The walk home felt like I was wading through dimensional sludge. That heavy, viscous goop they sometimes find in the cargo holds of ships returning from the infinite reaches—the kind that makes time stretch like taffy. Every step dragged. Every thought circled back to Rell and what she might be facing.

  I paused outside our apartment building. Somewhere inside, Dad was waiting. Probably with that same detachment he'd shown when Rell vanished.

  The sun was setting, painting the city in shades of burnt orange. In the distance, the Downtown Core's skyscrapers glittered like soul crystal fragments. Beautiful, if you ignored the fact that most of them were owned by ruling Houses that would happily harvest your organs if they thought it would improve their quarterly profits.

  I took a deep breath and headed up the stairs, each step a hollow thud against the worn stairwell.

  Dad had outdone himself. The table was set with our best dishes. Three places. As if Rell might walk through the door any minute.

  "Cutting it close," Dad said, emerging from the kitchen. He wore an apron with Kiss the Cook printed across it—a gift from Rell on his last birthday. "Dinner's almost ready."

  "You set a place for her," I said, nodding toward the table.

  "Of course." He turned back to the kitchen. "She'll be hungry when she returns."

  When, not if. There was an odd confidence to his voice.

  "How can you be so sure?" I followed him into the kitchen, where pots bubbled on the stove. "You said yourself that most people don't survive their Trials."

  Dad stirred something that smelled like heaven. "I said most people with standard infections don't survive. Your sister is… quite special."

  Before I could ask what the hell that meant, there was a sharp knock at the door.

  Dad froze, wooden spoon hovering mid-stir. For a split second, something like fear crossed his face. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual calm.

  "Could you get that, Fish?" he asked, turning back to his cooking.

  I opened the door to find a woman in an SDC uniform standing in our hallway. She was short, compact, with close-cropped black hair and the kind of muscles you get from fighting things four times your size and want to eat your face. The insignia on her collar marked her as an Inspector.

  "Fischer, I presume?" she said, voice like gravel in a coffee grinder. "I'm Inspector Hoffman. Surge Defense Corps." She flashed a badge that glowed faintly—authentic, not one of those knockoffs the hustlers sell to tourists.

  "We didn't report anything," I said, blocking the doorway.

  "I'm not here about a report." Her eyes flicked past me into the apartment. "I'm here to see Mikkel. Your father."

  "Inspector Hoffman." Dad's voice came from behind me, warm and welcoming. "Right on time. Please, come in. Dinner's almost ready."

  I stepped aside, watching as Hoffman entered our home like she'd been here before. Like she belonged here.

  "You were expecting her?" I asked, closing the door.

  "Of course," Dad replied, returning to the kitchen. "I called her when Rell's infection manifested."

  Hoffman removed her jacket, revealing arms covered in markings—silver lines that shimmered faintly beneath her skin. Whatever her Origin was, it was active and powerful.

  "Your father and I are old colleagues," she said, taking a seat at our table. "I've been keeping tabs on your family for quite some time."

  "Old colleagues?" I looked between them. "Dad's just a research consultant."

  Hoffman laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "Is that what he told you? Your father was one of the SDC's most brilliant scientists. His work on Origin stabilization was revolutionary."

  "That's ancient history," Dad said, bringing dishes to the table. "Over two decades ago."

  "Until you disappeared with half a lab's worth of prototype equipment." Hoffman's smile was all teeth. "Equipment we've never recovered. Equipment that might be useful for, oh, I don't know… monitoring a Sacred infection? Guiding an Origin manifestation?"

  Dad set down a platter of roasted vegetables with enough force to make the plates jump. "I left that life behind for good reason."

  "And yet here we are." Hoffman gestured around our apartment. "You've been using SDC prototypes to monitor your daughter. Stabilizers that cost millions to develop. Technology that could save countless lives if it were available to everyone."

  I stared at my father, trying to reconcile the gentle researcher with the man Hoffman was describing. "Dad? What's she talking about?"

  Before he could answer, a sound like shattering glass erupted from Rell's bedroom. The air pressure in the apartment dropped suddenly, making my ears pop. The lights flickered, dimmed, then blazed brighter than before.

  Dad murmured something I couldn’t quite hear, and checked his watch.

  Hoffman was on her feet instantly, hand dropping to the weapon at her hip. "She's returning. Already?"

  "I told you she was special." Dad's smile was genuine now, proud. "Fish, would you get the door? Your sister will be disoriented."

