quiet mews didn’t reach her anymore.

She was drowning in their voices, in her memories, in her own fear.

Her eyes darted around, searching for something—someone—but no one came.

No one ever stayed.

*****

It started as a sound.

A sharp cry—ragged, terrified.

Jayce froze mid-sentence, heart stalling. Then came the second scream.

“Powder,” Viktor whispered, already moving.

Jayce was right behind him, bolting down the hallway, his socks slipping slightly on the hardwood. The closer they got, the clearer it became: it was Powder’s voice. Screaming.

Screaming like she was being torn apart.

They turned the corner—and stopped short.

She was crumpled in the middle of the hall, on the floor, knees tucked to her chest, arms over her ears. Her face was pale and soaked with tears, mouth open in a broken wail. Her whole body was trembling violently.

“No—no—you lied—you all lied!” she cried, flinching from something unseen. “I’ll never be safe! I’ll never stay!”

Jayce’s heart shattered. He dropped to his knees beside her. “Powder—hey—hey, it’s okay, it’s Jayce, I’m here.”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes darted right through him, glassy, unfocused, like she wasn’t even seeing him.

“Powder!” Viktor crouched on her other side, voice tight with panic. “It’s us. You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

But her breathing was sharp, shallow, too fast. She rocked back and forth, whispering things that made Jayce’s stomach twist:

“She’s right… she’s right… I ruin everything… I ruin everything…”

Jayce reached out, but she flinched violently, curling tighter, like even his touch burned. She let out another scream—louder this time—and then suddenly began clawing at her arms, like she was trying to tear the voices out of her skin.

“No, no, baby—please—don’t do that,” Jayce begged, trying not to cry himself. “You’re not alone. You’re safe. Please hear me—Powder, please.”

Viktor was trembling too, but he gently, carefully, began speaking to her in the softest voice Jayce had ever heard from him. “Powder… listen to me. Breathe with me. One breath in. One breath out. We’re real. We’re right here.”

Still, she didn’t register them.

Jayce glanced at Viktor. “I don’t think she can hear us…”

“We stay anyway,” Viktor said firmly. “We don’t leave.”

Jayce nodded and slowly, carefully sat beside her. He didn’t touch her—just sat close, grounding her with his presence.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be okay right now. You just have to know we’re here.”

He said it over and over again.

It was like watching a storm drain from the sky.

Her screams faded into shallow, broken sobs—then into shaking silence. Powder's eyes fluttered, unfocused, then blinked rapidly as if waking up from something far away.

And then she broke.

The crying started small—a hiccup in her breath, a quiver in her mouth. Then her face crumpled and the dam burst. She folded in on herself, sobbing, gasping like her lungs couldn’t hold the pain anymore.

Jayce didn’t move. Neither did Viktor. They stayed just as they were, knees on the hardwood floor, close but not touching, their hands open and waiting in case she reached.

But she didn’t.

When Viktor tried to gently place a hand on her arm, Powder recoiled, pulling away like she’d been burned.

“No,” she whispered, her voice so hoarse it barely made sound. “No—don’t—please don’t touch me—”

“Okay,” Viktor said immediately, pulling his hand back. “Okay, muffin. We won’t.”

“We’re here,” Jayce added quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “That’s all. We’re just here.”

She cried harder.

Jayce watched helplessly, his heart twisting in on itself, as Powder tried to wipe her face with shaking hands. Her fingers clutched the fabric of her sleeves like she was trying to hold herself together.

And then, finally, between the sobs, she spoke.

“Y-you’re… you’re leaving me.”

Jayce felt the world tilt beneath him.

“What?” he breathed, not sure he’d heard right.

“You’re… leaving,” Powder repeated, barely above a whisper. “You… lied. Just like the rest of them.”

Viktor leaned forward slightly, voice shaking. “Powder, no. That’s not—”

But she only cried harder, burying her face in her arms, refusing to look at either of them.

Jayce didn’t know how, but somehow… it was worse than anything she’d said before.

And it hurt like hell.

Jayce looked across the space between them and met Viktor’s eyes. There was no need for words—just a silent, mutual ache and understanding. Viktor gave a small nod, his jaw tight, and Jayce exhaled shakily.

He turned back to Powder, his voice steady even though everything inside him trembled.

“Powder,” he said gently. “We’re not leaving you.”

Viktor leaned in just a little, his voice soft and careful. “We’re not getting rid of you. That’s not what we were talking about.”

Powder didn’t look up. Her whole body was still hunched, like she was trying to disappear into the floor.

Jayce pressed on, his heart heavy. “We were talking about… adopting you.”

The words sat in the space between them like something too fragile to touch.

Silence.

Powder didn’t react. Not really. She didn’t move or speak or cry louder. She just sat there, small and shaking and stunned, like her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the sentence.

Jayce didn’t expect her to.

He and Viktor exchanged another look. They weren’t sure if she’d even heard them. But they stayed close anyway—quiet, steady, and present—because even if she couldn’t believe it yet, they meant every word.

*****

She sat frozen. Her mind was loud with everything except what they had just said.

Adopt her?

No. That wasn’t—no, they couldn’t have said that.

Her body trembled so hard her teeth chattered. The tears hadn’t stopped, but now they came slower, thicker, hot on her cheeks. Her chest ached, pulled tight like it was caving in.

They were lying.

They had to be lying.

People didn’t stay. That was the rule. That was how it always went.

But still, they hadn’t left.

Jayce and Viktor were still there, voices soft and steady, not moving away even though she was curled up and shaking and broken and completely wrong.

Jayce reached for her again, carefully—like he wasn’t sure she’d let him—and this time, Powder didn’t move away. Couldn’t. Her limbs were heavy with confusion and fear and something else she didn’t dare name yet.

His arms slid around her, warm and solid, grounding.

Then Viktor came close too, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. And suddenly, she was wrapped in both of them—held.

Too stunned to speak, too exhausted to pull away.

She didn’t understand what was happening. But she felt it.

Jayce’s voice rumbled softly next to her ear. “We could never imagine our lives without you, Powder. Never.”

“You are our daughter already,” Viktor added, his voice a little tight, like he was holding back his own emotions. “We love you. So much. We want you to stay. Always.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

Always?

The word felt impossible. It didn’t belong to her. Not really.

But the way they were holding her—firm and safe and steady—maybe it did. Maybe it could.

A sob slipped out of her before she could stop it, and then the dam broke. Powder buried her face into Jayce’s chest, clutching his shirt, crying so hard her entire body curled in on itself. She didn’t have words. Just raw, aching relief. Fear. Hope.

She felt Viktor press his forehead gently to the side of her head, felt Jayce’s arms tighten around her, and it all hurt and healed at the same time.

They stayed with her.

They stayed.

*****

Viktor didn’t know how long they sat there on the hallway floor—just the three of them, breathing through the weight of it all. The tears, the panic, the fear. It had cracked something open, and now they were sitting in the quiet aftermath.

He could feel Powder’s heartbeat against his side. Slowing. Not calm, not yet, but coming back to them.

Her fingers were still knotted tightly in Jayce’s shirt, and she was pressed between them like the world would fall apart if they let go. So they didn’t.

Jayce met his eyes over the top of Powder’s head—red-rimmed, just as shaken. But steady. They were in this together. Whatever it took.

Then, Viktor felt it—a small movement. Powder shifting. Breathing in.

“...I want to stay.”

The words were barely there. A whisper, rough and uneven.

He stilled, not wanting to startle her.

“I want to stay,” she said again, a little louder this time. She didn’t lift her head. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to say that again.”

Viktor’s throat tightened.

She pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at them both with tear-streaked cheeks and glassy eyes. “I thought… I thought maybe you were getting tired of me. Like the others.”

Viktor’s heart ached. “Oh, Powder…”

Jayce’s voice came just as soft, warm and unshakable. “We’re not. We never were.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever have a family again,” Powder said, blinking fast as more tears spilled over. “I didn’t think anyone would want me. Not really. Not forever.”

Viktor reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “We want you, Powder. You are not temporary. You never were.”

She sniffed, nodding slowly, as if trying to let herself believe it.

“And you never have to be alone again,” Viktor added. “You’re home.”

Powder took a shaky breath, leaning back into their arms again, slower this time—less like she was falling and more like she was choosing.

It wasn’t everything. Not yet. There was still healing ahead. Still more to talk about.

But Viktor felt it—the moment something deep inside her shifted.

She was choosing to believe them.

Maybe not all the way.

But it was a start.

*****

Viktor stood quietly just inside Powder’s bedroom door, watching as she moved slowly around her room, the soft rustle of fabric and the gentle clink of the zipper on her pajamas breaking the stillness. The tiredness in her movements pulled at his heart. It wasn’t just the weariness of a long day; it was the weight of everything she’d been carrying—the doubts, the fears, the fragile hope she barely let show.

Jayce sat on the edge of her bed, his presence calm and steady. He caught Viktor’s eye and gave a small nod, a silent agreement that they would give Powder all the time she needed tonight. No rushing. No pressure.

Powder climbed into bed carefully, pulling the soft blanket up to her chin like a shield. Her eyes, still glistening from the earlier tears, flicked between Jayce and Viktor with a vulnerability that tugged at Viktor’s chest.

Jayce’s voice broke the quiet, low and gentle. “Powder, we love you. So much. You’re not just our foster daughter—you’re our family. We couldn’t imagine life without you.”

Viktor took a step closer, his own voice soft but sure. “We’re here for you. Always. You belong here—with us.”

Powder’s breathing hitched, and she looked away, as if the words were too big for her to hold all at once. But then, just barely, she mumbled, “I… I love you guys too…”

Viktor’s heart clenched. Those words—they were more than he’d dared hope for. They were the bridge spanning the distance of all the pain and fear she’d carried.

Jayce reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind Powder’s ear. “That means everything to us, Powderbug.”

Powder’s eyelids fluttered closed, and she settled deeper into the covers. Viktor could see the tension in her shoulders easing, the way her hands unclenched and relaxed on the blanket.

They stayed with her, neither of them moving to leave, giving her their presence as a quiet reassurance.

Viktor glanced over at Jayce, who smiled softly, eyes warm and full of love.

Minutes stretched out in gentle silence, broken only by Powder’s slow, steady breathing as she drifted further toward sleep.

Before he finally moved to step back toward the door, Viktor whispered, “We’ll always be here. No matter what.”

Jayce echoed, “Forever.”

Viktor closed the door quietly behind them, and the stillness of the night wrapped around him like a promise.

They were family now.

And they would face whatever came next—together.

Chapter Text

The sun was already up when Powder opened her eyes.

She didn’t need anyone to come wake her—not today. The morning light poured in through the window, soft and golden, and for once, it felt comforting instead of harsh. Her room was still and quiet, but her chest was already fluttering with nerves.

Today was the day.

Three months had passed since Viktor and Jayce sat with her on the hallway floor and told her they wanted to adopt her. Not just take care of her for now—but keep her. Love her. Choose her forever.

It hadn’t felt real at first. Honestly, it still didn’t some days. But now it was June. Spring had melted into summer, the sun stayed out longer, and today—the court papers were signed. It was official. She was going to be their daughter.

Powder sat up slowly, heart already racing, and glanced toward the chair by the window. Her outfit was there, laid out neatly the night before. A soft pastel-blue dress with tiny embroidered flowers. A light sweater, just in case it got chilly in the courthouse. She’d picked it out with Jayce and Viktor last week, after hours of trying things on. Jayce had spun her in front of the mirror like she was on a runway, while Viktor suggested the perfect ribbon for her hair.

Underneath the chair were her shoes, polished and ready.

Before she could move to get dressed, a familiar little weight leapt onto the bed. Gizmo let out a small chirp and rubbed against her arm like she knew something was happening.

“Hey, Giz,” Powder murmured, scooping her up gently. “You remember what today is?”

Gizmo purred, the sound soft and soothing, and tucked her nose against Powder’s shoulder. Powder held her close, feeling the warmth and the tiny, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “It’s really happening. I’m really staying.”

Her stomach twisted in that same way it had for days—like butterflies were bouncing around inside her—but it didn’t feel scary. Not today. It just felt… big.

Powder sat there for a moment longer, arms wrapped around her kitten, watching the light shift across the floor. She could hear soft voices down the hall. Jayce’s laugh, Viktor’s lower hum of agreement.

They were here. They were staying.

And so was she.

*****

Viktor adjusted his glasses for the third time that morning as he thumbed through the folder of paperwork on the kitchen table. The pages were neatly clipped and already in order—he knew that. He’d double-checked it last night. And again this morning. Still, his fingers ran over the top sheet once more, just to be sure.

Everything was ready.

Behind him, Jayce let out a soft groan, muttering something under his breath as he fumbled with the knot of his tie in the hallway mirror.

“Need help?” Viktor called gently over his shoulder, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Jayce gave a breathy laugh. “I’ve tied this thing a hundred times, and now suddenly I have no idea what I’m doing.” Another beat, then: “God, I’m a mess.”

Viktor closed the folder with a soft snap and turned to face him. “You’re allowed to be,” he said simply. “It’s a big day.”

Jayce looked over at him, eyes a little too shiny already, and offered a crooked smile.

“I keep thinking about when she first came here,” Jayce said quietly. He was still holding the tie in his hands but had given up on the knot. “She barely spoke. Would barely let us touch her. Wouldn’t let herself believe this could be real.”

Viktor nodded, stepping closer. “And now she calls this place home.”

Jayce blinked fast, but didn’t say anything.

Viktor reached out and gently took the tie from his hands, fingers working with quiet precision as he fixed the knot. It gave his hands something to do, even while his chest felt too full.

“She’s grown so much,” Viktor murmured as he straightened the collar. “Stronger. Softer, too. I see the way she looks at us now. She lets herself be loved. That alone is—” He stopped himself and shook his head slightly, unable to put it into words.

Jayce rested his forehead against Viktor’s for a moment, a silent exchange passing between them.

Then, a sound caught both their attention—the soft creak of the hallway floorboards.

Viktor turned and saw her.

Powder stood in front of the mirror at the end of the hall, adjusting the sleeves of her dress. She hadn’t noticed them yet. Her lips were pursed in quiet concentration as she gently smoothed the fabric, fingers twitching nervously, then stilling.

She looked like herself. Beautifully, unmistakably herself.

Jayce stepped quietly beside Viktor, not saying a word as they both just stood there for a moment, watching her.

“I used to wonder,” Viktor whispered, almost to himself, “if we were enough for her. If love would be enough.”

Jayce leaned just a little closer. “I think she wondered that too. But look at her now.”

Viktor nodded once.

He wasn’t sure if his heart had ever felt so full—and so fragile—in the same breath.

“Let’s make her ours,” Viktor said softly.

*****

The scent of warm cinnamon and toast drifted through the kitchen as Viktor poured hot tea into three mismatched mugs. Jayce was at the stove flipping pancakes, humming something off-key under his breath, while Gizmo circled his feet with her soft little mews, hopeful for scraps.

Viktor placed the mugs on the table—one with a fox, one with faded stars, and one painted with a crooked heart Powder had given them back in April. He smiled quietly to himself, then turned at the sound of soft footsteps.

Powder appeared in the doorway, still tugging nervously at the hem of her dress. The ribbon in her hair had already slipped slightly to one side.

Jayce turned immediately. “There she is,” he said brightly, holding up the spatula like a trophy. “Birthday pancakes for the new official daughter.”

Powder cracked a smile, just a little one, and slid into her seat at the table. Gizmo jumped up onto the bench beside her and curled into a loaf, tail flicking.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “They smell really good.”

Viktor handed her the fox mug, already knowing she’d choose that one.

She wrapped her hands around it and stared into the steam for a moment before speaking again.

“I’m… excited,” she said. Her voice was a bit unsure, but not shaky. “But I’m kinda nervous too.”

Viktor sat beside her and gently nudged her shoulder with his. “That’s alright. Big days can be both.”

Jayce brought the plate of pancakes to the table and sat down across from them, face warm and eyes full.

“It’s a big change, but it’s also not,” he said. “You’ve already been ours for a long time. Today just makes it official.”

Powder gave a little nod, still staring at her mug, but there was a small, crooked smile forming at the corner of her mouth.

“I dreamed about this when I was little,” she said suddenly, voice quieter now. “But I stopped after a while. It hurt too much.”

Viktor didn’t say anything at first. He just reached over and rested his hand gently over hers.

Jayce spoke for both of them. “We’re so glad you didn’t stop hoping, Powder. Because we needed you, too.”

She sniffled once, and Viktor saw her blink fast, like she was trying not to cry.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Just… happy.”

They didn’t push more words on her. The rest of breakfast was quiet, filled with syrup and second helpings and the occasional burst of laughter when Gizmo batted at Jayce’s napkin.

Viktor watched her carefully, tucking every moment into his heart.

Today was the day they made it real.

And she already was everything.

****

Jayce adjusted his tie for what felt like the hundredth time as they stepped through the courthouse doors. The air inside was cooler than he expected, still and quiet in a way that made his footsteps sound too loud. Powder walked between him and Viktor, her hand wrapped tightly around Viktor’s fingers, knuckles pale.

She hadn’t said much on the drive over—just looked out the window.

Jayce glanced down at her now. She looked so small next to them, swallowed up in her carefully chosen dress and her best shoes, her hair neatly pinned. But her jaw was set tight, and he could see the worry in the way she bit at the inside of her cheek.

Viktor leaned closer and murmured something to her. She nodded, barely, but didn’t let go of his hand.

They entered the courtroom together. It was a modest room—soft light filtering through narrow windows, pale wooden benches arranged in quiet rows. And on those benches were their people.

Ximena waved gently from the second row, her smile warm and teary-eyed. Caitlyn was seated beside her, one arm draped around Ekko’s shoulders, and her other hand gently resting on Scar’s arm, as if grounding them both. She caught Jayce’s eye and offered a quiet nod, her eyes glassy with emotion.

Ekko gave a little thumbs-up when Powder spotted him. Scar just nodded solemnly, but his lips twitched like he was holding back something proud. Powder blinked hard, like she couldn’t quite believe they were all here.

Jayce gently guided her to their seats near the front. A moment later, the bailiff called them forward, and the judge entered.

She was older, her hair pulled into a twist, glasses perched at the edge of her nose. But her eyes were kind. Warm. And when she looked down at them, her whole expression softened.

“Miss Powder,” she said gently. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I’ve read your file and the update reports. Seems to me you’ve had a very big year.”

Powder blinked again and nodded. She stepped closer to Viktor, almost hiding behind him. Jayce placed a steady hand on her back.

The judge continued kindly, asking them a few questions for the record. Jayce answered first—yes, they understood the responsibilities of adoption, yes, this was voluntary, yes, Powder had been in their care for nearly nine months now. Viktor answered next—yes, she was a part of their family, yes, they were absolutely sure.

Then the judge turned to Powder.

“Powder,” she said, voice soft. “Do you want to become their daughter? Officially?”

Powder looked up, eyes wide, and for a second Jayce thought she might freeze. But then her voice came out, quiet but firm:

“…Yeah. I do.”

The judge smiled.

“Well then,” she said, picking up her pen. “Let’s make it official.”

Jayce felt Viktor’s hand squeeze his behind Powder, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. The judge signed the paper, turned it around, and handed a stamped copy to the clerk.

“With the power of this court,” she said gently, “Powder, I declare that you are now the legal daughter of Jayce and Viktor Talis. Congratulations.”

There was a silence in the room—just for a second—then a soft gasp from Powder. She blinked fast, but tears still welled up and spilled over. She didn’t say anything, just turned and leaned hard into Viktor’s side first, arms wrapping tight. Jayce stepped in on the other side, circling his arms around both of them.

