Lyra descended the staircase with steady, unhurried steps.
The pendant beneath her shirt was warm—soft, pulsing, as if it were breathing with her.
The house was too quiet.
A stillness that never meant peace.
Kira stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded, smirk poised like a knife waiting to be twisted.
"Well," Kira drawled, "look who finally decided to come down."
Lyra didn't stop walking.
Kira's smirk twitched. "You're acting weird. Did you hit your head or something?"
Lyra's voice was calm. "I stopped pretending."
Kira blinked.
The smirk fell apart for half a second before she snapped it back on.
"Whatever," she muttered.
Lyra walked past her.
And for the first time in this life, Kira was the one left staring.
---
The dining room was bright with morning light, the table already set. Mr. Vance sat at the head, scrolling through his tablet. Claudia sipped her tea with practiced elegance, irritation already etched across her face.
Neither looked up when Lyra entered.
Claudia finally spoke, voice cold and clipped.
"You're late."
Lyra sat down silently.
Mr. Vance glanced at her, annoyed. "You woke late."
"I'm fine," Lyra replied simply.
Claudia scoffed. "Don't take that tone. You've been difficult since morning."
Mr. Vance frowned. "Lyra, what is with this attitude? You've always been respectful."
Lyra met his eyes.
In her first life, she would have apologized instantly—anything to earn a scrap of affection.
But now…
She said nothing.
And silence was louder than any apology she could have given.
Kira drifted in, hair perfectly styled, wearing a sugary smile.
"Morning, Daddy."
Mr. Vance's expression softened—something Lyra once yearned for.
Her chest tightened.
Then the pendant warmed, reminding her quietly:
No more longing.
No more begging.
Claudia set down her teacup sharply. "Lyra didn't clean the living room yesterday."
Kira's lips curved gleefully.
Mr. Vance looked irritated. "Lyra, you should've—"
"I wasn't going to," Lyra said calmly.
The room froze.
Claudia's voice rose. "Excuse me?"
Lyra met her gaze. "I'm not doing chores that aren't mine."
Claudia's eyes widened. "What has gotten into you?"
"Nothing," Lyra replied. "I've just stopped doing things that aren't my responsibility."
Claudia leaned forward. "Everything in this house is your responsibility."
Lyra shook her head. "No. Everything in this house belonged to my mother. You just live in it."
Claudia went rigid.
Kira's jaw dropped.
Mr. Vance slammed his tablet shut. "Lyra! Stop talking nonsense. Mira didn't leave anything."
Lyra's voice was soft, steady.
"You didn't protect anything she left behind."
Mr. Vance stiffened.
Kira looked between them, unsure for once how to react.
Claudia's face tightened. "Let it go. Mira is gone."
Lyra's hands curled beneath the table.
"You don't get to tell me to forget my mother," she said quietly.
Silence thickened.
Mr. Vance stood abruptly, adjusting his jacket. "We'll talk about this later. I have a meeting."
Of course he did.
He always had something more important than her.
Kira followed him out, clinging to his side like always. Claudia stayed seated, gripping her cup tightly enough to crack it.
Lyra rose.
Claudia's voice trembled—anger, irritation, and something else she couldn't mask.
"You're becoming unrecognizable."
Lyra looked down at her.
"No," she said softly. "For the first time, I'm becoming myself."
The pendant warmed gently beneath her shirt.
Lyra walked out of the dining room—without asking permission, without lowering her head.
Her mother's shadow no longer felt distant.
It walked with her.