  I moved toward Rell's room on autopilot, mind reeling. Through the door, I could see flashes of light. The wood beneath my fingers felt ice-cold, then burning hot. Reality itself seemed to bend around the edges of the door frame.

  I turned the handle and pushed.

  The room beyond wasn't Rell's bedroom anymore. It was… nothing. A void filled with swirling silver mist. And in the center of that mist, something was taking shape.

  Rell.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  But not Rell as I'd known her.

  Her skin had become ghostly, revealing silvery veins pulsing beneath. Her hair—once the same deep red as mine—was now streaked with white, floating around her head as if underwater.

  She floated in the center of the void, arms outstretched, head tipped back. Then her eyes snapped open, looking directly at me, and smiled.

  "Fish," she said, and her voice echoed strangely, as if coming from multiple directions at once. "You kept your promise."

  The silver mist began to dissipate, reality reasserting itself. Rell's bedroom materialized around her—bed, dresser, walls covered in posters of bands and sketches she'd done of flowers from the botanical gardens.

  Her feet touched the floor, and she staggered slightly. I rushed forward to catch her, but she straightened on her own, waving me off.

  "I'm okay," she said, voice returning to normal. "Just… adjusting."

  Behind me, I heard Dad and Hoffman enter the room. Dad pushed past me, taking Rell's face in his hands, examining her with the detachment of a scientist studying a particularly interesting specimen.

  "Extraordinary," he murmured. "No signs of rejection at all. And as I predicted… Legendary tier."

  Rell pulled away from his touch, something like wariness crossing her face. "I passed," she said simply.

  "With flying colors," Dad agreed. "Tell me, what did you face in there? What form did your trial take?"

  Rell's eyes—those strange new eyes—flicked to me, then to Hoffman, then back to Dad. "I don't want to talk about it."

  Dad opened his mouth to press further, but Hoffman interrupted.

  "The SDC will want a full report," she said, stepping forward. "Legendary tier Origins are exceedingly rare. Less than one in ten thousand Sacred manifest at that level. You'll need to register with us immediately."

  "She'll do nothing of the sort," Dad snapped, turning to face Hoffman. "Not until she's had time to rest and adjust. The registration can wait."

  Hoffman's eyes narrowed. "The agreement was—"

  "The agreement was that you'd be informed when it happened. And here you are, informed. But she's my daughter, not your lab rat."

  The tension between them crackled like static electricity before a lightning strike. I moved closer to Rell, instinctively placing myself between her and them.

  "What agreement?" I asked. "What the hell is going on?"

  "Just a bit of politics," Dad said dismissively. "Nothing for you to worry about. Hoffman was just leaving."

  Hoffman smiled thinly. "For now. But the SDC will be watching her development closely. Origins like hers are… valuable."

  The way she said it made my skin crawl.

  "I'll see myself out." Hoffman nodded to Rell. "Congratulations on your return, Miss Marrell. We'll speak again soon."

  After she left, the three of us stood in awkward silence. Rell looked exhausted, shadows under her strange new eyes.

  "Dinner's getting cold," Dad finally said. "And I imagine you're starving."

  Rell nodded. "Famished, actually. The Trial… it took a lot out of me."

  We moved to the table, the three of us resuming our normal places as if nothing had changed. As if Rell hadn't just returned from a dimensional hell transformed into something not entirely human anymore. As if Dad wasn't apparently some kind of rogue SDC scientist.

  Except for how Rell's skin occasionally went transparent when she reached for something, revealing the silvery veins. Except for how Dad kept studying her. Except for the thousand questions burning on my tongue.

  "So," I said, breaking the silence. "SDC scientist, huh? When were you planning to mention that?"

  Dad sighed, setting down his fork. "It was a long time ago. Before you were born. Before I met your mother, even."

  "And the equipment Hoffman mentioned? The prototype stabilizers?"

  "Monitoring tools," Dad said, waving a hand dismissively. "Nothing sinister. They help track Sacred infection progression, predict Trial timing, that sort of thing. I used them to make sure Rell was as prepared as possible."

  "They helped, actually," Rell said quietly. "The Trial… it was exactly like you described it would be."

  Dad smiled, genuine warmth in his expression.

  "You want to see what I can do?" Rell asked, a strange light entering those copper-crimson eyes.