Powder sobbed quietly, tucked into both of them, her small body shaking with something deep and heavy and full of relief. Jayce pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “We’ve got you. Always.”

From the gallery, quiet applause began—Ximena wiping her eyes, Scar clapping stiffly beside Ekko, who beamed like it was his own win. Caitlyn smiled from her seat and gave a small, happy nod, her hand briefly brushing under her eyes before she clapped along with the others.

Jayce didn’t let go. Neither did Viktor.

And Powder held onto them like she finally believed this was real.

*****

Powder’s heart was still fluttering as she stepped outside the courthouse. The sun was warm on her face, and the air smelled like fresh pavement and blooming trees. She spotted the small group waiting for her—Ximena with her kind smile, Caitlyn waving excitedly, and just beyond them, Ekko and Scar, both looking a little shy but happy.

Taking a deep breath, Powder walked over.

“Hi,” she said softly, looking first at Ximena.

Ximena crouched down and opened her arms. “Hey, sweetheart. You did amazing in there.”

Powder smiled, a little shy but grateful. “Thanks… It was scary, but it felt good too.”

Caitlyn stepped forward, her voice gentle. “I’m really proud of you, Powder. You’re so brave.”

Powder blinked back a tear. “I’m glad you were here.”

Ekko gave a small grin. “We wouldn’t miss it. You’re family now.”

Scar nodded in agreement, his usual tough exterior softening. “Yeah. You’re stuck with us.”

Powder laughed quietly, feeling a warmth she hadn’t known before.

“Thanks for coming,” Powder said, her voice steady. “It means a lot.”

Ximena smiled warmly. “You’re never alone. Not anymore.”

Powder took another deep breath and felt, truly felt, like this was the start of something new—something real.

*****

The car ride home felt like a dream.

Powder leaned into the seatbelt, her body still tired from crying, but her chest was lighter somehow—like the air had finally cleared after a long, stormy night. Viktor sat beside her in the backseat, still holding her hand. Jayce drove, glancing at them now and then in the rearview mirror with that same soft smile he always had when he looked at her lately. The kind of smile that made her feel… safe. Real. Like this wasn’t just a perfect day that would disappear when she blinked.

When they turned onto their street, she noticed something fluttering outside the front window—streamers?

Her stomach did a flip.

As soon as they stepped inside, Gizmo meowed loudly and came trotting over, winding around her ankles like she hadn’t just seen her that morning. Powder bent down to scoop her up, burying her face in the kitten’s soft fur. The moment she looked up again, her eyes widened.

The living room was decorated. Not like full-on party-decorated, but it was still more than enough to make her stop in her tracks.

There was a hand-painted sign strung up across the archway: “Welcome Home, Powder.”

The lettering was a little uneven, but clearly done with love. Balloons bobbed gently at the ends of chairs, and on the coffee table, there was a cake with her name on it—purple frosting and little star decorations just like she liked.

She didn’t even realize she was crying again until Viktor crouched beside her and gently brushed the tear from her cheek.

“Too much?” he asked softly, voice careful.

Powder shook her head and laughed through her sniffles. “No. It’s just…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It was everything.

Jayce came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You didn’t think we’d let today pass without cake, did you?”

They moved into the kitchen, where Gizmo promptly claimed a chair for herself. Jayce pulled out a menu and handed it to her with a grin. “Okay, boss. You’re officially our daughter, so you get to pick dinner. Whatever you want.”

Powder stared at the menu for a second, then grinned mischievously. “Waffles.”

Jayce blinked. “Waffles?”

“With strawberries and whipped cream. And sprinkles,” she said, more confident now. “And bacon. On the side.”

Viktor snorted, reaching over to muss her hair. “Waffles it is.”

While they cooked together—Jayce at the stove, Viktor prepping the toppings—Powder helped set the table. They made jokes about how waffles should be an official dinner food, and Viktor mock-argued that breakfast at night was a terrible idea while piling extra strawberries on her plate. 

After they ate and everyone was full (and sticky from syrup), Jayce said, “Okay. One more thing.”

He disappeared into the hallway and came back with a small box wrapped in shimmery purple paper and a white ribbon. Powder blinked.

“It’s not big,” Jayce said, handing it to her, “but we wanted you to have it today.”

She opened it carefully, fingers shaking just a little.

Inside was a bracelet—silver, simple, with one word engraved in the center:

Family.

Powder stared at it for a long second. Viktor knelt beside her again, his voice soft.

“We picked it out together. For whenever you need to be reminded.”

“There’s more,” Jayce added gently, pulling something else from behind his back.

A picture frame—wooden and painted a dusty lavender. Inside was a photo: the three of them from earlier in the spring, sitting on the back porch. She was smiling—truly smiling—in the middle, Gizmo in her lap, Jayce on one side and Viktor on the other.

Below the photo, in neat script, it said:

“Home is where the three of us are.”

And next to that photo were two more empty slots, waiting to be filled.

Tears came again, no matter how hard she tried to stop them. But this time, they didn’t feel scary or overwhelming. They felt warm. Safe.

She set the gifts carefully on the table and threw her arms around both of them at once.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

Jayce kissed her temple. “No, thank you.”

Viktor wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “You’ve made our family whole, Powder.”

She pulled back just enough to look at them, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I still feel scared sometimes,” she admitted.

“That’s okay,” Jayce said.

“We’ll be here through all of it,” Viktor added.

Powder nodded, then looked down at the bracelet again. Her family. Her real family.

Gizmo jumped back into her lap like she knew the moment was important.

They didn’t do much else that night. They didn’t need to.

They just curled up together on the couch, under a blanket, with Gizmo nestled at their feet—and Powder, for the first time in her life, felt completely, quietly, joyfully home.

*****

The soft glow of the bedside lamp filled Powder’s room with a warm, gentle light. Jayce and Viktor moved quietly, their voices low and soothing as they helped Powder get ready for bed. Viktor lifted the cozy blanket and tucked it carefully around her, smoothing it over her shoulders like a shield against the night.

Jayce brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer as if to reassure her without words. Gizmo, purred softly from the foot of the bed, kneading her tiny paws into the blanket as if joining the family’s quiet circle of comfort.

Jayce settled beside her, taking her small hand in his. “You know, Powder,” he said gently, “we love you so much. More than you could ever imagine.”

Viktor smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “We’re so lucky to have you here with us.”

Powder’s eyes shimmered in the soft light. She blinked back a few tears—not from sadness, but from a kind of relief she had never known before. “I love you guys too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with meaning.

Jayce’s grin was wide and tender. Viktor’s eyes were soft, full of pride and love. They stayed close, their presence like a quiet promise, sharing gentle words and the peace of this moment.

Minutes passed, filled with nothing but quiet breathing and the occasional purr from Gizmo. Slowly, Powder’s eyelids grew heavy, and her breaths evened out, deeper and calmer. Before she drifted fully into sleep, she murmured one last time, “Thank you.”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a look, their hearts full. They whispered their own goodnights, careful not to break the fragile peace, and stayed by her side a little longer, savoring the simple, perfect feeling of being together — a family.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet, just for a moment. A rare kind of stillness—sunlight slanting through the windows, catching on the brushstrokes of a half-finished canvas leaning against the wall. The living room had slowly, over the years, become a kind of informal gallery. Paintings leaned in corners, hung unevenly on walls, even curled beneath paperweights on the coffee table. Most were signed with a small, curly "P" in the bottom corner.

Jayce stood there, holding a coffee mug that read World’s Okayest Dad, a gift Powder got him when she was eleven, and tried not to feel too emotional about how fast it all had gone.

Fifteen.

Powder was fifteen.

It still blew his mind sometimes—the quiet, scared eight-year-old girl who had clung to Viktor’s sleeve at her first therapy appointment was now someone with opinions. And style. And a playlist she proudly described as divorced dad rock, which Jayce didn’t understand at all but had learned not to question. If it helped her feel strong and grounded, he wasn’t going to fight it. Even if it meant waking up to twenty one pilots blasting through the walls on a Saturday.

She was confident now. Sharp. Creative in ways Jayce had never been. She had a sketchbook in her backpack, another in the kitchen, and three or four scattered across her room. She talked about color like it was a language. He swore she could look at an empty canvas and see things that hadn’t happened yet.

The Firelights were still a thing too. Powder, Ekko, and Scar had somehow defied all odds and stayed close over the years. Even with high school pulling them in different directions, they still carved out time for each other. Sky Young had joined the mix somewhere along the way—an introverted girl with a quick wit and a serious passion for astronomy. Jayce liked her immediately.

Not everything had stayed easy, though.

Caitlyn had graduated in social work two years ago and was working full-time now. Powder had taken the change harder than she let on, Jayce knew. She had always looked up to Caitlyn like an older sister, and seeing less of her—even with texts and occasional visits—had left a quiet ache that Powder mostly kept tucked away behind jokes and music.

And then there was the true crime obsession. That had come out of nowhere. Powder loved watching old documentaries and listening to podcasts about unsolved cases while she painted or did homework. Jayce tried to keep an open mind, but he couldn’t help feeling unsettled when he passed her room and heard a chipper voice talking about serial killers and autopsy reports.

“She finds it interesting,” Viktor had said once, shrugging. “It’s her way of understanding the world.”

“Yeah, but can she understand it… maybe with a little less murder?”

Still, despite his nerves, he loved how curious she was. How her mind worked. How she never stopped asking questions or trying to understand people—even the ones who didn’t deserve it.

He took a sip of coffee, letting his eyes drift toward the painting above the TV. A self-portrait Powder had done a few months back. Not a literal one, but something symbolic—half made of smoke and paintbrushes, the other half sunflowers and sky. He didn’t know what it all meant, exactly, but he didn’t need to.

It was her. Beautiful, layered, and full of light.

She’d made a life here. A real one.

And every day, Jayce still woke up grateful that she had let them be a part of it.

He leaned against the doorframe of her bedroom, coffee now long gone and forgotten, just watching.

Powder sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a battlefield of sketchbooks, headphones, and a half-eaten granola bar. Viktor was behind her on the bed, nimble fingers weaving careful braids into her hair with the kind of practiced ease that only came from years of doing it just the way she liked. Powder’s hair had grown out longer in the past year—still that blue shade she refused to give up, the tips currently dipped in lavender.

She was talking a mile a minute.

“—and then they found a receipt in the glove box from two towns over, which is wild, because the timeline doesn’t even make sense. Like, how could he be there and also back at the diner in under an hour unless he had help? So now they think the ex-girlfriend was lying the whole time—”

“You are very passionate about hypothetical murder,” Viktor said dryly, raising an eyebrow as he looped another braid into place.

“It’s not hypothetical,” she grinned. “It’s just unsolved. There's a difference.”

Jayce chuckled softly, shaking his head as he stepped further into the room. “Remind me never to make you mad.”

“Too late, Dad,” she said with a smirk, tossing a small pillow at him. “You already judged my taste in music and true crime this week.”

Jayce caught the pillow midair and dramatically clutched it to his chest. “Wounded. Betrayed. My own daughter.”

Powder rolled her eyes, grinning, and leaned back slightly into Viktor’s hands as he started on the last braid.

“I mean, you still think Bon Jovi is a personality trait,” she teased.

“He is a lifestyle,” Jayce said, completely deadpan.

Viktor chuckled under his breath, gently tying off the end of the braid with a lavender scrunchie to match her hair. “There. All done, muffin.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said automatically, her voice softening in that way it sometimes did when she was really comfortable—unguarded.

Jayce felt something swell in his chest at the sound of it. Not just the word. The ease. The way she said it without thinking. Like it had always been theirs.

She turned and beamed at Viktor before glancing over at Jayce. “Do you think I could convince Scar to listen to one episode if I bribe him with pizza?”

“I think you could convince Scar to do just about anything with pizza,” Jayce replied, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Except maybe listen to a podcast about dead people.”

“He watched Saw on purpose. This is basically public safety.”

Jayce laughed again and reached over to ruffle her hair gently before remembering the braids and immediately pulling back in mock fear. “Sorry. Forgot. Braided zone. My life was in danger.”

“Correct,” she said smugly, straightening her shoulders. “This is sacred hair now.”

She looked so happy—teasing, bright-eyed, just…herself. And for a moment, Jayce just sat in that little bedroom and soaked in the fact that this was real. That this was his kid. That somehow, after all the storms and broken pieces, this strange and perfect little family had found each other.

*****

The late July sun filtered softly through the window, painting the kitchen in golden light. The ceiling fan hummed gently overhead, stirring the warm air while the sound of distant sprinklers clicked rhythmically from someone’s yard down the street.

Viktor sat at the table with his hands wrapped around a mug of tea, half-drunk and lukewarm now. Powder sat across from him, one knee pulled up to her chest, her socked foot bouncing lightly. She’d been unusually quiet for the past few minutes, absentmindedly peeling the label off her water bottle.

“You’ve been thinking,” he said gently.

Powder looked up, surprised, then let out a soft laugh. “You can tell?”

“Always,” Viktor said with a small smile. “So. Tell me. What is going on in that clever little head of yours?”

She tilted her head, pulling at the plastic again before setting the bottle down. “I was just thinking about school starting next month.”

“Hmm.” Viktor raised an eyebrow. “That’s a whole three weeks away.”

“Four,” she corrected. “But who’s counting.”

“Clearly not you.”

Powder smirked for a second before it faded into something more sincere. “I’m actually… kinda excited. Like, more than usual.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I signed up for band this year,” she said, a little spark of pride in her voice. “Percussion. I got my schedule in the email yesterday.”

“Percussion?” Viktor blinked, amused. “I thought you hated loud things.”

“I do. But this is like—organized loud.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course.”

“And I dunno…” she shrugged, resting her chin in her hand. “It feels like the first year where I’m really me at school. Like not just the weird quiet girl in the back.”

He nodded slowly. “You’ve come a long way, Powder.”

She smiled for a moment. But then her eyes drifted toward the window, the light catching on the edges of her hair as her expression softened.

“I just wish Caitlyn was still around.”

Viktor’s heart tugged.

“She’s still around,” he said gently. “Just… out there doing big things now.”

“I know.” Powder reached for her bottle again, but didn’t open it. “It’s just… weird not seeing her all the time. She used to pick me up from therapy or randomly show up with coffee and ask how school was. Now she’s like… grown-up grown-up.”

“She’s proud of you, you know,” Viktor said. “She told me last time we spoke. Said you’re one of the bravest people she’s ever met.”

Powder blinked fast, but didn’t quite look at him. “I miss her.”

“I know,” Viktor said softly, reaching across the table to gently cover her hand. “But you’re not losing her. Just… growing alongside her. That’s what happens when people love each other and the world keeps turning.”

Powder was quiet, letting that sit.

Then she squeezed his hand. “Do you think she’ll come visit before school starts?”

“I’m sure she will,” Viktor said with a small smile. “But either way, she’s always a phone call away. And so are we.”

Powder nodded, eyes shining just a little.

“Also,” Viktor added with a teasing look, “please warn me before bringing a snare drum into this house.”

She snorted. “No promises.”

Viktor was about to stand up and refill his tea when Powder suddenly leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a spark of mischief that instantly put him on guard.

“So…” she started slowly, dragging out the word.

Viktor lowered himself back into his chair, suspicious already. “Yes?”

“I was thinking…” she paused, watching him carefully, “maybe I could get my ears pierced again?”

From the hallway, Jayce’s voice cut in before Viktor could respond. “Absolutely not.”

Powder groaned. “You didn’t even hear the type of piercing!”

Jayce appeared in the doorway with his eyebrows raised and arms crossed. “I don’t need to. I remember the last time. You fainted and threw up at the mall.”

“That was, like, two years ago!” Powder said, waving her arms. “I was twelve.”

Jayce gave her a flat look. “And I’m supposed to believe you’ve evolved into someone who won’t lose consciousness in a retail jewelry kiosk?”

Powder scowled, then turned to Viktor, eyes wide and pleading. “Daddy.”

Viktor blinked, caught off guard as always when she used that tone.

She leaned toward him. “It’s just a helix piercing. One little ring up here.” She tapped the top cartilage of her ear. “It’s not even that crazy. I want something that feels a little more like me.”

Jayce made a frustrated noise. “A helix?! That’s cartilage, that’s not even the same thing! That gets infected easier—”

“I’ve already looked up the care and everything,” Powder interrupted, clearly having prepared this battle. “I’m older now. I actually know how to take care of stuff. I haven’t even lost a single earring since the last time.”

Viktor bit back a smile, then glanced toward Jayce, who was still mid-panic. He reached out and gently touched his husband’s arm.

“Jayce,” Viktor said calmly, “maybe this isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s a piercing, not a tattoo on her forehead.”

Jayce shot him a betrayed look. “You’re taking her side?”

“I’m trying to understand it,” Viktor said with a slow shrug. “She wants a little self-expression. She’s not asking for a motorcycle.”

“Yet,” Jayce muttered.

Powder smiled slyly. “You did say you wanted me to be more confident.”

Jayce groaned, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

Viktor chuckled softly, then looked at Powder. “If we do this, you’re being responsible about it. You clean it properly. No fussing with it. And you talk to the piercer yourself—we’re not explaining anything for you.”

Powder nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes. I promise. I’ll do all of that. I’ll even print out a care checklist.”

Jayce looked between the two of them—Viktor’s raised brow and Powder’s eager grin. He sighed in resignation. “Fine. But if you pass out, I’m not carrying you this time.”

“I won’t!” Powder said triumphantly.

“Uh-huh. You said that last time. You turned green and fell into a rack of hair bows.”

Powder just beamed.

Viktor shook his head with a small smile, sipping what remained of his tea. The girl knew exactly how to pick her battles—and even better, how to win them.

*****

The afternoon sun beat down gently as Powder sat on the curb with Sky, both sipping icy drinks from a nearby corner store. The four of them—Ekko, Scar, Sky, and herself—had spent most of the day goofing off, talking about school starting next month, and daring each other to try tricks they definitely weren’t ready for.

Scar kicked his board up into his hands and grinned, eyes bright with mischief. “Alright, alright,” he said, turning to Powder and Sky. “Let’s see if you can stay on for more than five seconds this time.”

“Oh, please,” Sky groaned, brushing gravel from her jeans. “You said that like three falls ago.”

Powder laughed and adjusted her stance, determined. “Okay, this time for real.”

Ekko clapped. “Let’s go, Powder! I believe in you—maybe.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and stepped onto the skateboard again. Her knees wobbled as she pushed forward, only to tip too far and tumble onto the grass with a loud thump.

“Ow,” she muttered, blinking at the sky above her.

Scar jogged over, offering a hand with a grin. “You almost had it! I mean, you looked cool falling, at least.”

Powder took his hand, snorting as she stood up. “Falling with style. That’s my brand.”

Sky was next to try, but her attempt lasted even less than Powder’s. Ekko was doubled over laughing as she face-planted into the grass.

“No one’s gonna believe we’re trying to be cool,” she said through her laughter.

“We're not trying to be cool,” Ekko replied. “We're redefining what cool is.”

They kept at it, rotating turns, laughing harder with each fall. By the end of the hour, Powder’s arms ached, and her ribs were sore from laughing more than from falling. It didn’t matter that she could barely balance—she was with her people. The Firelights.

After the last round of failed kick-push attempts, the four of them collapsed onto the patchy grass under the park tree, boards scattered nearby like they’d been abandoned mid-trick. Powder flopped back dramatically, arm over her eyes.

