3rd Person pov
The family retreated from the guest room doorway Amirah's was in stunned silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they processed what little they had seen. Whatever Amirah had been cradling so protectively remained a mystery, but its importance was undeniable.
"She looked like she was holding it as if her life depended on it," Amara whispered as they gathered in the grand living room. "As if it would shatter if she breathed too hard."
Xavier nodded gravely. "Whatever it is, it's clearly precious to her."
"Did anyone actually see what it was?" Hayden asked, his analytical mind seeking concrete information.
They all shook their heads. Amirah had shielded her treasure too effectively.
In her bedroom, Lenna paced restlessly, her thoughts circling back to her twin again and again. The desperation in Amirah's eyes when she had demanded they find the darkness wolves had been unlike anything Lenna had ever witnessed—raw, primal, beyond reason or restraint.
Lenna had always known her sister as shy and sensitive, even delicate in some ways. As children, Amirah had been the quieter twin, the one who needed coaxing to join group activities, the one who clung to Mother's hand while Lenna bounded ahead fearlessly.
There had been the episodes, of course—frightening periods when Amirah would seem to black out, becoming someone else entirely. Someone who would hurt herself or others. Someone who had allegedly tried to kill Lenna, though Amirah had always maintained it wasn't her who had wielded the knife.
And strangely, Lenna wanted to believe her. Despite the evidence, despite what everyone else thought, something deep within her had always known that the person who attacked her that night wasn't truly her twin.
Now, analyzing the past weeks, Lenna began to connect dots she hadn't seen before. Amirah's episodes had apparently stopped—there had been no reports of violence or dissociation since her return to S City. Whatever she had been protecting—whatever the wolves had brought back—seemed to be anchoring her, keeping the darker aspects of her condition at bay.
And then there was the way Amirah kept touching her stomach—a protective, unconscious gesture that nagged at Lenna's analytical mind.
"Is she injured?" Lenna muttered to herself, pacing faster. "Or is it something else entirely?"
The thought that Amirah might have a child—seemed both impossible and yet somehow fitting. It would explain the profound change in her sister, the fierce protectiveness, the willingness to die rather than lose what she treasured.
But if Amirah had a child, whose child was it? And how had it come to be, when her sister had spent years in psychiatric confinement?
Darker questions surfaced, ones Lenna didn't want to contemplate but couldn't dismiss. If the horrors Amirah had described at the café were true—if Dr. Johns had truly seen her as more than just a test subject—could the child be a result of that abuse?
The thought made bile rise in Lenna's throat. She pushed it away, unwilling to speculate further without more information. Whatever the truth, one thing was clear: if Amirah did have a child, that child would be family. And Spellman protected their own.
In the master suite, Amara sat at her vanity, absently brushing her hair with slow, mechanical strokes. Her eyes were distant, her thoughts on her long-lost daughter.
Seeing Amirah again—so broken, so desperate—had awakened an ache in Amara's heart that she thought had scarred over years ago. She had once been Amiriah's anchor, her safe harbor. When had that changed? When had she failed her most vulnerable child so completely?
"You should rest," Xavier said gently, approaching from behind to place his hands on her shoulders. "It's been a difficult day."
Amara met his eyes in the mirror, her gaze cool despite the tears that threatened. "I should have been there for her today. I should have been the one she turned to for help."
Xavier sighed heavily, the weight of guilt evident in his stooped shoulders. "We both failed her, Amara. Not just today, but years ago."
The admission surprised her—Xavier Spellman rarely acknowledged mistakes. But the pain in his eyes was genuine, a reflection of her own regret.
"I never should have sent her away," he continued, his voice low. "I thought I was doing what was best for the family, for Lenna's safety. But I was wrong, and it cost us our daughter."
Amara's hand drifted to her brush, resuming its rhythmic motion. "She was always different," she said softly. "Even as a baby. She didn't want anyone but me or Lenna. Do you remember how she used to hide behind my skirts whenever we had company? My little shadow, following me everywhere."