  Without waiting for an answer, she held out her hand, palm up. The air above it rippled, and then—impossibly—a tiny figure appeared. A perfect miniature Rell, no bigger than a doll, standing on her palm.

  The mini-Rell curtsied, then did a little dance, twirling like a music box ballerina. It was both adorable and deeply unsettling.

  "I call them Marionettes," Rell explained. "I can create as many as I want, and they're all… me. Extensions of myself. They see what I see, know what I know."

  "Absolutely fascinating," Dad breathed, leaning closer to examine the tiny duplicate. "A form of consciousness division? Or remote projection?"

  "Both, I think." Rell held her hand closer to me. "Say hi, Fish."

  "Uh, hi," I said, feeling ridiculous talking to a tiny version of my sister.

  The mini-Rell waved, then blew me a kiss. Its movements were fluid, natural—nothing like a puppet being controlled, but like a separate, thinking being.

  "That's just the start," Rell continued. "Watch this."

  She closed her eyes, concentrating.

  Her form shimmered, blurred—and then, sitting in Rell's chair was… me. A perfect copy, down to the small scar on my chin from when I fell off the fire escape as a kid.

  "Holy shit," I breathed, staring at my own face.

  "Language," my duplicate said in my voice, perfectly mimicking my intonation. Then it laughed—Rell's laugh coming from my mouth.

  The duplicate shimmered again, and Rell was back, grinning widely. "I can become anyone I touch. Take their form, their voice, even access some of their memories."

  "Masquerade…" Dad murmured.

  "I can create duplicates to spy for me, assume identities to infiltrate places, gather information..."

  "You've thought about this quite a bit," Dad noted, something like calculation crossing his features.

  "The Trial gives you time to think," Rell said, her smile fading. "Lots of time."

  "How long was it for you?" I asked. "It's been less than a day here."

  "Time moves differently there. For me, it was… Months maybe years? It's hard to tell. There's no day or night there."

  Dad nodded, as if this confirmed something he already knew. "The subjective temporal dilation varies based on Origin complexity. The legendary tier would naturally take longer to fully manifest."

  I shook my head, trying to process everything. "So you knew about all this? The SDC, the prototypes, the Origin prediction?"

  "I had theories," Dad admitted. "Based on my research, yes. But nothing was certain until it happened."

  "And you never thought to mention any of this to us? That you used to work for the SDC? That you had equipment that could monitor Sacred infections?"

  Dad sighed, looking suddenly tired. "There are aspects of my past that aren't… pleasant to revisit. I wanted to protect you both from that world."

  "By lying to us?"

  "By giving you a normal childhood," he countered. "By letting you grow up without the weight of my mistakes hanging over you."

  "What mistakes?" I pressed. "What did you do that was so terrible you had to hide it from your own kids?"

  Dad's expression shuttered. "That's a conversation for another time. Tonight is about celebrating Rell's return and her extraordinary accomplishment."

  "You always do this," I said, frustration boiling over. "Every time we ask about your past, about Mom, about anything before we were born, you change the subject."

  "Because the past is the past," Dad said sharply. "What matters is now. What matters is that your sister has survived her Trial and returned with a remarkable Origin. Everything else is just… history."

  I was about to argue further when I felt something light land on my shoulder. I turned my head to find the mini-Rell perched there, having somehow crossed the table without me noticing.

  It leaned close to my ear and whispered, so quietly I could barely hear it: "Don't trust him. He's been planning this for years."

  I jerked in surprise, nearly knocking the tiny duplicate off my shoulder. It steadied itself, putting one doll-sized hand against my neck for balance.

  "Something wrong?" Dad asked, watching me closely.

  "Just… still processing everything," I said, trying to keep my expression neutral. The mini-Rell patted my neck once, then vanished in a puff of silver mist.

  Across the table, the real Rell was watching me, those copper-crimson eyes unreadable. But there was something there—a warning? A plea? I couldn't tell.

  Dad raised his glass. "A toast, then. To Rell's successful return. To new beginnings."

  We raised our glasses, the three of us linked in this moment that felt both like a celebration and like the beginning of something darker. Something dangerous.

  "To new beginnings," Rell echoed, her voice steady but her eyes still fixed on mine.

  I drank deeply, the sweet wine tasting like ash in my mouth.

  My sister had returned from her Trial transformed. My father was apparently some kind of rogue scientist with a mysterious past. And now the SDC was involved, watching us, waiting.