“I’m gonna feel this in my soul tomorrow,” she groaned.

“You say that like you have any muscles to feel it with,” Scar teased, nudging her with his shoe.

Powder swatted at him without looking. “Rude.”

Sky rolled onto her stomach, pulling a crumpled granola bar out of her backpack. “Is it weird that I kind of liked falling? Like… it’s dumb, but it was fun.”

Ekko chuckled. “Pain is temporary. Vibes are forever.”

“I should get that tattooed,” Scar said, leaning back on his elbows and glancing at the sky through the tree branches. “Right above my ribs or something.”

“Oh my god, can you imagine?” Powder grinned. “You’re gonna be sixty with that still on your body.”

“Exactly,” Scar smirked. “A legacy.”

Sky giggled. “I want tattoos. Not yet. But eventually. Something small. Or weird. Like, a cat with a knife.”

“That’s the most Sky thing I’ve ever heard,” Powder said, laughing.

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling. The kind that felt like home.

Ekko pulled a blade of grass and twisted it in his fingers. “You guys ever think about how weird school’s gonna feel this year? Like… it’s the same building, but we’re not the same.”

“Deep,” Scar said with mock seriousness.

But Powder knew what he meant.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I was thinking about that too.”

She glanced around at them—Sky with her doodled-on Converse, Scar with his wild green-black hair flopping into his eyes, Ekko absently chewing on the end of a pencil he’d somehow produced from his hoodie pocket.

“These last few years have been... a lot,” she added.

“You mean growing up?” Sky asked.

Powder shrugged. “I mean... growing into something better. Or at least... figuring it out.”

Scar gave her a lazy grin. “You’re pretty good at that, you know.”

“At what?”

“Figuring it out.”

Powder blinked. She didn’t know what to say, so she just looked away, cheeks a little pink.

“You’re like,” Sky said, “the glue of the Firelights.”

“No way,” Ekko said. “She’s more like... the spark. The one who makes everything happen.”

“Okay,” Scar nodded. “Glue-spark hybrid. Like... emotional superglue.”

Powder laughed. She laughed so hard she almost choked on her water.

“You guys are idiots.”

“Yup,” they all said in unison.

But it was the best kind of idiot energy. The kind where she felt safe. Wanted. Belonging.

And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting gold across their tangled limbs and scattered boards, Powder thought—this is what she used to dream about.

Being part of something real.

*****

Jayce heard the front door creak open just as he finished setting the plates on the table. The sun was casting golden light through the windows, warming the kitchen in that late-summer kind of way—soft and familiar. He looked up from the counter and called out, “Powder?”

“Yeah, it’s me!” came her voice, a little out of breath and unmistakably happy.

She came around the corner with her backpack half-zipped, a smear of marker on her hand, and that glow she always had after spending time with the Firelights. Her hair was slightly frizzy from the humidity, and she smelled like the outdoors—grass, sunscreen, and a hint of pavement.

Jayce smiled. “Hey. Welcome back.”

She started toward the fridge, but he stopped her with a pointed look. “Powder. Feed your cat.”

She groaned dramatically, dropping her bag by the bench. “Ugh, I just sat down.”

“Gizmo’s been giving me judgmental glares all afternoon,” he said, folding his arms. “She knows who forgot breakfast.”

“Traitor,” Powder mumbled, disappearing into the laundry room where Gizmo’s food and water dishes were.

Jayce chuckled to himself as he heard the familiar clink of kibble hitting the bowl and Gizmo’s excited little chirp. Powder reappeared a minute later, mock scowling. “You’re lucky she’s cute.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

She stuck her tongue out and slid into her seat at the table. “What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite,” Viktor called from the stove, setting down a bowl of seasoned roasted veggies next to the skillet. “Waffles. And sweet potato fries. Because we are chaotic and have no rules.”

Powder gasped. “Yes! This is why I love living here.”

Jayce took his seat and passed the syrup. “And here I thought it was our charming personalities.”

“It’s mostly the food,” she said with a deadpan face—then broke into a grin. “But you guys are okay, too.”

The three of them laughed, the kind of laugh that spilled over and echoed through the walls. Dinner was filled with messy forks and overlapping conversation—Powder talking about how Scar nearly broke his ankle attempting a kickflip, how Sky managed to draw a surprisingly good portrait on her knee with a Sharpie, how Ekko insisted he totally could ollie up a curb (he could not).

Jayce reached for the juice pitcher just as a blur of soft fur leapt onto the table.

“Gizmo—no!” Powder shouted mid-bite, lurching forward as the kitten-turned-cat boldly tried to dip a paw into the bowl of sweet potato fries.

Jayce dropped the pitcher with a thud and lunged gently with a napkin. “Off the table, little gremlin,” he said, scooping Gizmo up under the belly.

Gizmo let out a meow of protest—half whiny, half triumphant, as if she knew she’d been caught and didn’t care in the slightest.

“She’s fast,” Viktor muttered, moving the syrup bottle out of reach. “I thought we taught her table manners.”

“We tried,” Jayce said, placing her back on the floor. “But she learned from Powder. And Powder eats with her elbows on the table.”

“I do not!” Powder said with an offended gasp, checking her arms. “Okay. Maybe. But it’s for efficiency.”

Jayce grinned, taking a bite of his own food. “Right. ‘Efficiency.’ I’ll remember that next time Viktor gives me grief for eating straight out of the fridge.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. “You’ve corrupted the entire household.”

On cue, Gizmo peeked her head back over the table’s edge, eyes locked on a stray piece of waffle that had dropped to the bench. Powder gave her a warning look. “Gizmo… don’t even think about it.”

Gizmo blinked slowly—innocent and sly all at once—and sat down, curling her tail neatly around her paws.

“She's scheming,” Viktor said in a low, mock-serious tone. “She’ll wait until we let our guard down.”

“She’s a genius,” Powder said proudly, tossing Gizmo a small piece of plain waffle under the table. “A little criminal genius.”

“Feeding her is rewarding bad behavior,” Jayce scolded with a mouthful of syrupy waffle.

“She’s my familiar,” Powder replied matter-of-factly. “We’re bonded now. She needs sustenance.”

Jayce exchanged an amused look with Viktor. “I swear, this child gets weirder every year.”

“I learned from the best,” Powder said sweetly, gesturing between the two of them.

That made them both laugh, and Jayce felt that warmth again—buzzing in his chest, quiet but constant.

They talked more over dinner, voices overlapping—Viktor telling a story about one of their coworkers tripping over a wet floor sign, Jayce teasing Powder about her messy backpack, Powder insisting that true crime podcasts were educational and that she was practically a detective now.

Gizmo eventually gave up on her food heist and curled up by Powder’s feet, tail flicking lazily, content just to be close.

By the time their plates were mostly cleared, the sun had dipped behind the trees, casting the kitchen in a soft, golden twilight.

Powder leaned back in her chair and sighed in that way people do when their stomachs are full and their hearts even fuller. “This was nice,” she said softly.

Jayce reached over and bumped her shoulder gently. “Yeah. It was.”

Jayce felt it again—that quiet kind of joy that crept up when he least expected it. The kind that said this is what we built. A home, a family, laughter over waffles and inside jokes.

“Hey, Dad?” Powder said.

“Yeah, Powderbug?”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

He looked at her, curious. “For what?”

“For all of this,” she said simply, waving her fork like it included everything—the food, the table, the warmth in the room.

Jayce reached over and held her hand. “Anytime, kiddo.”

Chapter Text

Jayce stirred slowly, blinking against the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. The bed was warm, the kind of warm that made you never want to leave it. A familiar hand was carding gently through his hair, the rhythm slow and soothing. He didn’t open his eyes yet, just let out a soft, content sigh.

“Good morning, lásko,” Viktor’s voice murmured beside him, low and affectionate.

Jayce smiled lazily. “Mmm. That’s a nice way to wake up.”

“I thought so.” Viktor leaned in and kissed his forehead, his hand never stopping its gentle motion. “Happy birthday.”

Jayce finally opened his eyes. Viktor was already propped on one elbow, watching him with that soft expression he always saved just for moments like this. His hair was tousled, eyes tired but kind. Jayce reached up and rested a hand on Viktor’s chest, right over his heart.

“You remembered.”

“I would never forget,” Viktor said, then dipped his head to kiss Jayce again—this time on the lips. Slow, sweet, unhurried. “You’re another year older and still just as ridiculous.”

Jayce huffed a quiet laugh. “Rude. It’s my birthday. You’re legally obligated to be nice to me.”

“I am being nice,” Viktor said, arching a brow. “I didn’t bring up the snoring.”

Jayce gasped dramatically and swatted his chest. “You take that back.”

“Make me,” Viktor said with a smirk.

Jayce did—with another kiss, this one deeper. Their legs tangled beneath the blanket as they both smiled into it. For a long moment, the world was just warmth, the familiar creak of the bed frame, and the comfort of being known.

When they finally broke apart, Jayce tucked his face against Viktor’s neck, sighing happily. “I couldn’t ask for a better start to today.”

Viktor kissed the top of his head. “And it’s only just beginning, miláček.”

Jayce closed his eyes again and let himself soak in the moment. The quiet. The love. The fact that he got to wake up like this, on his birthday, with the person who made his life whole.

The soft peace of the morning was abruptly shattered by the sound of stomping feet and a very off-key, enthusiastic voice shouting:

“ HAAAPPY BIRTHDAAAAY TO YOUUUU! ”

Jayce sat up in bed just in time to see Powder kick open the bedroom door with the flair of someone entering a stage. She had a tray in her hands, complete with breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast (a little burnt on one side), orange juice, and two slices of bacon arranged into a wonky smiley face. A wide grin stretched across her face as she marched in, the tray wobbling slightly but staying upright by some miracle.

“Room service!” she announced dramatically, then cleared her throat and started singing again, louder this time. “ Happy BIRTHDAY to YOUUU—”

Viktor laughed softly beside him, already sitting up and propping the pillows behind Jayce’s back. “Well, here comes the real chaos.”

Jayce was still groggy, grinning like a fool. “Powder, did you—”

Before he could finish the sentence, she set down the tray on the desk and darted back out of the room, yelling, “WAIT FOR IT!”

He and Viktor exchanged a confused glance, and then—

Powder reappeared with a confetti cannon the size of her forearm and fired it directly over the bed. POP!!! A shower of colorful paper scraps rained down over them like New Year’s Eve.

“TA-DA!” she beamed, arms wide like she’d just performed a magic trick. “Best birthday wake-up ever!”

Jayce blinked as a piece of gold foil landed in his hair. “You absolute menace,” he said through laughter.

“Did you two think you were gonna have a quiet birthday morning?” Powder asked smugly as she set the breakfast tray across Jayce’s lap. “Nope. Not on my watch.”

Viktor was picking confetti out of his curls, amused and already resigned to the fact that the bed would be glittery for the next month. “This is very… on brand for her.”

Jayce looked down at the lopsided eggs and the toast that was more charcoal than bread, and somehow, his heart felt impossibly full.

“I love it,” he said, smiling up at her. “Thank you, Powder.”

She looked proud—awkward, but proud. “Yeah, well… you better. I only set off one cannon. There’s still two more.”

Jayce held up a hand, alarmed. “Let’s not push our luck—”

“They're for later!” she said, smiling.

Jayce just laughed, brushing a bit of confetti off the tray. “Best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Jayce balanced the tray of food across his lap as Powder flopped onto the edge of the bed beside him, legs crossed crisscross-apple-sauce and still half-covered in confetti. Viktor leaned in, stealing a bite of toast without asking, and Jayce shot him a mock-offended look.

“Hey,” Jayce said, mouth full of eggs, “stealing food on my birthday? Bold move.”

 Powder chimed in, grinning. “We share everything in this family. Even toast.”

Jayce chuckled and took another bite. The eggs were a little rubbery, and the juice had pulp, which he hated—but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. It was made by Powder, it was messy and weird and perfect. The three of them ate together like they always did, laughter and teasing filling the space between bites.

Powder told a dramatic tale of nearly burning the toast and how Gizmo tried to knock the juice over four times before she got it to the tray. At one point, Viktor nearly choked from laughing too hard, and Jayce didn’t even bother pretending not to get emotional—this was everything he’d ever wanted. And he had it.

When they finally finished, Jayce pushed the tray aside and stood with a stretch. “Alright, I need to see the kitchen. I’m almost afraid.”

“You should be,” Powder said ominously, hopping off the bed. “It’s... festive.”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance and then made their way down the hallway, barefoot and already bracing themselves.

The second they turned the corner into the kitchen, Jayce stopped in his tracks.

“…Oh,” he said.

Viktor blinked. “Powder.”

The kitchen looked like a party supply store had exploded. Streamers zigzagged across the ceiling in every direction, held up with colorful tape that definitely peeled paint. Bright balloons with doodle faces covered the floor and counter. There was a homemade banner strung between two cabinets that read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD (the cool one) in a chaotic mix of marker colors, glitter glue, and sticker letters. Gizmo was covered in glitter and confetti and looked completely unfazed.

“I—” Jayce started, laughing helplessly. “I don’t even know where to look. It’s all chaos. Beautiful, ridiculous chaos.”

Powder strolled in behind them, hands on her hips. “I may have gone a little overboard.”

Jayce turned to her with a look of total fondness. “You went very overboard. And it’s amazing.”

She beamed. “Good. That’s what I was going for.”

Viktor stepped forward and pulled one of the balloons down, popping it between his fingers. “Well, at least the fire hazard has a good sense of color.”

Jayce took it all in again—the mess, the effort, the love—and felt that warm pressure behind his eyes again. His birthday wasn’t about presents or cake this year.

It was about this. The girl who barged into his life with confetti and cannon fire. His husband, who still made him feel steadied with one look. The family they built—chaotic, healing, and real.

“Alright,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “who’s ready for birthday cake at 10 a.m.?”

Powder gasped. “You didn’t eat dessert first?! What kind of monster are you?!”

Jayce laughed, and Viktor just shrugged. “He’s old now. Let him have his traditions.”

“I heard that,” Jayce said, and the kitchen burst into laughter.

Just as the laughter died down and Jayce reached to grab a dish towel off the counter, something caught his eye—movement, maybe, or the flash of something sparkly.

He turned toward the living room, froze, and blinked a few times. Then, slowly, he raised a hand and pointed.

“...What,” he said, “is that?”

Powder followed his gaze. “Oh,” she said casually, like it wasn’t a visual explosion of streamers, banners, and balloons. “That’s Phase Two.”

“Phase Two?” Viktor echoed, already sounding concerned.

Jayce stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room—and his jaw dropped.

The entire room had been transformed into what looked like the birthday section of a dollar store gone rogue. There was a massive paper crown taped to the top of the TV that said “BIRTHDAY KING,” glitter letters spelled out “YOU SURVIVED ANOTHER YEAR” across the wall in rainbow foam stickers, and even the couch had been wrapped in gold tinsel and party ribbon like a present.

And on the coffee table was a makeshift “throne” built out of pillows and blankets, topped with a glittery foam scepter made from rolled construction paper and pipe cleaners.

“What is this?” Jayce asked, laughing so hard his sides hurt.

“That,” Powder said proudly, “is your royal seat. I made it this morning after breakfast part one. And the crown is mandatory.”

Jayce turned to her, completely speechless.

“You—you did all this?”

Powder grinned and shrugged, bashful now. “I wanted to go big this year. You always do stuff for me. I thought it should be your turn to feel ridiculous and special.”

Jayce didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes welled up.

“Mission accomplished,” he said softly.

Viktor came up beside him and let out a low whistle. “She really went all in.”

Jayce looked over at Gizmo, who had somehow acquired a glitter bowtie since they'd entered the kitchen.

“You know what?” he said, turning toward them with a hand pressed to his chest. “This may be the most loved I’ve ever felt... and also the most terrified.”

“You’re welcome,” Powder said, already tugging him toward the throne. “Now sit, Birthday King. Your reign begins now.”

Jayce let himself be dragged over, dropped into the pile of pillows, and allowed the foam crown to be plopped on his head with all the seriousness of a knighting ceremony.

Viktor crossed his arms and smirked. “Should I start calling you Your Majesty now?”

Jayce grinned, wide and soft. “I think you already do. Just in your own way.”

The three of them dissolved into laughter again, and Jayce leaned back into the ridiculous throne, his family surrounding him, the house glowing with color and warmth and noise.

It was absurd. It was perfect.

It was home.

*****

The house was finally still. Powder had disappeared into her room to prepare whatever mysterious “phase three” of Jayce’s birthday extravaganza entailed, and Gizmo had obediently followed, tail high like a tiny royal escort.

Viktor found Jayce on the couch, lounging back with a warm, content smile, flipping through the scrapbook Powder had made. Every page was messy and colorful, full of stickers and inside jokes, drawings and crooked captions. Jayce was grinning like a kid.

Viktor paused for a second, just watching him—his husband—bathed in the golden afternoon light.

“Hey,” Viktor said gently as he stepped into the room.

Jayce looked up and smiled. “Hey. Thought you were hiding from the sparkle explosion.”

“Tempting,” Viktor said with a chuckle, “but no. I wanted to give you something. Just us.”

He walked over and handed Jayce a thin, soft-wrapped bundle. “It’s not flashy. But I made it for you.”

Jayce sat up straighter, immediately intrigued. “You made something?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “You say that like I don’t spend all my time making things.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a new coffee maker prototype, right?”

“No. Open it.”

Jayce carefully peeled back the brown paper, revealing a small, hand-bound journal. The cover was leather, worn but soft, and stamped into the front, just barely visible in the right light, were the words Because You Loved Me First.

Jayce’s breath hitched. He opened the cover.

The pages were filled with Viktor’s handwriting—dozens of tiny entries. Some long, some just a sentence. Notes and moments and memories from the past nine years. Quotes from Powder. Sketches of mornings. Bits of their life together. Notes Viktor had never spoken out loud but had written down quietly in the margins of their life.

A note from the day they got married. One from the day they first saw Powder fall asleep on the couch. A scribbled line about Jayce laughing at his own joke in the shower. A pressed flower from a weekend hike.

“I started this a couple of years ago,” Viktor said softly. “When things were hard. When they were beautiful. When I didn’t know how else to say what I felt. I kept writing.”

Jayce didn’t speak. He was blinking rapidly now, fingers gently grazing the pages.

“It’s all the things I would say if I couldn’t say them,” Viktor added. “And now I don’t have to wait for someday to give them to you.”

Jayce closed the journal gently, held it to his chest, and exhaled a shaky breath.

“Vik,” he whispered, voice raw, “this is… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Jayce set the journal aside and leaned over, pulling Viktor in with one arm until they were pressed together, foreheads resting against each other.

“You always know exactly what I need,” Jayce murmured.

“No,” Viktor replied quietly. “I just love you enough to keep learning.”

They sat like that for a long time—wrapped in warmth and memory, surrounded by a house they’d built, a daughter down the hall laughing with a cat, and the comfort of something permanent.

Then Jayce looked over with a smirk. “Now I feel bad that my gift for you was just socks.”

“I like socks,” Viktor said, deadpan.

Jayce laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine.”

Jayce kissed him. Slow. Full of everything they never quite had the words for.

And for just a little while, the house didn’t need music or glitter or confetti to feel alive.

It just needed this.

When they pulled apart, Jayce leaned back and looked toward the hallway. “Think she’s done plotting whatever birthday finale she’s planning?”

“Depends,” Viktor said thoughtfully. “She had that look in her eye.”

“The chaotic one?”

“The same one you get when you’re about to ‘fix’ something in the garage.”