Xavier nodded, a ghost of a smile touching his lips at the memory. "It took months before she'd even let me hold her without crying."
"When she started showing signs of instability at twelve, I thought I could fix it," Amara admitted, her voice breaking slightly. "She would always calm down for me, always listen when I spoke. The doctors said medication would help, that she'd grow out of it eventually. I never imagined..."
"None of us could have predicted what happened," Xavier said. But they both knew it was a hollow reassurance. They should have looked deeper, questioned more, protected better.
"She's home now," Amara said firmly, setting down her brush. "And whatever she's protecting, whatever she needs—I'm going to be there for her this time. I won't fail her again."
Xavier squeezed her shoulders gently. "We won't fail her," he corrected. "Any of us."
In their shared suite, Zuri and Zari sat cross-legged on the floor facing each other, their identical faces illuminated by a soft purple glow emanating from a crystal ball between them.
"She's hiding something important," Zuri said, her fingers lightly touching the crystal's surface.
"Something living," Zari added, her eyes closed in concentration. "I can sense its energy, just barely, through her darkness barrier."
The twins had always possessed a unique magical affinity for sensing energies and auras. While they couldn't penetrate Amiriah's powerful darkness shield completely, they could detect faint traces of what lay beyond it.
"Should we tell the others?" Zuri asked, opening her eyes to meet her twin's gaze.
Zari considered this before slowly shaking her head. "Not yet. She's protecting it so fiercely for a reason. We should respect that until she's ready."
"But what if it's dangerous?" Zuri countered. "What if it's something that could harm her, or us?"
"No," Zari said with certainty. "Whatever it is, it's precious to her. Pure, even. It's the one thing keeping her darkness from consuming her completely."
The twins fell silent, contemplating this. They had always been closest to each other, somewhat removed from the other siblings by their twin bond. Perhaps they understood, better than most, Amirah's need to protect what was hers.
"We'll watch," Zuri decided finally. "And help if we can. But we won't expose her secret."
Zari nodded in agreement. "Not until she's ready to share it herself."
In his room, Kario sat at his computer terminal, monitoring security feeds from around the mansion. At twenty four with the recent events had thrust him into a more active role in family affairs.
He was glad Amirah was back—genuinely, unreservedly glad. Like his other siblings, he had memories of her episodes. What he remembered most vividly was his little sister was how she always following their mom around or how she always hide when new people came around.
The official diagnosis had been Dissociative Identity Disorder, he recalled, reading through the medical files he'd hacked from the family's private server. The doctors had claimed Amirah had developed a secondary, violent personality that emerged during periods of stress. But from what he'd seen today, she seemed to be in control now. Whatever she had recovered from the darkness wolves had apparently stabilized her.
"You're going to be okay, Miri," he whispered to her image on one of the security monitors, showing her closed bedroom door. "We're all going to make sure of it this time."
In the their suite, Tara sat on the edge of the bed, watching her husband pace back and forth. Hayden had been restless since Amiriah's return, torn between professional interest in her apparent recovery and personal guilt over his role in her institutionalization.
"You should rest," Tara said gently, a hand resting on her swollen belly. "The baby can feel your anxiety."
Hayden paused in his pacing, coming to sit beside her. "I'm sorry. It's just... seeing Miri again, after all this time. And whatever she's hiding..."
Tara hesitated, unsure whether to share her suspicions. As a soon-to-be mother herself, she had recognized something in Amirah's behavior—the protective hand on her stomach, the fierce desperation in her eyes, the way she had cradled whatever she had rescued from the darkness. But after thinking about it she thought it best to keep quiet.
The next morning, worry began to spread through the mansion as hours passed with no sign of Amiriah. She had been sequestered in her room since the previous evening, and while the darkness wolves still guarded her door, there had been no sounds or movement from within.
"She hasn't eaten anything," Amara fretted as the family gathered for a late breakfast. "She must be starving after everything she went through."
Lenna, observing her mother's anxiety, set down her coffee cup. "Mom, why don't we make Amirah a plate and take it to her? She might be more receptive to just us."
