Tracking down Maren was like trying to catch smoke in a wind tunnel.
After flipping through nearly half of their mother's journal and getting hit with entries that read like prophecy and war plans, Eli had made a decision. If anyone still alive knew anything about their parents beyond the myths and blurry memories, it was the woman who raised them for almost a decade—and then disappeared without a goodbye.
"Maren Calloway," Mira muttered, tapping her phone screen. "Last seen pretending to be a yoga instructor slash tarot reader slash debt collector. I swear she's a one-woman resume scam."
"She taught you how to pick locks with a bobby pin," Eli reminded her. "Be respectful."
They spent the next few days chasing whispers. An old bartender remembered her. A dry cleaner claimed she left behind a silk scarf and a trail of IOUs. A guy in a bowling alley swore she owed him six hundred dollars and a signed copy of The Art of War.
"Weirdly specific," Mira had whispered.
Unfortunately, their asking around triggered exactly the kind of attention they didn't want. Turns out, Maren's reputation was more toxic than nuclear waste, and a handful of people were more than eager to recoup their losses.
"So your auntie Maren owes us," said a burly man with a silver tooth and enough tattoos to qualify as a human museum. "That means you owe us."
"We don't owe you anything," Eli said flatly.
The man's friends started circling, mean-eyed and too confident.
Mira leaned in. "Uh, El—"
"Back off," Eli snapped. He pulled out a small folding knife from his coat pocket and flipped it open with one hand. "Touch my sister, and I'll file so many lawsuits you'll be able to use the paperwork to build a coffin."
There was a beat of silence.
Then the silver-toothed man smirked. "You think that knife scares me?"
"No," Eli said coolly. "The lawsuit should."
Something in his tone hit different. The man snorted, but waved his boys off. "Not worth it."
As they stalked off, Mira exhaled.
"Okay, that was cool," she said.
"Don't," Eli replied.
"Like in one of those movies," Mira replied
"Please."
"I'm just saying."
"Seriously. Don't."
—
They sat on a bus bench later that afternoon, exhausted and irritated. Mira toyed with the edge of her sleeve, eyes drifting to the journal again.
"What if she's just… gone?" she asked quietly.
Eli opened his mouth to answer—and then blinked.
Across the street, behind the wide glass windows of a local supermarket, a familiar head of frizzed hair and leopard-print glasses was hunched over a barcode scanner.
Mira turned. Her jaw dropped. "No. Freaking. Way."
Maren was… bagging groceries.
Wearing a bright red vest and an expression of soul-crushing defeat, she looked like she had wandered in from another timeline.
"You think it's a disguise?" Mira whispered.
"If it is," Eli said, "she's committed to the bit."
They crossed the street, stepping into the too-bright fluorescence of the store. A manager gave them a curious glance, but Mira ignored him, marching right up to Lane 4.
Maren didn't look up.
"Paper or plastic?" she mumbled, reaching for a bag of onions.
"Neither," Eli said. "We're here to talk about time warps and missing people."
Maren's hand froze mid-bag.
She looked up slowly. "…Oh no."
"Oh yes," Mira said, leaning on the counter. "The universe has decided to make sense. And you're going to help."
Maren squinted at them both, eyes moving between their faces.
"Damn," she said. "You got tall."
Eli shrugged his shoulders. "You disappeared."
"You're in retail," Mira added, eyes narrowing. "The woman who convinced a cult to make her their queen by faking a glowing tattoo. You have a name tag now."
"Times are hard," Maren muttered.
"No way you've held this job for more than a week," Eli said.
"Three months, thank you very much," she said, insulted.
"That's a new record," Mira quipped.
Maren flinched like she'd been shot. "Okay. I deserve that one."
—
They walked out together after Maren's shift, sitting at a bench near the back parking lot under a flickering streetlamp. The night air was quiet, but the tension between them was heavy.
After a long pause, Eli pulled out the journal.
Maren stared at it like it was radioactive. Her fingers brushed the cover and she let out a quiet breath.
"I haven't seen that since…" She trailed off.
"You knew about this?" Mira asked.
Maren gave a small shake of her head. "I didn't know she kept a diary. But I recognize the script. That's Adrienne's. And if you're here, that means you've read it."
"Not all of it," Eli said. "Enough."
Maren nodded slowly. "Of course. Of course this is happening now."
"You always said you didn't know why they left," Mira accused. "You lied."
"I didn't lie," Maren said, voice soft. "I guessed. And I hoped."
Eli narrowed his eyes. "Then tell us the truth."
Maren turned the book in her hands once, twice. Then she leaned back, gazing up at the stars as if they might rearrange themselves into a better answer.
"I can't tell you everything," she said finally. "I don't know everything. Your parents were… extraordinary. And they didn't talk about the past much. But they loved you. With everything they had. That, I know for sure."
Eli and Mira glanced at each other, the silence stretching like glass.
"And where did that love get them?" Mira asked bitterly.
Maren looked at her, something deep and old stirring behind her eyes.
"Lost. Dead. Missing," she said bluntly. "Probably. But it wasn't because they didn't care."
She fell silent for a moment, fingers trailing the edge of the journal.
"You want to know what happened?" she said at last. "You want to know what kind of world they were a part of?"
Eli nodded. "That's why we came."
Maren gave a hollow laugh.
"Well," she said, cracking her knuckles. "Then buckle up. Because what I'm about to say is going to sound kind of…"
She met their eyes.
"…Crazy."