“Hey—!”

Viktor grinned.

Jayce stood and stretched, bones cracking. “Okay, before I end up sobbing into my birthday cake, wanna help me clean up the kitchen?”

“You mean clean up your birthday confetti trap?”

“I mean distract me so I don’t go spy on whatever Powder’s doing upstairs.”

Viktor got up with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But only if I get the first slice of cake tonight.”

Jayce pretended to consider. “Mmm… second slice. You’ll be too busy lighting candles.”

“Unfair. I’m the one who married you, after all.”

Jayce smirked and tossed Viktor a dish towel. “Exactly. You should’ve known what you were signing up for.”

As they moved into the kitchen together, the hum of the house followed them — not loud, not quiet, just alive with love. The cluttered counter, the off-key humming Jayce did while tidying, the distant thud of Powder moving around upstairs, probably hiding balloons in unexpected places.

It was an ordinary afternoon in a not-so-ordinary life — the kind that meant everything.

*****

She crouched in the corner of her room, surrounded by bright streamers, a half-taped handmade sign, and a box of mismatched party hats she had found in the back of a drawer.

The plan was perfect. She was going to sneak down the hall while Viktor distracted Jayce and hang the sign from the hallway arch — “You’re the best dad ever!!!” — glitter and all. Then she'd light the candles on the cake and pop the second confetti cannon she’d stashed behind the coat rack. Silly and fun and so her. She had even drawn a tiny cartoon version of Gizmo in the corner of the sign.

But then... she saw the party hats.

The same scratchy paper kind one of her old foster homes used. Bright colors, stiff elastic string. Ones she'd had to wear while pretending to be happy, pretending to laugh while people she didn’t know sang awkwardly around her like she was a chore.

She hadn’t thought about that in years.

Suddenly, her hands felt cold. Her throat tight. Her chest heavy like something had dropped into it.

The room started to blur. Not all at once — just the edges. Her fingers trembled where they held the sign, and the tape stuck to her hand like it was trying to hold her in place.

She blinked hard, but tears came anyway.

Why now?

Why ruin this? It’s not the same. This is good. This is Dad.

But her brain didn’t care. The feeling had already settled — dread, grief, panic. A memory shaped like a storm.

She tried to take a deep breath, but it caught. Her legs folded underneath her and she pressed her hands to her eyes, choking on air and tears and that familiar whisper in her chest — You ruin everything. Even this.

She didn't know how long she sat there, silent but unraveling.

Then, she heard soft footsteps in the hallway. Not rushed. Just... careful. Familiar.

Viktor.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t say her name.

He just opened the door slowly, then crouched down beside her, close but not touching her. He always knew how to make space without making distance.

“Powder,” he said gently.

She hiccupped, trying to wipe her face but more tears kept slipping down. “I-I was trying to finish the sign,” she whispered, broken. “I wanted it to be perfect. But I— I got stuck. I saw the hats and I— I remembered—”

Her voice cracked hard, and she covered her mouth.

Viktor didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded, eyes warm and quiet.

“I hate this, Daddy,” she choked. “It’s stupid. I hate that I still feel like this sometimes. I hate that my brain just— breaks like that.”

“It’s not stupid,” Viktor said softly. “And you’re not broken.”

He reached out, slow enough to give her time to pull away — but she didn’t. She leaned in.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let her press into his side, warm and solid and safe.

“You remembered something hard. That doesn’t undo everything else you’ve done. It doesn’t take away how much love you’ve put into today. And it certainly doesn’t ruin anything.”

Powder buried her face in his shirt. “I wanted it to be good. I wanted to make him smile.”

“You will, muffin,” Viktor murmured, rubbing gentle circles against her back. “You always do.”

They sat there for a while in the quiet hum of her room — glitter half-scattered, tape stuck to her sock, and party hats tossed to the side. Gizmo jumped up onto the bed nearby and curled into a loaf, like she was standing guard.

Eventually, Powder pulled back and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I think I’m okay now.”

Viktor nodded. “Do you want help hanging the sign?”

“...Yeah,” she said, and her voice was steadier. “But I get to pop the confetti.”

“Of course,” Viktor said, smiling. “Wouldn’t dream of stealing that glory.”

She laughed — a little one, but real.

And then, together, they picked up the pieces.

By the time they finished hanging the sign and hiding the party hats she didn’t want to use, her hands had stopped shaking. There was still a small ache behind her eyes, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. Just a reminder — like a bruise from a fall you’d mostly forgotten.

She stood back and looked at the hallway, smiling just a little.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. The banner was crooked on one side, the streamers slightly uneven, but it was colorful and full of heart. She had drawn little cartoons of Jayce all over it — one of him holding a coffee mug that said “science dad,” another of him grinning with a big cheesy mustache she’d added just to make him laugh.

Viktor gave her a small thumbs-up from the kitchen.

“You ready?” he asked.

Powder nodded, clutching the tiny confetti popper in her hand. “Let’s do it.”

Viktor called softly down the hall, “Jayce, lásko? Can you come here a moment?”

There was a faint shuffle from the other room — and then, “One second! I just— Gizmo is trying to climb into my cereal again!”

Powder giggled. The mood had shifted — lighter, easier.

Jayce appeared a moment later, holding an empty coffee cup and completely unprepared.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Powder shouted, “Surprise!” and POP — the confetti shot out in a stream of sparkles and paper bits, fluttering through the air like a mini-explosion of joy.

Jayce froze in the middle of it all, blinking.

The banner above him wobbled slightly, then settled.

He looked around — at the ridiculous hand-drawn pictures, the decorations zigzagging through the hall, and Powder standing there holding the spent popper with glitter in her hair and an uncertain smile on her face.

Then he laughed. Loud and warm and real.

“What is all this?” he said, stunned.

Powder shrugged, cheeks pink. “Birthday stuff. Duh.”

Jayce walked forward slowly, still laughing, and scooped her into a hug.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said into her hair. “And this is amazing.”

She squeezed him back. “Happy birthday, Dad.”

He paused at that — just for a second — then tightened the hug.

“Thank you, Powderbug.”

Viktor stepped in next, arms folded but smiling. “I take no credit. This was all Powder.”

“Not true,” she muttered, but her heart was full.

Jayce turned to her, looking at her with that soft, watery look he got sometimes when he was trying not to cry.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said.

She looked up at him. “You too.”

Then Gizmo trotted into the room, proudly carrying a streamer in her mouth like a trophy.

Jayce burst out laughing again.

*****

The smell hit him first — warm tortillas, roasted peppers, garlic and onion sizzling in the pan — and his stomach grumbled in response.

He peeked into the kitchen, arms crossed, leaning dramatically on the doorframe. “Are you sure I can’t help?”

Viktor turned around, wooden spoon in hand, eyes narrowing in mock warning. “Absolutely not. Go sit down, birthday boy.”

Powder, standing on a step stool at the counter with a lime in one hand and a citrus squeezer in the other, added, “Seriously. You mess things up when you're in here.”

Jayce put a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

“Last time you tried to ‘help,’ the blender lid wasn’t on all the way,” Viktor reminded him, turning back to the stove. “We’re still finding salsa on the ceiling.”

“That was one time!”

“Exactly,” Powder muttered, eyes focused on the guacamole bowl. “One time too many.”

Jayce laughed and held up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll just be over here... lonely and starving.”

“Good,” Viktor said over the bubbling pan. “Then dinner will taste even better.”

Jayce wandered back to the living room, the soft mariachi music Powder had queued up playing from the Bluetooth speaker. It was her idea—“something extra festive,” she’d said with a grin. Gizmo had climbed up on the back of the couch and was softly purring near his neck, keeping vigil over the room like a fuzzy guardian.

He could hear Powder’s voice, bright and full of purpose, as she asked Viktor if the rice was “supposed to be this sticky.” And Viktor’s gentle reassurance, “That’s perfect, muffin. You did it right.”

God, Jayce thought, leaning his head back with a deep breath, how did I get so lucky?

It wasn’t long before Powder called out from the kitchen. “Okay! You’re allowed now!”

Jayce stood and made his way in, eyes widening as he took in the small but beautiful spread at the table.

Homemade tacos—two kinds—chicken and carne asada. A dish of street corn sprinkled with cotija cheese. A small stack of warm tortillas nestled in a towel. Rice, beans, guacamole, chips, salsa, a bowl of lime wedges, and even a chilled bottle of Jarritos from the fridge.

Viktor and Powder stood on either side of the table, looking proud but trying to act casual.

“This looks…” Jayce stepped closer, genuinely speechless. “You guys. This is amazing.”

“Sit,” Viktor said, pulling out his chair.

Powder handed him a plate, grinning. “You’re gonna need a nap after this.”

Dinner was loud and warm. Powder told a ridiculous story about Ekko trying to make grilled cheese and nearly setting off the smoke alarm. They passed plates, added more cheese, scooped guac, and clinked glasses of sparkling cider. Gizmo made a sneaky leap onto Jayce’s lap and promptly tried to steal a bite of carne asada.

“Hey!” Jayce laughed, lifting the cat under her belly. “You don’t even like spice!”

“She wants to celebrate too,” Powder giggled, scooping her another spoon of rice. “Sorry, Giz. No tacos for you.”

After the meal, Jayce leaned back, full and happy. His heart felt heavier than his stomach—in the best way.

Powder looked over at him from across the table, resting her chin in her palm.

“You’re really old now,” she said sweetly.

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s funny now, but someday I’m putting candles in your rice and making you cry.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be cool forever. You, on the other hand…”

Viktor reached across and tousled her hair. “That was a perfect dinner, Powder.”

She smiled—just a little, but it was that kind of proud, soft smile that made Jayce’s heart clench.

“Yeah,” Jayce added. “It really was.”

They’d cleared the table, full bellies and happy sighs filling the room. Viktor had just poured tea, and Gizmo was curled up like a tiny queen in the middle of the living room rug.

Powder stood up suddenly, eyes darting to the hallway. “Okay. Okay, um… stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Jayce blinked. “Do I get a hint?”

“Nope,” she said, already halfway out of the room. “Just… don’t follow me!”

Viktor smirked over his mug. “Do you think she remembered the confetti this time?”

Jayce chuckled, but something in her voice had sounded shaky — not unhappy, but serious. A minute passed. Then two.

Finally, Powder came back out, holding something large and rectangular, wrapped in a layer of soft fabric tied loosely with a ribbon. She stood just outside the kitchen doorway, fingers clenched at the edge of the bundle like she wasn’t sure she could let go.

“I, um…” she cleared her throat, eyes flicking to the floor. “I worked on this for weeks. I didn’t even let Daddy see it.”

Powder looked up at Jayce. Her voice cracked just slightly. “Happy birthday, Dad.”

Jayce stood slowly, heart suddenly in his throat. He took the bundle carefully, letting the fabric fall away in his hands.

It was a painting — large, full of light and warmth. The style was unmistakably hers: soft brush strokes and bold colors, expressive and textured. It was their house, nestled in snow, bathed in golden light from the windows. The three of them were standing outside, bundled in coats, laughing — Viktor with a hand on Jayce’s back, Jayce crouched down, reaching for Gizmo as she ran around their feet, and Powder in the middle, smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at.

Jayce couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Powder was wringing her hands now. “I know it’s not perfect. And the shadows got kind of weird, and I—”

“It’s perfect,” Jayce whispered.

She blinked up at him, eyes already glassy.

Jayce looked from the painting to her, his voice catching. “Powder, this is… beautiful. I don’t even know what to say.”

She took a breath, then another. “I just wanted to paint something that felt like… us. Like what this place feels like to me. Like what you feel like to me. And it just—” Her voice broke, and she pressed her sleeve to her face. “I didn’t have this before. I didn’t know I could ever have this. I just wanted you to know.”

Jayce crossed the room and pulled her into a hug before she could say more, holding her as tight as he dared. She clung to him without hesitation.

“I know,” he said softly, kissing the top of her head. “And we feel the same. You gave us the biggest gift the day you came home.”

Viktor joined them a moment later, his hand resting gently on Powder’s back.

She hiccupped a laugh into Jayce’s shirt. “Okay, okay… no more crying. It’s your birthday.”

Jayce smiled, holding her close. “Crying is allowed on birthdays. Especially happy tears.”

*****

The house had gone quiet, but in the best way. The lights were dim and warm, casting soft golden glows against the walls. Gizmo was curled up on her back in front of the tv, paws twitching as she dreamed. The smell of birthday candles still lingered faintly in the air.

Powder sat cross-legged on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was nestled between Viktor and Jayce — her dads — as some old feel-good movie played softly in the background. None of them were really watching it. It was just there, filling the silence gently.

She held the mug of tea Viktor had made her. It was still warm in her hands.

Her body felt tired, but in a soft, content way. Not the heavy tired she used to feel. Not the kind that made her want to disappear. This was different. This was warmth and quiet joy and the safety of not needing to explain why she felt okay tonight.

Jayce let out a sigh beside her, one of those long, happy ones. His head tilted toward hers, and she let her own rest lightly on his shoulder.

“Pretty perfect day,” he said, voice low and full.

Powder smiled into her mug. “Yeah.”

Viktor reached across the back of the couch and ran his fingers through her hair, soft and slow. “You did a wonderful job on that painting, muffin.”

She flushed a little and shrugged. “It just… came out of my head. I wasn’t sure if it was good.”

Jayce chuckled. “It’s beautiful. We’re getting it framed properly next week. Non-negotiable.”

She smiled. Her heart felt full.

The movie kept playing. A few quiet minutes passed. Gizmo stretched and rolled over, then snorted softly like she was complaining in her sleep.

Powder giggled, then leaned her head back and looked at both of her dads. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Viktor asked gently.

“For all of it,” she whispered. “For today. For… everything.”

Jayce kissed the top of her head. “We’ll always be here, Powderbug.”

She nodded, curling tighter into the blanket and between them. “I know.”

Chapter Text

The pencil glided across the page in smooth, confident strokes, faint lines turning into sharp details. Powder was halfway through sketching a concept for a new painting — an idea that had come to her in a dream the night before — something about stars falling into a teacup. Weird, but kind of cool.

Music played softly from the little speaker on her desk. Something with a moody guitar and lots of distortion — she called it “divorced dad rock” just to mess with Jayce. He never knew what it meant, and that somehow made it funnier.

She was completely in the zone, brow furrowed and tongue between her teeth, when her phone buzzed beside her hand. Powder glanced at it, expecting some random group chat ping or maybe Ekko sending a meme.

But her heart jumped when she saw the name on the screen.

Caitlyn 💙

Hey, I’m in town for a couple days! Want to hang out today? Got some time free this afternoon 💕

Powder froze for a second, eyes locked on the message.

Caitlyn.

It had been months since they’d seen each other. College had swept Caitlyn away into a world of internships, late-night papers, social work practicums, then eventually graduating. Powder was proud of her — so proud it sometimes hurt — but she’d also missed her like crazy.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Then she quickly typed back:

YES. I missed you. When and where??

Her heart fluttered a little as she sent it. Gizmo meowed from the windowsill as if in approval, stretching like a little diva in the sunbeam.

Powder sat back in her chair, unable to stop the smile forming on her lips. Her sketch now forgotten on the desk, pencil rolling gently to the floor. She picked up her phone again, just in case Caitlyn answered right away — because, suddenly, this quiet day had taken a very exciting turn.

*****

The weather was cooler today, windy and a slight possibility of rain so she grabbed a hoodie and zipped halfway up. She tugged on her boots by the door, and slung her bag over her shoulder. Her sketchbook was tucked safely inside — just in case they ended up at a café or something. She didn’t know exactly what they were doing yet, but it didn’t matter. Caitlyn was back. That was enough.

She was reaching for the doorknob when Viktor’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Powder, where are you off to?”

She paused mid-step, then peeked around the corner.

Viktor was rinsing out his coffee mug, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his reading glasses still perched low on his nose from whatever he’d been working on earlier. He looked at her with that gentle dad expression, the one that said he wasn’t being nosy — just wanting to know she was safe.

“Uh… Caitlyn,” Powder said, brushing her bangs out of her face. “She’s in town for a couple days. We’re gonna hang out for a bit.”

Viktor’s face brightened immediately. “Caitlyn? Really? That’s wonderful. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Powder said softly. Her voice was calmer than how her heart felt. “She texted me this morning.”

Viktor stepped away from the sink and leaned against the counter, drying his hands on a towel. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, she’s picking me up in, like, five minutes.”

He nodded, eyes flicking toward the window as if he expected Caitlyn’s car to appear on the curb any second. “Alright. Just be home before dinner unless you two have plans.”

“Okay,” Powder said. She hesitated for half a second. “Is it okay if I go? I didn’t really ask.”

Viktor gave her a soft smile — that warm, steady kind of smile that made something untwist inside her chest.

“You don’t have to ask every time, muffin. But thank you for telling me.”

She smiled back, small but genuine. Just as the sound of a car door closing drifted through the window, Viktor raised an eyebrow.

“That her?”

Powder peeked through the curtain and nodded. “Yep.”

“Tell her we say hi,” he said, stepping forward and gently ruffling her hair. “And have fun.”

“I will.”

She slipped out the door with a fluttering heart and the sunshine hitting her face. Powder stepped down the porch stairs just as Caitlyn was getting out of her car, grinning from ear to ear. The moment Powder saw her, she felt a wave of emotion rise up—familiar and warm and a little overwhelming. Without thinking, she rushed the last few steps, and Caitlyn opened her arms just in time.

They hugged tightly, Powder burying her face into Caitlyn’s shoulder for a second longer than she meant to.

“I missed you,” Powder mumbled.

“I missed you too, so much,” Caitlyn said, squeezing her close. Her voice was softer than Powder remembered, but just as steady. “You’ve grown so much, Powder. Look at you.”

Powder laughed awkwardly, pulling away and swiping at her eyes quickly. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not,” Caitlyn said, chuckling as she opened the passenger door. “Hop in. I thought we could go downtown, maybe grab something sweet. Unless you have somewhere else in mind?”

“No, that sounds nice,” Powder said as she slid into the seat and closed the door behind her. Gizmo’s fur was still on her hoodie—she picked off a few strands.

As Caitlyn pulled away from the curb, Powder glanced sideways at her. “So… you’re officially graduated now?”

“Yup. Full degree in hand. I’m working at a community clinic just outside the city now,” Caitlyn said, adjusting her sunglasses. “It’s kind of surreal. I’ve wanted this forever, and now I’m doing it.”

“That’s awesome,” Powder said quietly. “Like, actually awesome.”

Caitlyn looked over and smiled. “Thanks. And hey, I know I’ve been busy, but I want to be better about keeping in touch. Especially now. You still matter to me, Powder.”

Powder swallowed hard and looked out the window as they merged onto the main road. The words sat warm in her chest.

“I know,” she said.

*****

The little café was tucked between a bookstore and a plant shop, with ivy climbing the brick walls and old mismatched chairs out front. It smelled like cinnamon, roasted beans, and something warm in the oven. Powder had always liked this spot — Caitlyn used to bring her here sometimes, back when she was still in high school.

They slid into a booth near the window, mugs of hot chocolate between them, and a shared plate of churro waffles. Powder drizzled extra syrup over her piece just for the excuse to do something with her hands.

"So," Caitlyn said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "tell me everything. How’s life with your dads? With Gizmo? School? Art? I want the whole update."

Powder shrugged, but not in a sad way — more like she didn’t know where to start. “It’s… good. Mostly. Getting ready for school. I joined band this year. Sky’s in it too.”

Caitlyn’s eyes lit up. “Band? No way. What are you going to play?”