Amara brightened at the suggestion, immediately moving to prepare a tray with all of Amirah's childhood favorites—strawberry waffles, fresh fruit, and hot chocolate with extra whipped cream.
When they reached the suite where they had last seen Amirah, however, the room was empty. Panic flashed across Amara's face until one of the darkness wolves appeared in the doorway, its glowing eyes regarding them impassively.
"Where is she?" Lenna asked it directly, unsure if the creation could or would respond.
To their surprise, the wolf turned and began walking away, clearly expecting them to follow. It led them through the winding corridors of the mansion, back toward the main house, and finally stopped outside Amirah's childhood bedroom door.
Inside, Amirah lay on her bed, watching Lani sleep peacefully beside her. The child's ordeal had exhausted her completely, and she had barely stirred since being rescued from the corruption. Amirah herself had not slept, too afraid that Lani might need her, too afraid that this miracle might somehow be reversed if she closed her eyes.
Through her connection to the darkness wolves, she sensed Amara and Lenna's approach. She wasn't ready for them to see Lani yet—wasn't ready to answer the inevitable questions, to share her most precious treasure with anyone, even her mother and twin.
Carefully, she directed the wolf to bring them to the door but not to let them enter. Then she gently moved Lani from her chest to the bed, tucking the blankets securely around her small form. With a final check to ensure Lani was still deeply asleep, Amirah rose and made her way to the door.
A soft knock came just as she reached it. "Riri? It's me and Lenna. We brought you a plate," Amara called gently through the wood.
Amirah opened the door just enough to slip through, closing it firmly behind her. She accepted the tray with a nod. "Thank you, Amara," she said, deliberately using her mother's name rather than the more affectionate "Mama" she'd used unconsciously when first awakening at the mansion.
Amara's smile faltered slightly at the formal address, a flash of hurt crossing her features before she composed herself. "You're welcome, sweetheart. I remembered all your favorites."
Amirah nodded again, her eyes shifting to Lenna. "Thank you," she said, her gaze conveying that she wasn't just referring to the food.
Lenna studied her twin closely, noting the exhaustion evident in her face but also something else—a profound relief, a peace that hadn't been there before. Whatever Amirah had been protecting, she had it back now, and the difference was striking.
"You're welcome," Lenna replied simply, understanding the deeper gratitude in her sister's words.
Amirah glanced back at the closed door, an unmistakable urgency in her movement. "I should go lie back down now," she said, already turning away. "I'm still tired from yesterday."
"Of course," Amara said quickly, though her eyes lingered on the door with evident curiosity. "Rest as long as you need. We'll be here when you're ready."
Lenna placed a restraining hand on her mother's arm as Amara seemed about to say more, to perhaps ask to come inside. "Let's let her rest, Mom," she said quietly.
Amirah flashed Lenna a grateful look before disappearing back into the room, the door closing firmly behind her.
As they walked away, Amara sighed. "She's still so distant. I had hoped..."
"Give her time," Lenna advised. "She's been through more than we can imagine. The fact that she's here at all, that she accepted our help, is a huge step."
"I suppose you're right," Amara conceded reluctantly. "It's just hard, seeing her and not being able to... to mother her."
Lenna thought about what she had seen in her twin's eyes—the protective ferocity, the deep attachment to whatever, or whoever, waited behind that door.
"I don't think it's us she needs right now," Lenna said carefully. "She has something else anchoring her. And maybe that's okay. Maybe that's what she needs to heal."
Amara looked at her sharply. "You know what she's hiding, don't you?"
"No," Lenna answered honestly. "But I have suspicions. And if I'm right..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "If I'm right, then we need to let Amiriah tell us in her own time. When she's ready. When she trusts us enough."
Amara nodded slowly, reluctantly accepting this wisdom. As they made their way back to the main part of the house, both were lost in thought—Amara wondering what could possibly have replaced her in her daughter's heart, and Lenna thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, the family was about to become larger in a way none of them had anticipated.