“Percussion,” Powder said, cracking a small smile. “I like hitting stuff. Legally.”

Caitlyn burst out laughing, then covered her mouth. “That’s amazing. And very you.”

Powder smiled wider now. “Gizmo’s a menace. She knocked over one of my shelves last week just so she could sleep on the art supplies. And Jayce still acts like he doesn’t spoil her when we all know he totally does.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Caitlyn said, stirring her drink. “And you’re still painting?”

“Yeah. A lot. There’s barely any wall space left in my room, and the living room. Might have to put paintings in the hall soon.” Powder said, her voice softening a bit. “It’s like… when I’m doing art, I can breathe. I don’t have to think so much.”

Caitlyn nodded slowly. “I remember. You always lit up when you talked about your work. I’m glad that never changed.”

They ate a bit in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was warm and easy.

Powder glanced at her, then asked, “Is it weird being, like, an adult now?”

Caitlyn laughed lightly. “Honestly? Kinda. I have to remind myself that I’m not just playing grown-up. But… it feels good to be doing something that matters. Helping people. It’s heavy sometimes, but it’s worth it.”

“Sounds like you,” Powder said. Then, more quietly, “I think I want to do something that helps people too. I don’t know what yet, but… I’ve been thinking about it.”

Caitlyn reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ve already helped more people than you probably realize, Powder. And whatever you decide to do — I know you’ll be incredible.”

Powder’s throat tightened, but in a good way.

Outside, the sky had started to cloud over, the wind tugging gently at the flower boxes outside the café. But in the little booth by the window, everything felt steady.

*****

Jayce wandered into the living room, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, the scent of lemon cleaner still clinging faintly to his shirt. Viktor sat curled up on the couch, glasses halfway down his nose as he flipped through a research article on his tablet, a faint instrumental humming in the background.

Jayce glanced around the house. It felt quieter than usual — not in a bad way, just noticeably still.

“Hey,” Jayce said, tossing the towel on the back of a chair. “Where’s Powder? I thought she was sketching this morning.”

Viktor looked up, blinking once before pushing his glasses back into place. “She left a little while ago. Caitlyn’s in town. They went to grab lunch.”

Jayce paused, eyebrows raised. “Oh. I didn’t even know she was coming by.”

“She texted Powder, apparently. Last minute,” Viktor said, then added with a soft smile, “Powder looked excited.”

Jayce grinned and leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “Good. She’s been missing Caitlyn a lot lately. You could tell, even if she wouldn’t say it out loud.”

Viktor nodded. “I think it’s good for her to reconnect. Especially with someone who knew her when she was still… figuring things out.”

“Still is,” Jayce said gently, eyes drifting toward the front door. “But yeah. She’s come a long way. Sometimes I forget just how much.”

Viktor tilted his head, watching him.

Jayce continued, more to himself now. “I remember when she first got here. She barely spoke. Every noise startled her. And now she’s got this whole firelight crew, a cat that thinks it runs the house, a best friend miles away who still checks in… and she calls us Dad and Daddy without even thinking about it.”

Viktor’s voice was warm, steady. “She built a life here. We helped — but she did it.”

Jayce nodded, swallowing down the emotion in his throat. “She did.”

They sat in that quiet for a few moments — not because there was nothing to say, but because it felt good to let the silence hold all the memories between them.

Then Jayce chuckled. “Bet she’s telling Caitlyn all about that weird ‘true crime’ podcast she loves.”

Viktor smirked. “The one that makes you glare at the speakers whenever they mention unsolved cases?”

Jayce pointed a finger at him. “Unfinished things stress me out.”

Viktor only laughed.

****

Powder stirred her drink with the straw, watching the little whirlpool of cinnamon and milk spin inside the glass. Caitlyn sat across from her, chin resting in her hand, her other hand wrapped around a warm mug.

Caitlyn grinned suddenly. “So… is there anyone you like?”

Powder blinked. “What?”

“You know.” Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, teasing. “A crush? A maybe-sorta-like-someone situation?”

Powder felt her face flush. “No,” she muttered, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t… I don’t think so.”

Caitlyn leaned back, smirking. “That was a very unconvincing ‘no.’”

Powder groaned and took a sip of her drink. “I’m not lying. I just… I dunno. I haven’t really thought about it like that.”

Caitlyn gave a little shrug. “That’s fine. You’ve got time. Not everyone figures that out at once.”

Powder looked up from her glass. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question came out before she really meant to ask it, but Caitlyn didn’t look surprised. Instead, she paused. Her fingers tapped the rim of her mug, and her eyes darted briefly out the window.

Powder tilted her head. “Cait?”

Caitlyn let out a breath, her smile suddenly a little shy. “Yeah… I am.”

Powder blinked. “Oh.”

There was a weird flicker in Caitlyn’s eyes — like she wasn’t sure if she should say more. She looked nervous in a way Powder had never really seen before.

“…It’s a girl,” Caitlyn added softly. “My girlfriend.”

Powder’s eyes widened slightly, not in shock, but just taking in the surprise.

“You have a girlfriend?” Powder grinned wide, eyes lighting up. She leaned forward over the café table, her hands wrapped around a warm mug. “Since when?”

Caitlyn smiled—kind of. “About a month,” she said, but her voice was a little too careful, too light.

Powder didn’t notice it right away. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s awesome! What’s she like? Is she cute? Do I get to meet her?”

Caitlyn laughed under her breath, then quickly looked down at her drink. “Maybe. I mean, yeah, she’s… she’s great.”

Powder tilted her head. “That didn’t sound convincing.”

“No, she is,” Caitlyn said quickly. “She’s amazing. It’s just... new. I haven’t really talked about it yet.”

“You told me, though.”

“I did.” Caitlyn looked up and gave a soft smile, but there was something flickering in her eyes. Not nerves—something closer to guilt. “You’re the first person I’ve told, actually.”

Powder blinked. “Wait—really?”

Caitlyn nodded. “I guess I wanted to, but… it’s complicated.”

The word hung in the air.

“Complicated how?” Powder asked, her smile slipping a little.

Caitlyn hesitated. “She’s older,” she said after a second, like she had been rehearsing that answer. “And… there’s just some stuff I haven’t figured out how to explain yet.”

Powder frowned. “Okay... weird vague answer, but fine. Are you happy, though?”

“I am,” Caitlyn said softly, and this time she looked a little more sure. “I really like her.”

Powder still couldn’t shake the odd feeling creeping into her chest. Something didn’t add up—but Caitlyn clearly didn’t want to talk about it yet.

She let it go—for now.

“Alright,” Powder said, picking up her drink. “But if she breaks your heart, I reserve the right to egg her car.”

That finally pulled a laugh out of Caitlyn. “Deal.”

They had wandered away from the café, coffee cups long empty, hands tucked into jacket pockets as the wind teased at their hair. Powder walked a step ahead, kicking a little rock along the sidewalk, watching it tumble and bounce. The sun was out but pale, filtered through clouds like tissue paper. The city buzzed quietly around them.

Caitlyn glanced over and smiled. “You’ve really grown up, Powder,” she said. “Like… it’s wild. You’re not that quiet little kid anymore.”

Powder shrugged with a small grin. “Still quiet sometimes.”

“Sure,” Caitlyn said with a chuckle. “But you’re you now. Confident. It’s cool to see.”

The conversation drifted for a bit. They talked about random things—music Powder liked, a story about Scar getting his hoodie caught in a fence, something dumb Ekko said that made them all laugh until they wheezed.

Then Caitlyn slowed her steps a little. Her voice softened. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

“Okay,” Powder said cautiously.

Caitlyn looked ahead. “Just… hypothetically, how do you think you’d feel if… you ever saw your sister again?”

Powder stopped walking.

Dead in her tracks.

Her breath hitched like it had fallen into a ditch. She didn’t speak—just stared straight ahead, blinking once.

Caitlyn turned back slowly, realizing her mistake too late.

“Powder?”

Powder's hands had curled into fists inside her sleeves. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Powder's voice came out low. “Why would I ever see her again?”

She didn’t move, didn’t look at Caitlyn. Her eyes were fixed on the sidewalk cracks like they could split wider and swallow her whole.

Caitlyn hesitated. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I just—”

“But why would I?” Powder cut in, a little sharper now, her shoulders tight. “She’s not… she’s not part of my life. Not anymore.”

The quiet between them stretched out like it was made of glass—thin, about to crack.

“I know,” Caitlyn said gently. “I just meant… if you did see her again someday. What do you think you’d do?”

Powder finally turned to look at her. Her face wasn’t angry—but it wasn’t neutral either. It was that blank, bracing-for-impact look that Jayce and Viktor always recognized. The one she wore when she was trying very hard not to feel anything.

She blinked again, slower this time. “Why are you asking me that?”

Caitlyn swallowed, opening her mouth—then stopping herself. Her smile was forced when it returned. “I guess I’m just curious.”

Powder’s voice dropped low, almost a whisper. “I don’t want to ever see her again. She hurt me. She… she wasn’t safe.”

Caitlyn’s face softened, sympathy in her eyes. “I know,” she said gently. “I really do. But… what if Vi had changed? What if she was different now?”

Powder’s chest tightened, and she looked away, biting her lip. Her fingers curled at her sides, the question hanging heavy between them.

Suddenly, memories crashed into Powder’s mind—Vi’s harsh words, the slammed doors, the nights filled with fear. Her breath hitched, and before she knew it, she spun around to face Caitlyn, her voice rising in anger and pain.

“You don’t know what she did to me!” Powder yelled, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She’ll never change! She hurt me—every single day! How could you even ask that?” Her chest heaved as the weight of years of hurt poured out in words she said.

Caitlyn reached out gently, her voice soft and steady. “Powder, hey, I’m here. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to understand.”

But Powder’s chest tightened, and the calm in Caitlyn’s words couldn’t reach past the storm inside her. Her thoughts began to race, dark and tangled. The memories blurred together—the yelling, the pain, the fear—and suddenly, it felt like she was sinking, unable to catch her breath.

“I can’t… I can’t…” she whispered, her voice trembling, tears falling faster now. “It’s too much. I thought I was safe. I thought I was done with all of it.”

Caitlyn’s voice was soft but steady, like she was trying to reach across a chasm that Powder didn’t want to cross. “Powder, what if Vi really does feel awful about what she did? What if she’s changed? Don’t you think she deserves a chance to be forgiven?”

The words hit Powder like a punch to the stomach. Her chest tightened, breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in shock and hurt. “No!” she shouted, the word exploding out of her like a dam breaking. “I can’t believe you’re even saying that.”

Her mind spun out of control, thoughts tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. How could Caitlyn say that? After everything Vi did? After all the nights I cried alone? The memories clawed at her — the shouting, the pain, the endless feeling of being worthless. The words her sister had burned into her heart replayed like a broken record.

“I—Vi made me feel like I didn’t matter,” Powder said, her voice shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. “She made me feel like I should have never been born. Like my life was a nightmare she wanted me to live through. She hurt me. She broke me. And you want me to forgive that?” Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. “No. I will never forgive her. Not now. Not ever.”

Caitlyn stepped closer, trying to reach her, her expression full of concern. “Powder, I’m just saying that people can change, sometimes when you least expect it. Maybe—”

“Don’t.” Powder cut her off sharply, stepping back, shaking her head like she could physically shake the thought away. “You don’t know what she did to me. You don’t know how dark it got. You don’t know what it’s like to live with that. I don’t want to hear it.” She wiped at her face roughly, trying to stop the tears but failing. “I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to imagine a future with her in it. I hate her.”

The anger inside her built into something fierce, a protective wall she didn’t want to let anyone breach. Caitlyn’s gentle words suddenly felt like knives. The quiet space between them became thick with tension.

“Powder,” Caitlyn said softly, stepping back with her hands raised like she didn’t want to make things worse. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just asking if maybe one day you could find it in your heart to forgive. Not for her, but for you.”

The suggestion sent Powder over the edge. Her breathing became uneven, rapid. Her head spun as memories flooded back—every broken promise, every harsh word, every moment she’d felt completely alone.

“No! You don’t understand!” she screamed, voice echoing in the empty street. “I can’t! I won’t! She ruined everything. She made me feel worthless, like I wasn’t even human. How could I forgive that? How could you even ask?”

Her legs felt weak as the flood of feelings crashed over her. Panic and rage tangled with sadness and fear until she couldn’t think straight. Her vision blurred as the tears poured freely.

Caitlyn reached out, voice soft but urgent. “Powder, please—let’s just talk. I’m here for you.”

But Powder shook her head violently, backing away as if trying to put physical distance between her and the pain. “No! I don’t want to be around you right now! I need to get away.” Her voice broke, tears turning to sobs.

Without another word, she turned sharply and ran, the pounding of her footsteps a desperate rhythm as she fled from the weight of the conversation, from the memories, from herself. The cold air hit her face as she ran down the sidewalk, her chest heaving. She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to. All she wanted was to escape the whirlwind inside her.

Powder’s heart thundered in her chest, each beat louder than the last. The cold air felt sharp against her skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm swirling inside her. Her breaths came fast and shallow, like she was drowning but couldn’t find the surface.

Her legs trembled beneath her as the memories clawed their way back — the yelling, the pain, the endless feeling of being trapped. Her vision blurred, colors bleeding into one another. Sounds around her distorted, growing distant and overwhelming all at once. She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to block it out, but the noise inside her head only grew louder — a chaotic whirl of accusations, fears, and despair. Her chest tightened, making it harder to breathe. The world tilted, spinning out of control.

Tears streamed down her face, unchecked and burning. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled for her phone, hands slick with sweat. Her vision tunneled, focusing only on the panic that gripped her.

A sob tore from her throat, raw and ragged. The air felt too thick, too heavy. She felt like screaming, but the sound caught in her throat, swallowed by the crushing weight of fear.

“Please,” she whispered to herself, voice trembling, “Please stop.”

She sank down against a nearby wall, knees drawn up to her chest. Her whole body shook with silent sobs as she struggled to slow her breathing. Memories and feelings collided inside her, each one threatening to break her apart.

Her mind screamed for comfort, for safety — but she felt utterly alone.

*****

Viktor was sitting at the kitchen table, when his phone buzzed sharply. Seeing Powder’s name flash across the screen, his chest tightened. He looked over at Jayce, who gave a concerned look.

Viktor answered quickly, his voice gentle but urgent. “Hey, muffin. What’s wrong?”

On the other end, Powder’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper but breaking with emotion. “Daddy… I’m really scared.”

Viktor’s heart clenched. “Where are you, Powder? What’s going on?”

Her breathing hitched, shaky and uneven. “I… I don’t know. Everything feels like it’s crashing down. I can’t… I can’t stop crying.”

Viktor swallowed hard, fighting the urge to drop everything and get to her immediately. “I’m here, Powder. Dad and I—we’re coming to you right now. You’re not alone, okay?”

There was a long pause filled only with her ragged breathing. Then, in a small voice, “Dad… I’m so scared. I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“We love you so much, Powder. We’re coming. Just hold on for us, alright?” Jayce said calmly, but looked at Viktor with worry in his eyes.

“Okay… but it hurts, Daddy. I can’t stop.” Her voice cracked, and Viktor could hear the weight of her fear and pain in every word.

Jayce stood beside him, already grabbing his coat, Viktor gave a tight nod. “We’re on our way, muffin. Just breathe for me.”

Viktor tightened his grip on the phone, exchanging a quick glance with Jayce before settling back into a steady voice. “Powder, we’re right here with you. Can you tell us where you are?”

Powder sniffled, her voice shaky but clearer. “I’m… downtown… by the big brick building… near the corner…” she whispered, voice trembling.

Jayce’s voice softened on the other end. “Okay, Powder, Daddy and I are coming to be with you.”

For a moment, Powder was silent except for the sound of her uneven breathing. Then, hesitantly, Viktor asked, “Is Caitlyn there with you?”

The question hit her like a wave. Suddenly, her voice broke, tears flooding back as she started to sob. “No… no, she’s not. She’s not here. I—I don’t want her here.”

Her cries grew louder, trembling and raw. “I can’t… I can’t handle it, Daddy. Everything’s too much.”

Jayce’s voice was full of gentle reassurance. “We’re coming, Powderbug. Just breathe with us, okay? You’re not alone.”

“Stay on the line. Don’t move, okay?” Viktor urged, already grabbing his keys.

The city streets blurred as they drove toward her, Jayce’s hand steady on Viktor’s arm.

Ahead, they spotted her — hunched against a cold brick wall, hands shaking uncontrollably, chest rising and falling in rapid breaths.

“Powder!” Jayce called gently as they approached.

She barely lifted her head, eyes wide and frantic, her breaths shallow and quick — she was hyperventilating.

Viktor crouched beside her, taking slow, deliberate breaths. “Hey, muffin, look at me. Breathe with me, okay? In… and out…”

Jayce pulled a small paper bag from his pocket, offering it to her.

Powder’s hands trembled as she took it, beginning to mimic their breathing, the panic slowly ebbing.

“Daddy, I’m so scared,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“We know, Powder. We’re here now. You’re safe. We’ve got you,” Viktor reassured, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders.

Jayce wiped a tear from her cheek, voice steady and warm. “We love you. Always.”

Powder’s breath steadied as she leaned into them, beginning to feel grounded again, the storm inside starting to calm.

Viktor held Powder gently, feeling the tremors in her body slowly ease as her breath became steadier. Jayce’s hand rested reassuringly on her back, their presence a steady anchor in the whirlwind of her panic.

“Take your time,” Viktor whispered softly. “We’re right here.”

Powder closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into their warmth, then slowly she began to speak, her voice shaky but growing stronger.

“It… it was Caitlyn,” she murmured, her fingers curling around Viktor’s shirt. “She said… she said maybe Vi had changed. That maybe I should forgive her.”

Jayce’s brow furrowed, and Viktor’s heart clenched hearing the pain in her words.

“I told her no,” Powder continued, tears slipping down her cheeks again. “I told her I can’t believe she said that. Vi hurt me so much… made me feel like I was nothing, like I never should have been born.”

Her voice broke as she added, “I don’t want to see her again. Ever.”

Powder sniffled, looking up at them both. “I’m scared, Daddy. I thought I was okay, but then… that all came back.”

Viktor held Powder close, his arms firm but gentle around her trembling frame. He could feel the rapid beating of her heart slowly easing, but the weight of her words pressed heavily on his chest. As she spoke about Caitlyn’s cruel suggestion—that Vi might have changed, that Powder should forgive her—the anger inside Viktor flared quietly at first, then burned hotter.

How dare they? How could Caitlyn, someone Powder once trusted, even suggest that? And Vi… the pain she had caused, the scars left behind, physical and deeper still, were not so easily erased.

Jayce’s hand rested on Powder’s back, steady and soothing, but Viktor caught the sharp glance Jayce shot him—eyes darkening with the same protective fury he felt swelling inside. They shared a silent understanding, a wordless communication that they both felt the sting of betrayal on Powder’s behalf.

Viktor swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “Powder,” he said softly, his voice low but filled with quiet fire, “none of what happened to you was your fault. And no one has the right to tell you what you should or shouldn’t feel.”

He felt a fierce need to shield her, to fight back against the shadows of her past that dared to creep so close again.

Powder’s tear-streaked face looked up at them, fragile but brave. She clung to Viktor’s shirt, her voice breaking as she repeated how Caitlyn had pushed her to consider forgiveness, something she wasn’t ready for—not ever.

Jayce’s voice was calm but firm. “We hear you, Powder. We understand. You’re safe here, with us.”

Viktor’s gaze shifted to Jayce, their silent look deepening—two men bound by love and fierce parenthood. Both of them knew this fight wasn’t over. They would protect Powder with everything they had.

Viktor exhaled slowly, pulling Powder a little closer. “You’re not alone in this. Not now, not ever.”

In that quiet moment, wrapped in their arms, Powder’s shaky breaths began to steady. But inside Viktor’s heart, the fire of anger and resolve blazed on—ready to burn away any threat to her peace.

*****

Jayce kept glancing at the rearview mirror the whole drive home. Powder hadn’t said much after they’d found her, her voice barely above a whisper when she’d recounted everything Caitlyn had said—and not said. He could still hear it echoing in his mind: the panic, the betrayal in her voice. She was quiet now, completely worn down. Viktor hadn’t let go of her hand since they helped her into the car. She hadn’t let go either.

When they stepped inside the house, she didn’t head to her room. Instead, she walked straight to the living room, wordless, and curled up on the couch. Viktor sat beside her, and Jayce followed. No one needed to say anything. Powder looked so small, drawn in on herself like the world had folded in too close. The leftover dinner sat untouched in the kitchen, but none of them had an appetite.

Jayce glanced at Viktor and saw the same weary protectiveness mirrored in his husband’s eyes. Powder didn’t need to talk right now. She just needed to be held.

He reached for the blanket on the back of the couch and draped it over all three of them, careful not to disturb her. Viktor gently pulled Powder against his side, and she leaned into him without resistance. Jayce sat on her other side, close enough that their shoulders touched. Gizmo jumped up quietly, nestling into Powder’s lap with a soft purr, and Powder’s hand reflexively moved to stroke her soft fur.

Jayce reached over and smoothed a strand of hair behind Powder’s ear. Her eyes were half-lidded, red-rimmed, but she wasn’t crying anymore. Just tired. Raw. Vulnerable.

“I’m glad you called,” Jayce said softly, not expecting a reply.

Powder didn’t speak, but she leaned her head on Viktor’s shoulder a little more, and that was enough. Jayce rested his arm gently across the back of the couch, hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

The room was still. Safe. Viktor’s fingers moved slowly through Powder’s messy hair, grounding her with every motion. The only sounds were Gizmo’s quiet purring and the distant hum of the fridge.

Jayce wasn’t sure how long they’d all sat there wrapped in silence and warmth, only that the sky had darkened outside and the living room lights had stayed dim. Powder hadn’t moved much, but he could feel the shift in her body—her breathing slowing, the trembling almost completely gone. Gizmo had dozed off, curled into a little ball against her chest.

Then, quietly, Powder’s voice broke the stillness.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her words were soft, but heavy with meaning. “For coming to get me. For… being there.”

Jayce’s chest ached a little in the best way. He turned his head to look at her, but didn’t rush her. She was still curled between them, held in the space they’d made for her.

“I was really scared,” she said, voice trembling. “I didn’t know what to do. But… I knew you’d come.”

Jayce swallowed, the emotion thick in his throat. “Always, Powderbug,” he said gently. “Always.”

There was a pause. Powder’s hand reached out and gently touched Viktor’s arm, then slid over to rest lightly against Jayce’s knee, fingers curling just a little.

“I love you, guys,” she said, barely louder than before—but clearer.

Jayce felt Viktor go still beside him, just for a second. Then he saw the small smile curve his husband’s mouth as he gently kissed the top of Powder’s head.

Jayce smiled too, brushing a hand along her back. “We love you too,” he said. “So much, Powder.”

“More than you could ever imagine,” Viktor added, his voice low but full of certainty.

Powder sniffled once and nodded, eyes closing. “I know.”

They sat like that a while longer, the three of them and a purring cat in the quiet glow of the room.

Chapter Text

She wasn’t trying to listen in. Not really. She had just been walking down the hall, headed toward the kitchen to refill Gizmo’s water bowl when she heard Jayce’s voice—low but sharp, a barely held edge in each word. He was in the living room.

She froze.

“…You had no right to bring her up,” Jayce said. His voice didn’t rise, but it rumbled, taut like a wire pulled too tight. “You know what Vi did. You know what Powder’s gone through. So why—why would you push her like that?”

Caitlyn’s voice was muffled through the phone speaker, but Powder heard enough to catch the words: deserves a chance, people change, Vi might regret it.

Jayce scoffed bitterly. “Regret doesn’t erase abuse. It doesn’t undo the years Powder spent thinking she was unlovable. You saw her—you saw what happened after that conversation. She panicked. She called us sobbing.”

There was a pause. Powder stepped back, her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

Jayce continued, softer now. “Do you understand how much damage that did? How far she spiraled?”

Another pause. Powder could only imagine Caitlyn fumbling for a response.

“I love you, Cait,” Jayce said finally, and his voice was tired. “But you were wrong. And you hurt her. And I don’t know how long it’s going to take for her to feel safe around you again.”

The words dropped like stones.

Powder backed away slowly, quiet as a shadow. Her chest ached, not from the pain of what was said—but from the raw truth of it. Jayce had defended her. He’d stood up, not just as her dad—but as someone who believed her.

Her heart twisted.

She turned the corner too fast—too quiet—and collided straight into Jayce’s chest.

“Oh—Powder,” he said, surprised. His hands gently steadied her shoulders. His eyes softened when he saw her face. “Hey, kiddo.”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed, caught.

There was a pause. Then Jayce asked, carefully, “How much did you hear?”

Powder hesitated. Her throat was tight, her heart still echoing with the things he’d said on the phone. She looked down, then back up.

“Enough,” she whispered.

Jayce opened his mouth to say something—maybe to apologize—but she stepped forward first, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“I just…” Her voice wobbled, but she didn’t let go. “Thank you. For saying all that. For… for defending me.”

Jayce’s arms wrapped around her tightly. “Of course I did, Powder.”

Her face was pressed against his shirt. “I thought… I thought she cared. But then she started talking about Vi like she didn’t remember what happened. And I—I got scared. Like no one would believe me. Like maybe I was being dramatic or broken or…”

“You’re not broken,” Jayce said immediately, voice firm. “You never were. And I don’t care who says otherwise—not Caitlyn, not anyone.”

Powder pulled back just enough to look at him. “I felt like I was back there again. Like I was five. And Vi was mad. And I couldn’t get away.”

Jayce brushed some hair from her face. “I hate that you ever had to feel that. I hate that you still carry it. But you’re not alone anymore, okay? Not ever. You’ve got me. You’ve got Viktor. You’ve got home.”

Powder nodded, and a few quiet tears slipped down her cheeks. But this time, they weren’t from fear. They were from relief.

“Thank you,” she said again, softer now.

Jayce smiled, pulling her close once more. “You don’t have to thank me, Powderbug. That’s what dads do.”

Jayce gently rubbed her back as they stood in the hallway, the early morning light slanting through the window beside them.

After a quiet moment, he pulled back just a little, his eyes searching hers with gentle care. “Hey,” he said softly, brushing her bangs aside, “are you feeling up to school today? I know it’s the first day back, and after yesterday...”

Powder hesitated—just a second—but then nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m okay,” she said, voice steadier now. “I actually feel… good.”

Jayce gave her a small smile, proud but still concerned. “You sure? No pressure, kiddo. You can take the day if you need it.”

“I know.” She took a breath. “But I want to go. I want to see Ekko, Scar, and Sky. I want to feel normal.”

“Okay,” Jayce said, his smile widening just a bit. “Then let’s get you ready, superstar.”

Powder chuckled, and it felt light again. Her chest didn’t hurt as much. The buzzing in her brain had quieted.

“I already laid out my outfit last night,” she said, pulling back fully now and heading toward her room, Gizmo trailing behind her like a shadow.

Jayce watched her go with that familiar, quiet awe—the one he never stopped feeling when it came to her.

He stood there a moment longer, heart full, then turned and headed toward the kitchen to let Viktor know she was getting ready.

*****

Powder slung her backpack over one shoulder, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands as she stepped into the fresh morning air. The sky was that soft, early blue—still a little sleepy, like the world hadn’t fully woken up yet.

Jayce and Viktor stood at the door, both wearing expressions of warm encouragement and maybe just a little reluctance. Powder turned to them and offered a small, shy smile.

“I’ll see you after school,” she said, rocking slightly on her heels.

“Have a good day, muffin,” Viktor said, brushing her hair back and giving her a kiss on the temple.

Jayce opened his arms without a word, and she stepped into the hug, resting her cheek against his chest for a moment.

“Remember,” Jayce murmured, “if you need anything, just call. We’re only one panic button away.”

Powder rolled her eyes fondly and stepped back. “I’ll be fine.”

They watched her walk down the path to where Ekko was waiting on the sidewalk, spinning his worn backpack strap in his hands. He gave her a grin as she approached.

“Ready to get our brains melted by school again?” he asked.

“More than ever,” Powder replied with a dramatic sigh.

They started walking, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes, the sound of birds filling the quiet air between them.

At first, the conversation was light. Ekko talked about how Scar had nearly broken his arm trying to jump off the roof into a pool last week. Powder laughed. She needed that laugh—it came out easier than she expected.

But as they crossed a familiar stretch of sidewalk shaded by tall trees, her smile began to fade.

“I… need to tell you something,” she said, voice quieter now.

Ekko slowed a little, glancing at her. “Yeah?”

“It’s about Caitlyn,” she began, hugging her arms tighter around herself. “Yesterday, when I hung out with her… things got weird.”

Ekko didn’t say anything right away, just nodded for her to go on.

“She asked me how I’d feel if I ever saw Vi again. And I kind of—” she exhaled sharply “—I kind of lost it.”

Ekko’s brows furrowed. “Why would she ask you that?”

“I don’t know,” Powder whispered. “But she was acting strange the whole time. And when I got upset, she pushed it. Like… she wanted me to forgive Vi. Like I should.”

Ekko frowned, his jaw tightening. “That’s messed up. She knows what Vi did to you.”

“I thought she did,” Powder murmured. “I trusted her. And then it was like I couldn’t breathe. I started screaming. I ran.” Her voice caught. “My dads found me.”

Ekko was quiet for a beat before he said, “I’m glad they were there.”

Powder nodded. “Me too.”

They walked a little longer in silence. The school came into view in the distance.

“I don’t know what’s going on with Caitlyn,” Powder said finally. “But it hurt. A lot.”

Ekko’s voice was steady when he answered, “You didn’t deserve any of that. Not from Vi, and definitely not from Caitlyn.”

Powder blinked back a few tears and gave him a soft smile. “Thanks.”

Ekko bumped her shoulder lightly with his. “Freaks stick together, remember?”

“Always,” Powder said.

And with that, they walked toward the school doors, side by side, like they always had.

*****

It had been a week since school started again, and Powder was surprised by how… good everything felt. Even after Caitlyn.

Her mornings didn’t start with knots in her stomach anymore. The heaviness that clung to her shoulders like a wet blanket was lifting, little by little. She’d started band this year—finally got to play the drums like she always wanted. It was loud and freeing and something she could lose herself in without overthinking.

The Firelights were back in full force, like they’d never missed a beat over summer break. Ekko, Scar, Sky, and her—causing chaos in the best way. They'd spent the last few afternoons doing homework at the skate park, eating cheap snacks, and talking about absolutely everything and nothing.

And of course, Scar had to outdo everyone.

He showed up on Thursday with a smug grin and a bandage on his shoulder.

“I swear, if you got stabbed again—” Ekko started.

Scar just peeled the edge of the bandage back to reveal a real tattoo—a small firefly inked in black just under his collarbone.

Powder had nearly choked on her juice pouch. “Scar, what the hell?!”

“I told you I was gonna do it,” he said proudly.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually would!”

“It’s symbolic,” Scar explained with an exaggerated hand gesture. “For us. The Firelights.”

Sky rolled her eyes and muttered, “You’re literally sixteen and unhinged.”

“It’s fake,” Ekko guessed.

Scar just grinned wider. “Guess we’ll see.”

They’d argued about it for an hour. Powder wasn’t sure if it was real or not—but she kind of didn’t care. It was just them. Loud, messy, ridiculous, and hers.

Later that evening, when she got home, Powder collapsed onto the couch with Gizmo curled into her side and a soft, tired smile on her face. Her sketchbook sat open on the coffee table, half a doodle of the Firelights in mid-progress. Everything was okay. Powder’s phone buzzed once on the couch beside her. She reached for it absently, expecting something from Ekko or maybe Sky. But when she saw the name on the screen, her chest tightened.

Caitlyn.

Just that name made her stomach twist.

It had been a week—maybe more—since the last time Powder had seen her. Since that day. Since everything got thrown upside down, Caitlyn hadn’t really pushed since then, hadn’t reached out, and Powder had been grateful for the space.

Until now.

She opened the message, eyes scanning quickly.

Caitlyn:

I know it’s been a while. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. There’s someone I really want you to meet.

Powder stared at the screen.

She didn’t know who Caitlyn meant—and honestly, she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Whoever it was, she didn’t want to see Caitlyn. She wasn’t ready. Not after what she’d said. Not after what she’d pushed.

Caitlyn had broken something that day—something Powder wasn’t sure could be fixed.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long moment before she typed:

I don’t want to see you right now. Or anyone with you. Please don’t ask me again.

Her thumb lingered over the send button for just a second longer, then tapped it.

She turned her phone screen-down on the couch, her heart beating hard in her ears. She didn’t cry. Not this time. But her chest ached in that heavy, hollow way that always came after a hard decision.

Gizmo climbed into her lap, curling up as if she could feel the tension vibrating off Powder.

“I don’t want her in my life right now,” Powder whispered to no one.

And she meant it.

Her phone buzzed again.

Powder froze. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want it to be Caitlyn again. But something about the weight of that second vibration—like a pebble hitting still water—told her it was.

She flipped the phone over.

Caitlyn:

Please, Powder. Just hear me out. One time. Just meet with me. I promise you don’t have to talk if you don’t want. Please.

Powder let out a low, strangled noise—halfway between a growl and a sob—and tossed her phone onto the other side of the couch.

“Ugh—why won’t she just stop?” she hissed, pressing her palms to her face.

It felt like her whole body tensed at once, muscles pulling tight like a bowstring. Her fingers curled into her hair, and she bit the inside of her cheek so hard it hurt, grounding herself with the sharp sting.

“Why can’t she just leave me alone?” she whispered to the empty room. “Why is she still doing this?”

She slammed her fist once against the couch cushion—not hard, but hard enough to release something, even if just a drop of the pressure building inside her chest.

Then, quieter, barely audible, she added, “I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back.”

Her breath came in ragged little bursts, shallow and sharp.

Gizmo jumped off the armrest and padded over cautiously, nudging her hand with a soft little mew. Powder stroked her without thinking, fingers trembling.

She didn’t open the message again. She didn’t reply.

She just sat there, jaw clenched, heart pounding, trying to stop the rising wave from crashing over her.

She didn’t hear the floor creak. Didn’t hear the soft padding of Viktor’s socks.

But she felt it — that familiar, calming presence like a warm draft in a cold room.

“Powder?” Viktor’s voice was gentle, cautious. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Powder flinched and swiped at her eyes quickly, like she could erase the tears before he noticed. But Viktor wasn’t stupid. And she didn’t have the energy to pretend.

He stepped closer, saw her phone face-down on the other side of the couch and the way her fists clenched at her sides like she was trying to hold herself together.

Without saying anything more, he sat down beside her, careful and quiet, like sitting with a wild animal that might bolt. Gizmo curled in tighter against Powder’s side, and Viktor’s hand rested on her shoulder, grounding.

“I got a text,” Powder whispered after a few breaths. “From Caitlyn.”

Viktor’s thumb brushed a slow, steady circle over the top of her shoulder. “I figured,” he said quietly. “I heard your voice from the hall.”

She let out a breath. “She wants me to meet with her. She says I don’t even have to talk. She just keeps pushing.”

“Do you want to see her?” he asked softly.

“No,” Powder said instantly. “I don’t want to see her, or whoever she’s with. I just… I want her to leave me alone. I told her I didn’t want this. Why won’t she just listen?”

Viktor nodded, slow and understanding. “It’s okay to not be ready. It’s okay to say no. And it’s okay to be upset she’s not respecting that.”

Powder’s chin trembled. “It makes me feel like I’m back there again. Like none of it mattered. Like… she doesn’t care what I need. Just what she wants.”

Viktor shifted, gently pulling her into a loose hug. “You’re not back there,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re here. With us. With your family. You’re safe. And you don’t owe anyone forgiveness or explanations. Especially not if it hurts you.”

Powder let herself lean into him, chest heaving with the effort of holding it all in.

“I didn’t even think it would hit me this hard,” she said, voice muffled in his shirt. “It just feels like it keeps pulling at all the old stuff. And I hate it. I hate that it still has that kind of power.”

“It’s not weakness to be hurt,” Viktor said softly. “It’s proof that you’re healing. You’re not numb to it anymore. You know what you deserve now.”

For a long time, Powder didn’t say anything.

She just cried — quiet, exhausted tears — and Viktor held her through it, warm and steady, his hand never leaving her back.

Eventually, she whispered, “Thank you, Daddy.”

And Viktor smiled faintly, kissed the top of her head. “Always.”

*****

Viktor closed the door to Powder’s room quietly, careful not to disturb the calm that had just barely returned. Gizmo was curled at the foot of her bed, a silent little guardian. Powder had finally drifted off, eyes red and body curled tightly beneath her blanket.

He lingered in the hallway for a breath before making his way to the kitchen, where Jayce stood by the sink, fiddling with a glass of water he hadn’t touched. The second Viktor walked in, Jayce turned, concern written all over his face.

"Is she okay?" he asked, voice low and tired.

Viktor ran a hand down his face and leaned against the counter. "She’s... getting there. It rattled her."

Jayce set the glass down with a soft clink. "What happened?"

Viktor sighed. "Caitlyn’s been texting her. Pushing. She sent a message earlier today asking if Powder would meet someone. Wouldn’t say who."

Jayce blinked. “Someone?”

Viktor nodded slowly. “Powder told her she didn’t want to see anyone. Especially not Caitlyn right now. And then Caitlyn texted her again, begging her to meet. That’s when Powder—” He shook his head. “She just hit a wall. Screamed into a pillow, then started shaking. I found her mid-panic.”

Jayce’s jaw clenched, his expression hardening. “What the hell is Caitlyn thinking? Powder’s barely stitched together right now and she’s poking at the seams.”

“I don’t know,” Viktor said. “But she’s not listening.”

Jayce paced a little, his fists tightening at his sides. “Is she trying to fix something that isn’t hers to fix? Or does she think she’s helping?”

“She always thinks she’s helping,” Viktor muttered.

Jayce blew out a sharp breath. “Did Powder say who Caitlyn wanted her to meet?”

“No,” Viktor said. “She didn’t know. Just that Caitlyn said it was someone important. I didn’t push. She was too overwhelmed.”

Jayce exhaled again and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed tightly. “This is exactly what we were afraid of. That someone from her past would show up and open everything up again.”

Viktor nodded, folding his arms too. “She’s made so much progress. And this—this kind of pressure? It shakes that foundation.”

“We need to talk to Caitlyn,” Jayce said firmly. “She’s not hearing Powder’s no. She’s crossing lines.”

“We will,” Viktor agreed softly. “But we also need to stay focused on Powder right now.”

Jayce’s gaze softened a little. “How did she seem... before the panic?”

“She was fine. Drawing, listening to music. She was having a good day.”

Jayce looked down. “And Caitlyn wrecked that.”

“Yeah.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around them like a fragile bubble. Jayce’s eyes flicked toward the hallway.

“She’s still our little girl,” he said quietly. “Even at fifteen, even after everything. I keep thinking that maybe someday... things will stop hurting her like this.”

Viktor gently reached over and rested a hand on Jayce’s arm. “They won’t always. But until then, she has us.”

Jayce looked at him, some of the anger melting into something deeper—protective and fierce. “Yeah. She does.”

Chapter Text

The kitchen smelled like coffee and acrylics.

Jayce leaned against the counter, cradling his mug, watching as the morning sunlight spilled in through the windows, casting warm, golden stripes across the kitchen floor. Powder was at the table, already set up with a canvas, jars of water, and a chaotic explosion of paints, brushes, and half-squeezed tubes that made Viktor twitch every time he walked by.

She was humming something under her breath—some indie song he didn't recognize—and had her hair twisted up in a messy bun, a smear of blue already on her cheek. Gizmo sat curled on a nearby chair like a tiny supervisor, her eyes half-lidded but tracking every move Powder made.

Jayce took another sip of his coffee and watched Powder stretch her arms, bounce a little on her toes, and then lean over the canvas with that quiet intensity she always got when she was creating something that meant a lot.

She didn’t say anything at first, just bit her lip and adjusted the canvas again. Then she glanced up, caught Jayce watching her, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“No peeking, Dad,” she warned, a tiny grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Jayce raised his hands innocently. “What? I’m just standing here. Minding my own business.”

“Your ‘own business’ happens to be very nosy,” she said, dabbing a bit of orange onto the upper corner of the canvas. “This one’s a surprise.”

“A surprise, huh?” He smiled and tilted his head. “Is it for me?”

“I’m not answering that.” She stuck her tongue out slightly as she focused again, her brush moving with purpose. “It’s for someone. But you don’t get to know yet.”

Jayce chuckled and stepped back. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep my curious dad energy to myself.”

It had been a few weeks since the last tense exchange with Caitlyn. Things had quieted down again—no strange messages, no unexpected drama. Just calm. Peaceful. Powder had been more focused lately, more driven. Whatever this painting was, it had her full attention. And Jayce was more than happy to see her like this—excited, passionate, safe.

Viktor passed through the kitchen on his way to the study, gave Powder a kiss on the top of her head, and smirked at the supplies spread across the table. “You’re getting paint on my chair again.”

“Shhh,” she replied, waving him off. “Art is happening.”

Jayce laughed into his coffee.

There was a knock at the door just as Jayce was finishing his coffee. Powder didn’t even look up from her painting.

“That’s Ekko,” she said, flicking her wrist with another splash of color. “Can you get it?”

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “What, am I your butler now?”

“Yes. But like, a cool one,” she called out without missing a beat.

Chuckling, Jayce walked to the front door and opened it to find Ekko standing there, hoodie half-zipped, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder and a wide grin on his face.

“Hey, Mr. Talis,” he said with a nod.

“Hey, Ekko. You here to do homework or help Powder accidentally paint the cat again?”

Ekko snorted. “Hopefully just homework. But no promises.”

Gizmo, apparently recognizing her favorite guest, jumped down from her chair and trotted toward Ekko, tail flicking. He knelt down and gave her a quick rub behind the ears before stepping inside.

“She's in the kitchen,” Jayce said, motioning with his thumb. “Also, don't let her rope you into keeping secrets about the painting.”

Ekko just grinned and wandered in. Powder lit up a little when she saw him, scooting over to make space at the table. Her brushes were neatly off to the side now, giving room for a spiral notebook and a battered algebra book. Jayce watched them for a second—Powder smearing green paint across her canvas while Ekko opened his book and made some comment about slope intercepts that made her roll her eyes. It was comfortable. Familiar.

Jayce and Viktor passed the quiet hum of Powder and Ekko talking behind them—Ekko’s voice animated, Powder’s more relaxed than she’d been all week. It was strange how the house could be so full, yet so peaceful. There had been a time when silence felt like something heavy, something uncertain. Now it was just... good.

They reached the office and Jayce shut the door behind them gently, already pulling up his project files. Viktor settled beside him at the desk, the two of them slipping easily into work mode, but Jayce couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his mouth. He liked this.

He liked everything about this.

And as far as he knew, nothing was about to go wrong.

*****

Ekko’s pencil scratched lightly against his notebook, his tongue poking out slightly as he squinted at the problem in front of him. Powder glanced over at him from the corner of her eye and smirked a little.

“Want some help?” she offered, tapping her brush against the jar of cloudy water.

Ekko didn’t look up. “From you? Nah. You’re painting, not doing math. Let me suffer in peace.”

Powder laughed under her breath and flicked her brush across the canvas, blending soft browns into the background. She glanced down at the painting again, the outlines finally starting to feel real. Jayce’s wide smile, Viktor’s soft eyes, her own quiet expression tucked between them.

It was them. Her family.

It was home.

She didn’t say anything for a long time. Just painted. Each stroke felt a little sacred, like she was carving the life she’d built into something permanent. Something that couldn’t be taken away.

Ekko shifted next to her and peeked sideways. “So… are you ever going to let me see what it is?”

“Eventually,” Powder said, biting the inside of her cheek. “I just… I want it to be right first.”

“Is it for your dads?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, dabbing in a bit of color to Viktor’s sweater. “I’ve been working on it for a while, like, sketching ideas. But I only started the real one a few days ago.”

Ekko leaned over his homework and whispered dramatically, “Is it a bowl of fruit?”

Powder rolled her eyes but smiled. “No. It’s them. Us.”

That made him pause. “Wait, like a portrait?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it’s cheesy or whatever, and I know that I have already painted canvases with us together. But I wanted to paint it so they’d know. Like really know. That they’re my family.”

Ekko blinked, a softness settling over his face. “That’s not cheesy, Powder. That’s actually… really nice.”

She shrugged a little, embarrassed. “I dunno. I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About how different things are. Like, when I was seven, I’d never have been able to paint this. I wouldn’t even know what it meant to have a family.”

“You know now,” Ekko said gently, nudging her shoulder with his.

Powder smiled again and dipped her brush back into the paint. “Yeah. I do.”

There was a quiet for a while. Not awkward—just peaceful. Ekko started scribbling again, muttering to himself about variables and parentheses, while Powder worked her way around the edge of the canvas, adding soft golds and pale blues to the corners.

She didn’t tell him that the colors were meant to represent safety. Or that she’d studied her dads’ faces so many times just to get every line right. Or that she was painting herself between them because she wanted to be right there forever.

But she knew it.

And someday soon, so would they.

She was just starting to add the highlights to Jayce’s smile—small, soft strokes of white that brought the whole thing to life—when the doorbell rang.

Powder paused, tilting her head slightly.

Ekko looked up from his notebook. “Were your dads expecting someone?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. It’s Friday. They said it was just us.”

Setting her brush down carefully, Powder wiped her hands on the edge of a towel and stood, heart already thudding harder than it should have. Gizmo, curled up at the edge of the counter, lifted her head and flicked her tail.

Ekko called after her, “Want me to come with?”

“No,” Powder said, curiosity and something heavier pulling at her chest. “I’ll just see who it is.”

She padded across the tile and through the hall toward the front door. Her fingertips brushed the knob, hesitated.

Something was off.

She opened the door.

And everything stopped.

Standing on the porch, framed by the soft golden light of the late afternoon sun, was Vi.

Hair shorter than it had been, but still that unmistakable deep pink. The same face, older now, sharper. Eyes wide and hopeful—too hopeful.

“Hey, Powder,” Vi said quietly, her voice almost gentle.

Powder couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

Her eyes locked on Vi’s—her sister—and her body froze, heart punching against her ribs like it wanted to run.

She wasn’t prepared. Not even close.

This wasn’t a text. This wasn’t a memory or a bad dream or something she could ignore.

This was Vi.

Here.

Now.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her stomach turned, and her skin felt too tight all over her bones.

“Powder,” Vi said again, her voice catching like she knew how impossible this moment was, “I— I know this is a shock. I just… I just wanted to see you. It’s been so long.”

Powder’s hands had started to shake.

She stepped back instinctively.

Vi didn’t move forward, but the space between them felt like it was closing in.

Ekko’s voice floated from the kitchen, casual and unaware. “Everything good?”

But Powder couldn’t answer.

Her brain wasn’t working. All she could hear was her heart. All she could feel was the ice creeping into her chest.

And all she could see… was the person who had broken her.

She stared.

Her lips moved without sound at first, barely forming the words her brain couldn’t piece together.

"She’s not supposed to be here."

Powder took a step back.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Her voice was barely a whisper, like a broken record echoing through her chest.

Vi’s face dropped, the hopeful look flickering into something else—regret, maybe. Pain.

But Powder couldn’t see it. Couldn’t process it.

Her breath hitched as the edges of the world started to blur. The hallway behind her stretched too long. The light grew too bright. Her pulse screamed in her ears.

"She’s not supposed to be here."

She stumbled back another step, her heel knocking into the wall as her shoulder hit the frame.

“Powder, wait—please,” Vi said, taking a step forward.

That one motion shattered everything.

“NO!” Powder screamed, hands shooting out defensively like they could create a wall. Her whole body snapped into panic.

“GO AWAY!” she shouted, voice high and ragged, panic flooding her throat.

Vi froze. “I’m not here to hurt you—”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Powder screamed again, louder this time, almost feral. Her hands were shaking violently now, her chest heaving.

“Leave me alone, leave me alone—you’re not supposed to be here!”

Her legs gave a little as she backed into the wall behind her. Her head whipped around like she was looking for an exit, for anything that could save her from this moment. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her breathing ragged and shallow.

Everything in her mind was crashing.

She didn’t see Vi anymore.

She saw hands grabbing her.

Voices yelling.

Locked doors.

Cold nights and louder threats.

“I hate you! Just go! Just go!” she shrieked, sobs pushing their way up from her chest like fire.

Vi looked stricken, stunned into silence on the porch.

“Daddy!” Powder suddenly cried, voice hoarse and childlike. “Dad!”

She didn’t hear Vi say anything else. Didn’t see the look of heartbreak on her sister’s face. Didn’t feel the hardwood floor beneath her feet or the soft fabric of her sweatshirt clinging to her arms.

All of it melted away.

Her ears were filled with static. White noise. Pressure building behind her eyes and in her skull like she might explode.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her hands clawed at her chest, trembling, nails digging into her shirt like she could rip the feeling out.

“It’s not real,” she whispered to no one, over and over.

Her vision blurred. The world spun.

Her knees hit the floor with a dull thud. She didn’t notice. She was folded over herself, rocking forward and back, gasping in short, broken hiccups of breath. Her fingers gripped her hair now, tugging, grounding, desperate to stay tethered.

“Not real, not real, not real...”

The voices came next.

Faint, not real, but so loud.

Vi’s voice. Her old voice. The cold one.

"You're worthless."

"You ruin everything."

"You’re lucky anyone even wants you."

Powder screamed.

She didn’t know if it was out loud or in her head — didn’t care. It tore from her throat, animal and raw. Her body curled tighter in on itself as more sobs broke through, each one harder than the last.

Everything hurt. Her skin, her chest, her lungs, her heart.

She wasn’t in her house anymore.

She was five again. Alone. Unwanted. Hurt. Broken.

Abandoned.

Forgotten.

Her voice cracked as she whimpered, “Make it stop… please make it stop…”

She didn’t see the front door wide open.

Didn’t see Ekko standing frozen in the hallway, eyes wide with fear.

Didn’t hear her name being called.

Didn’t notice the rush of footsteps.

The panic held her too tightly, squeezing like a vice.

She was lost inside it.

*****

The scream didn’t sound real.

Jayce had been in the office with Viktor, sorting through work emails and half-listening to Ekko and Powder’s music drifting from the kitchen. Viktor had even made tea.

Then it happened.

A scream — sharp, guttural, raw — tore through the house like a blade through glass.

Jayce froze.

Then he heard it again.

“Dad! Daddy!” Powder’s voice was shrill, cracking with terror.

Jayce’s blood ran cold.

He was already moving, sprinting down the hallway with Viktor close behind. Everything blurred — the walls, the doorway, Ekko’s panicked voice yelling something — none of it registered.

He hit the corner of the entryway and—

She was on the ground.

Powder was curled up near the front door, sobbing so violently she could barely breathe. Her arms were locked over her head, fingers twisted in her hair, body shaking uncontrollably.

Ekko stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, stunned.

But Jayce’s eyes caught on the figure standing just feet away from her — a woman.

Pink hair. Wide, haunted eyes. Hands raised in shock.

He didn’t recognize her. Not at first.

But Powder did.

“Get away from her,” he snapped, voice low and deadly.

The woman flinched, stunned into stillness.

Viktor was already kneeling beside Powder, whispering her name, hands gentle but firm. Jayce dropped beside him, heart pounding, voice trembling but soft.

“Powder, sweetheart, we’re here. We’re here.”

She didn’t respond. Her body was heaving, lungs hitching, like she couldn’t find her way back. Her eyes were wide but unfocused, looking through them like they weren’t real.

“Hey,” Jayce whispered, brushing her hair out of her face. “It’s us. It’s Dad and Daddy. You’re safe.”

“She—she’s here—” Powder’s voice cracked. “She’s not supposed to be here. You promised. You said—I’m not safe—”

And that’s when Jayce looked up—looked closer at the woman still standing there, frozen in guilt and fear.

The pink hair.

The scar across her eyebrow.

The pale, shaking hands.

Vi.

The name hit him like a punch.

Powder’s sister.

The one she had nightmares about.

The one she thought she’d never have to see again.

Jayce felt a chill settle under his skin.

Vi hadn’t moved. Her expression had fallen into horror. Regret. She looked like she wanted to say something—but didn’t. Couldn’t. Maybe understood that she had no right.

Jayce stared at her. His arms tightened protectively around Powder.

“No, no, muffin,” Viktor said quickly, his own voice breaking. “You are safe. We’re here. We’ve got you.”

Jayce wrapped his arms around her, slow and careful, pulling her in gently. Viktor followed, anchoring her between them.

Powder sobbed harder, but this time her fists clutched Jayce’s shirt instead of her own hair. Her body was still trembling, but her breathing slowly started to hitch in a different rhythm — ragged, yes, but less frantic. Less spiraling.

“I’ve got you, baby girl,” Jayce whispered against her hair. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. We’re not going to let anything happen.”

Powder whimpered, barely audible. “I was so scared… I thought I was back there…”

“You’re not,” Viktor murmured. “You’re home. You’re safe.”

They stayed there like that — tangled together on the floor, the world shut out around them.

Jayce looked up once, eyes burning as he met Vi’s stunned, tear-streaked face.

She didn’t say a word. Just backed up slowly and slipped out the door.

*****

They didn’t move her right away.

She was still curled tightly between him and Viktor, her breaths shallow and ragged, soaked in a cold sweat. Jayce kept his hand gently cradling the back of her head, feeling every tremor run through her body. Viktor was whispering to her in soft, steady words—soothing things that didn’t need to make sense, just sounds to hold her here.

Ekko hovered nearby, frozen in the kitchen doorway, face pale and stricken. He looked like he didn’t know if he was allowed to step forward.

Jayce gave him a small nod.

That was all it took.

Ekko dropped to his knees beside Powder, not touching her, but close. “Hey, Powder,” he said gently. “I’m here too, okay? You’re not alone.”

Something shifted in her breathing at his voice. Her fingers gripped Viktor’s shirt tighter, but she turned her head just enough to see him.

Ekko’s eyes were glassy. He didn’t say much else—just stayed close, giving her space and presence all at once.

After a while, her sobs started to quiet. Her body stopped shaking as hard. She was still breathing fast, still pale, but she was blinking now. Seeing.

Jayce brushed her hair back from her face.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let’s get you off the floor, yeah?”

Powder nodded—barely.

Viktor moved first, standing slowly and gently gathering her into his arms. She didn’t fight it. Just leaned against him like all the strength had drained from her.

Ekko rose too, staying close at her side.

Jayce led the way down the hall.

They brought her to her room. It felt like a safe place—soft blankets, art-covered walls, and the quiet presence of Gizmo, who looked up from her perch and padded over to meet them.

Viktor set Powder down gently on her bed, and Jayce tucked the blanket around her. She curled on her side, still breathing shallowly, but her eyes were clearer now. Tired. Hollow. But here.

Ekko sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, quiet and calm.

Jayce sat beside her, brushing his fingers gently over her temple. “We’re not gonna ask questions yet,” he said. “We’re just going to stay.”

“I’ll get some water,” Viktor said quietly, and left the room.

Powder reached out. Her fingers found Jayce’s sleeve and didn’t let go.

He looked down and smiled gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Viktor returned with the glass and handed it to her carefully. She took a few slow sips, her hands still trembling. Then she set it on the nightstand and turned to curl a little deeper into the pillows.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

Jayce leaned down. “You don’t need to say that, Powderbug.”

Ekko nodded in agreement. “You were scared. That’s allowed.”

Powder closed her eyes. Her breathing was starting to even out.

Jayce stayed at her side, Viktor brushing fingers through her hair, Ekko keeping gentle watch.

And slowly, slowly, the storm settled.

*****

The house felt heavier now.

Not loud. Not frantic.

Just heavy, like the silence had soaked into the walls.

Powder was resting—finally—and Jayce had lingered in the hallway for a long time after she fell asleep, one hand on the doorframe like he couldn’t quite walk away. When Viktor gently touched his arm, Jayce leaned into him with a tired sigh, and together they slipped back down the hall.

Neither of them spoke right away.

The living room still held a chill from the door being open too long. The light had dimmed outside, slipping toward evening, and Viktor moved almost automatically to Powder’s art supplies scattered across the kitchen table.

He started putting things back into their places, wiping up small smudges of paint, untangling a few brushes from one another. It felt like the kind of task that helped—quiet, steady, useful.

Then he saw it.

Her painting.

It had been half-covered by a rag when they rushed in earlier, but now that the table was mostly clear, Viktor gently lifted the edge.

And stopped.

It was a portrait.

Not a perfect one—more expressive than detailed—but the emotion in it hit him square in the chest. Three figures: him, Jayce, and Powder. Their eyes soft, their postures relaxed, their arms overlapping in a way that said home.

Powder had painted herself in the middle, a small, bright figure surrounded by warmth. Her expression was content. At peace.

Viktor blinked, and felt the stinging behind his eyes rise all too quickly.

Jayce had stepped into the kitchen, looking just as exhausted and raw as Viktor felt. He glanced over Viktor’s shoulder, then moved closer, silently taking in the painting.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Then Jayce said, voice rough, “She was working on this when.....”

Viktor nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He propped the painting gently against the wall, away from the clutter of brushes and color palettes.

Jayce let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “When Caitlyn texted her… a few weeks ago. Said she had someone she wanted Powder to meet.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed. “Yes. Powder told me she didn’t want to go.”

Jayce’s gaze darkened slightly. “She thought it was just Caitlyn. She was already upset then, I remember.”

There was a pause. The air between them shifted, like something just beneath the surface was trying to be noticed.

Jayce’s eyes met Viktor’s. “Wait—do you think…?”

The realization came slowly—like ice cracking.

Viktor straightened slightly. “You don’t think the person Caitlyn wanted her to meet…”

Jayce’s voice dropped. “Vi.”

Silence.

The name hung between them like a curse.

Viktor’s hand clenched the edge of the table. “She wouldn’t.”

Jayce didn’t answer for a moment. Then, “But she did.”

The weight of it settled on Viktor’s chest. He looked back at the painting. At the little family Powder had built from nothing.

“That’s why Powder reacted the way she did. That kind of panic—” He swallowed hard. “She wasn’t just surprised. She was reliving it.”

Jayce’s jaw tightened. “Caitlyn promised she cared. That she wanted to support Powder. How could she keep something like this from us?”

“I don’t know.”

Viktor reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the portrait. Powder had painted this for them—for the people who stayed. And Vi… Vi had always been the one who left.

He looked at Jayce, eyes sharper now. “We talk to Caitlyn. Today. We find out how this happened.”

Jayce nodded. “We make it clear that Vi does not come near her again and figure out how Vi even knew where to find us.”

They stood there a little longer, quiet but not alone. Just two dads standing over the art table of a girl who had built a life from ashes.

Viktor squeezed Jayce’s hand.

“She’s ours,” he said softly.

Jayce looked back toward the hallway. “Yeah. And she always will be.”

The painting watched them from the wall.

Three brushstrokes of love in a world that had taken too much from Powder already.

And they would not let it take anything more.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet again—but not in a way that brought any peace.

Viktor sat at the kitchen table, staring at the cup of tea that had long gone cold, untouched. Across from him, Jayce paced the room in slow, tense strides, the kind he only did when he was holding something heavy in his chest and trying not to let it spill out.

Neither had spoken much since Powder had finally fallen asleep. She was curled in her bed now, clinging to Gizmo, the kitten purring softly against her as if trying to guard her from another nightmare. 

Jayce finally stopped pacing and dropped into the chair beside Viktor with a heavy sigh. “We need to do something.”

Viktor’s voice was quiet, but there was no uncertainty in it. “We do.”

Jayce rubbed his hands over his face. “Caitlyn knew. She had to. There’s no way she didn’t know Vi was the one who—”

“She knew,” Viktor said, voice harder now. “And she still tried to bring her into Powder’s life. Without telling us. Without telling Powder.”

Jayce looked over at him, his eyes dark. “We need to file a restraining order. Against Vi for sure. And Caitlyn... I don’t want her near Powder either. Not after this.”

Viktor didn’t flinch. “I agree. No contact. From either of them.”

Jayce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice low. “I hate that it’s come to this. I hate that Caitlyn—someone who was like family—put Powder through this. Lied to her. Lied to us.”

“She lost our trust the moment she chose to prioritize Vi’s redemption arc over Powder’s safety,” Viktor said tightly. “I won’t let them near her again. We can’t.”

Jayce exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “We’ll talk to a lawyer first thing Monday morning. I don’t care what it takes—Powder needs to know she’s safe. That what happened today will never happen again.”

Viktor nodded, eyes flicking toward the hallway like he was keeping guard even now. “We’ll make it legal. Official. Unbreakable. No more surprise visits. No more manipulation.”

A beat passed in silence before Jayce added, “You think we should tell Powder about the orders?”

“Eventually. But not right now,” Viktor said. “She’s fragile enough as it is. Let her rest. Heal. When she’s ready, we’ll tell her she never has to face either of them again.”

Jayce placed a hand over Viktor’s and squeezed. “We keep her safe.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched with quiet resolve. “Always.”

*****

The house had been still for over an hour—quiet, heavy, like it was holding its breath.

Jayce sat beside him on the couch now, his fingers laced with Viktor’s, both of them watching the hallway like it might give them answers. They hadn’t moved much since the earlier conversation—just shifted from sharp determination to quiet worry.

Then, finally, the soft creak of a door opening.

Viktor’s breath caught.

Powder stepped out, barefoot, her hoodie sleeves hanging past her hands. Her eyes were swollen, lashes damp. She looked smaller than usual, almost ghostlike—like if they blinked too long, she’d disappear again.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there in the hallway, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to come closer.

Viktor rose slowly, not wanting to startle her. “Powder?”

Her lip trembled. Her arms wrapped tight around herself, like she was trying to hold her heart in place. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Jayce stood beside Viktor. “Oh, baby girl…”

“I—I shouldn’t have yelled like that,” she mumbled, blinking fast. “I didn’t mean to scream at anyone. I just— I got so scared, and I couldn’t breathe, and I—”

Viktor stepped forward, arms open but careful not to rush. “You don’t need to apologize for being scared.”

Powder shook her head, tears falling silently now. “But I freaked out. I—I couldn’t stop. I didn’t even see Ekko—I didn’t see anything. And I—I made everything worse.”

“You didn’t make anything worse,” Jayce said firmly. “You were hurt, and triggered. None of this is your fault.”

“I just—” she paused, voice breaking. “I hate how it felt. I hate how I acted. I felt like that little kid again. Like I wasn’t safe.”

Viktor’s chest clenched. He moved closer and gently pulled her into a hug. She came easily this time, clutching the front of his sweater and pressing her face to his chest as more tears spilled.

“You were scared because someone from your past showed up uninvited,” Viktor said softly. “You have every right to feel the way you did. Every right.”

Jayce came up behind and wrapped them both in his arms. “And you didn’t have to face it alone. You’re not alone, Powder. Not ever.”

“I just feel… awful,” she whispered. “Like I failed. Like I should’ve been stronger.”

“No,” Viktor said gently. “Strength isn’t pretending you're okay. It’s letting yourself feel. It’s letting us help you.”

Powder didn’t say anything for a while. She just stood there, safe between them, letting the tears fall until her breathing evened out. Until the weight pressing down on her shoulders loosened, just a little.

Then, in the smallest voice, she asked, “Can we just… sit for a bit?”

Jayce gave her a small smile. “Yeah, Powderbug. Of course.”

They led her to the couch. Gizmo hopped up not long after, curling into her lap like she’d known Powder needed her.

*****

The morning light crept in gently, slipping through her curtains like it was trying not to wake her too fast. But Powder was already awake.

Or maybe she hadn’t really been asleep at all.

She felt like she’d been floating somewhere just beneath the surface of rest—too exhausted to move, too wired to fully sink into sleep. Her body felt heavy, like her bones had been swapped out for lead. Gizmo was curled up beside her, warm and small, her rhythmic purring the only comfort in the thick silence.

Powder stared at the ceiling, eyes dry but aching. Her chest still felt tight, like it hadn’t quite reset from the night before.

A soft knock on her bedroom door.

“Powder?” Jayce’s voice. Quiet. Careful. “Can we come in?”

She didn’t answer, but a few seconds later, the door creaked open and her dads stepped inside. Both of them looked like they hadn’t slept much either—messy hair, quiet eyes, worry softened only by love.

“Hey, bug,” Jayce said gently as they walked over.

“It’s Saturday,” Viktor added. “You don’t have to do anything today. No plans. No pressure.”

She nodded a little, barely.

Jayce pulled her desk chair closer to the bed while Viktor sat gently at the edge. “We thought… maybe a slow morning together,” Jayce said. “We could make pancakes. Or not. Whatever you want.”

Powder rubbed her thumb over the blanket, then finally looked at them.

“I feel… tired,” she whispered. “Not like sleepy. Just… tired everywhere.”

Viktor’s hand rested lightly on her leg. “That makes perfect sense, muffin.”

“It was a lot yesterday,” Jayce said quietly. “More than anyone should ever have to deal with. Especially you.”

They didn’t push. They didn’t fill the silence with too many words. Just sat with her, let her feel however she needed to.

After a long moment, Powder said, “Can I… Can I just stay in bed a little longer?”

“Of course,” Viktor said right away.

Jayce smiled. “We’ll be in the kitchen. But come out whenever you feel like it. Even just to sit.”

They stood to leave, but before they reached the door, Powder spoke again. “Wait…”

They turned.

“Can I have a hug?”

Jayce was by her side in a heartbeat, and Viktor followed, wrapping their arms around her like a shield. Like home.

Powder closed her eyes and let herself melt into them, just for a little while.

She stayed in bed after they left, curled on her side beneath the covers, clutching one of the pillows close to her chest.

The hug had helped.

A little.

But now that they were gone, her thoughts crept back in like they always did. Whispering. Poking. Reminding.

She stared at the worn edges of her comforter, her eyes tracing the tiny stitched pattern over and over like it would anchor her to something solid.

The way Vi had looked at her…

She hadn’t thought about her sister’s face in years—at least, not in any real, present way. Not like yesterday. Not standing there. Not with that same pink hair, that same posture that used to fill the hallway of their old home with fear.

It had all come rushing back so fast.

The shouting. The slamming doors. The coldness in Vi’s eyes when she got mad. That bitter silence that followed every outburst. The way she’d made Powder feel small. Like a mistake.

And Caitlyn… Caitlyn had known. Powder was sure of it now.

The betrayal settled like a heavy weight on her chest. It wasn’t just what Vi had done—it was who had brought her back into Powder’s life. Without warning. Without protection. She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling again. Her eyes burned, but the tears didn’t come this time. They just sat behind her eyelids, stubborn and hot.

Gizmo stirred beside her, stretching out and crawling up toward her shoulder. Powder scratched behind her ears absentmindedly.

“I don’t want her here,” she whispered. “I don’t care if she changed.”

Her voice cracked as she said it, but she didn’t cry.

She just lay there.

Wrapped in the aftermath.

******

Jayce glanced up as he heard the soft creak of the hallway floor. Powder appeared at the edge of the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, her steps slow and uncertain. Her eyes were rimmed in red, and the hollowness in her expression made Jayce’s chest tighten.

“Morning, Powderbug.” he said gently.

“Hey, muffin.” Viktor added from where he stood near the stove, flipping the last of the pancakes onto a warm plate.

Powder gave them both a nod—small, barely there—and slid into her usual chair. Gizmo trailed behind, tail twitching before hopping up onto the bench beside her. She didn’t speak, just sat staring at her hands folded in front of her.

Jayce poured her a mug of hot cocoa, Viktor added whipped cream, and they set her plate in front of her. She didn’t touch it at first. Just stared down at the syrup and pancakes like they were something from another world.

Jayce and Viktor took their seats across from her. No one pushed.

Then, after a few long moments, her voice broke the quiet. “I feel really stupid.”

Jayce and Viktor both looked up at once.

“Why do you say that?” Viktor asked softly.

Powder’s shoulders hunched. “Because I trusted her. Caitlyn. I really thought she cared about me. But she knew. She knew it was Vi. And she still lied.”

“She did,” Jayce said quietly.

“I just don’t get it,” Powder whispered. “Why would she… Why would she bring her back into my life like that? Why would she think that was okay?”

“She wasn’t thinking about you,” Viktor said, calm but firm. “She was thinking about what she wanted. That was wrong.”

Powder’s lip trembled. “And Vi—“ she spat the name like it tasted rotten. "—she just shows up. Like everything she did didn’t matter. Like I’m just supposed to—” Her hands clenched into fists. “—be okay with it. Like it didn’t break me.”

She stopped, shaking her head hard. “Like I’m supposed to just forgive her because she wants it.”

Jayce leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You don’t owe her anything, Powder. Not your forgiveness. Not your time. Not a single second of your peace.”

Powder’s voice came out like broken glass. “She made me feel like I shouldn’t exist. Like I was nothing. Like I was the problem.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened, and Jayce saw the flash of anger behind his eyes. “She doesn’t get to do that to you anymore,” Viktor said. “And she never will again.”

“I trusted Caitlyn,” Powder said. “That’s the worst part. I thought she was safe.”

Jayce reached across the table, resting his hand over hers. Viktor mirrored the gesture, gently covering her other hand.

“She broke your trust,” Jayce said. “That’s on her. Not you.”

“You’re allowed to feel betrayed,” Viktor added. “And angry. And sad. And everything else you need to feel.”

Powder blinked fast, but tears still slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t pull away from their hands. Just sat there, fragile and furious and hurting.

Jayce gave her a moment, then pushed her plate a little closer. “You should eat something. Doesn’t have to be much.”

She nodded slowly, lifting her fork with trembling fingers and taking a bite. Then another. Viktor passed her the syrup without a word. Jayce refilled her cocoa.

After Powder had eaten a little—enough that Jayce felt like she’d regained at least a bit of strength. Her fork now sat on the empty plate, and she leaned her cheek against her hand, watching the steam rise from her mug. She looked tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix.

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a look.

It was time.

Jayce cleared his throat softly. “Powder?”

She looked up at him with those tired, blue eyes.

“There’s something Daddy and I wanted to talk to you about,” Jayce said, glancing to Viktor for a moment before continuing. “We’ve been thinking a lot since… everything that happened.”

Viktor spoke next, calm and steady. “We don’t want Vi—or Caitlyn—to have the chance to surprise you again. We want to make sure you're safe. Really safe. No more unexpected doorbells. No more texts from people who’ve hurt you.”

Powder’s eyes flicked between them, her brows furrowed. She looked wary now, guarded.

“What… what does that mean?”

Jayce leaned in a little, voice soft. “We’re looking into getting a legal no-contact order. For both of them.”

Powder sat up straighter. “Like… like a restraining order?”

Viktor nodded. “Yes. If it’s granted, it means they can’t contact you. No calls. No texts. No showing up. If they do, they’d be breaking the law.”

Powder blinked. She was quiet for a long moment, processing. “Even Caitlyn?”

Jayce’s heart twisted a little at the way she said it.

“Even Caitlyn,” Viktor said firmly. “She broke your trust, Powder. She let someone dangerous into your life without your consent. That’s not okay.”

Jayce added, “We know that might be hard to hear. But your safety and peace come first. Always.”

Powder stared down at her mug. She was silent for so long, Jayce started to wonder if they’d overwhelmed her again. But then—

“…Thank you.”

Her voice was small, but clear.

Jayce blinked. “You’re not mad?”

She shook her head, “No. I… I’m glad. I didn’t even know something like that was possible. I was scared that Vi would just show up again. That Caitlyn would try to make me see her.”

Jayce reached out, resting a hand over hers. “Not anymore, bug.”

Viktor gently squeezed her other hand. “We’re going to take care of it. You don’t have to do anything. It’s our job to protect you.”

Powder gave a small nod, then a broken little laugh. “I mean… you are my dads.”

Jayce smiled, his heart aching in the best way. “Yeah. We really are.”

“And we’ll keep showing up,” Viktor added, brushing her knuckles with his thumb. “Every time, muffin.”

Powder didn’t cry—not this time. But she let out a long, slow breath and leaned into Jayce’s side.

For the first time since Vi had reappeared, Jayce felt like the ground beneath them was steady again.

*****

The living room was quiet now. The sun outside had started to dip, casting warm, orange light across the walls and catching on the picture frames. Gizmo stretched out across the back of the couch like a queen, her tail flicking lazily.

Powder sat curled in the armchair, her legs tucked underneath her, sketchbook in her lap—but she hadn’t drawn anything. Her pencil rested loosely in her hand, and her eyes kept drifting to the window, not seeing anything outside it.

Jayce sat on the floor next to her chair, back leaned against it, flipping absently through a magazine he clearly wasn’t reading. Viktor was on the couch, watching quietly, giving her space but also being fully present.

She hadn’t said much for the last hour, but the silence felt okay now. Safe. Not heavy.

“I felt…” she started suddenly, surprising herself with her own voice. It came out rough, like she hadn’t used it in a while.

Jayce looked up immediately. “Yeah?”

She swallowed. Her fingers tightened around the pencil. “When I saw her… when I saw Vi... I felt like I didn’t exist anymore. Like I was just—small. Helpless.”

Viktor leaned forward, giving her his full attention.

“I was frozen,” she whispered. “And then I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t breathe. It was like—like everything in my brain was screaming, but I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t even see Ekko or hear anything. I just—” She stopped, blinking fast. “It was like I was little again.”

Jayce placed a hand gently on her knee. “You don’t have to go back there in your head.”

“I know,” Powder whispered. “But I have to say it.”

They nodded. They were listening.

She looked down at her sketchbook, eyes focusing on the blank page. “I felt so out of control. Like nothing I said or wanted mattered. Like Caitlyn and Vi just... decided things for me. Like I didn’t matter. Like they knew better.”

Her hands started shaking again, just a little.

“And I am so angry,” she said, voice rising. “At Caitlyn. At Vi. Caitlyn acted like—like it was some kind of gift. Like bringing Vi to me was supposed to fix something. Like I owed Vi forgiveness. And it makes me want to scream.”

“You have every right to feel that way,” Viktor said softly.

“She betrayed you,” Jayce added. “They both did.”

“I hate that they made me feel that way,” Powder said. “Like I was backed into a corner. Like I had no choice but to relive it all again. Like I was powerless all over again.”

Jayce reached up and took her hand, holding it steady in both of his.

“But I’m not powerless,” she said, firmer now. “I have you guys. And that no-contact order… it helps. It makes it feel like I’m taking that power back.”

Viktor stood and crossed over to kneel next to her chair. He gently rested his hand on her shoulder.

“You are taking it back,” he said. “And we’re with you every step of the way.”

“You’re not alone, Powderbug” Jayce said, squeezing her hand.

Powder looked at them both, her expression caught somewhere between fragile and fiercely determined. “I never want to see them again. I don’t want them near me. Not ever.”

Jayce nodded. “Then they won’t be. Both of them.”

“I don’t care if Vi changed,” she said. “I don’t care. She lost her chance. And Caitlyn—she should’ve known better.”

“She should have,” Viktor agreed. “You deserved better than that.”

Powder blinked quickly, her voice cracking a little as she whispered, “Thank you… for protecting me. For listening. For believing me. I was so scared I’d have to fight this alone.”

“You’ll never fight anything alone,” Jayce said.

“Never,” Viktor echoed.

*****

Later that night, Powder sat curled up on the couch her eyes blurry from staring at the paused credits of the movie they’d tried watching. Jayce and Viktor were in the kitchen finishing up some dishes, their voices low and calm. It had been a quiet night—soft, intentional. No one pushing her to talk. Just safety.

Gizmo rested in her lap, a warm, quiet presence. Powder was just about to doze off when her phone buzzed against the armrest.

Ekko:
You okay?

She stared at the screen for a second, her chest tightening just a little. She was asleep when he left yesterday. He had seen her fall apart. Seen her scream and collapse into her dads’ arms. He had watched her panic take over—and he had just quietly stepped away once he knew she was safe.

She took a deep breath and replied:

Powder:
Still kind of shaky. But… better now.

The typing dots came almost immediately.

Ekko:
That was scary. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to help but I didn’t want to make it worse.

She swallowed hard, the lump still caught in her throat.

Powder:
You didn’t make it worse. You being there helped. Just knowing I wasn’t alone.

Another pause, then:

Ekko:
I was so mad. At them. At Caitlyn. And Vi. I kept thinking—how could they just spring that on you like that? Without warning. That’s not okay.

Powder blinked back sudden tears. Her fingers hesitated on the screen before she typed:

Powder:
It felt like I couldn’t breathe. Like I was trapped in my own head and everything was on fire.

Ekko:
I know. I saw. I’m so sorry, Powder. I hate that you had to go through that.

Powder:
Thanks. For staying. Even when I was freaking out.

Ekko:
Always. I mean it. You’re my best friend.

She smiled a little—wobbly but real.

Powder:
Same.

There was a pause, then one last message.

Ekko:
Let me know if you need anything. Even if it’s just to sit outside and do nothing. Or throw snacks at Scar. Whatever.

Powder:
I’ll let you know. Thanks, Ekko. For being you.

She locked the phone and leaned her head back against the couch cushion. Viktor glanced over from the kitchen, gave her a small nod. Jayce smiled gently.

And for the first time that day, her chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.