When Aqua and Anna returned from the festival, their shoes echoed against the marble floor. The servants had already retired, the house dim except for the hallway lights that glowed like distant stars.
Anna was still humming the song from the stage, her steps light and uneven as she dropped her bag by the door.
"I can still hear the fireworks in my head," she said, laughing. "Boom! Boom! Boom!" She mimed explosions with her hands.
Aqua hung his jacket neatly on the rack. "You're too loud."
"You're too quiet."
He ignored that and walked toward the kitchen. Anna trailed after him like a shadow that refused to be dismissed.
"Did you see the look on their faces when the lanterns went up?" she said, pulling open the fridge. "Everyone looked so happy. Even you looked like you wanted to smile."
"I didn't."
"You almost did."
"I didn't," he repeated, pouring himself a glass of water.
Anna leaned across the counter, watching him with a teasing grin. "You're impossible, Aqua. You know that, right?"
"Better than being careless."
Her grin faded just a little. "Careless?"
Aqua set his glass down. "Those people you call friends. They don't mean what they say."
Anna's shoulders slumped, the air between them shifting. "You started again…"
"I'm telling you because you don't see it. They smile at you, but not for you. You're something they use to make themselves shine brighter."
"You don't know that!"
"I do." His voice stayed calm, but there was steel beneath it. "I watch them."
For a moment, the kitchen filled only with the quiet hum of the refrigerator.
Then Anna looked away, her fingers tightening around the counter edge. "You're always watching. Always judging. Don't you ever get tired?"
"I get tired of watching you walk into the same fire twice."
She turned sharply to him, eyes flashing violet under the dim light. "Maybe I just want to believe people are good."
"And maybe you just don't want to be alone."
The words struck harder than Aqua meant them to. Anna froze.
Aqua exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "…Anna, I didn't"
"No," she said quietly. "You're right."
She forced a smile then, small and shaky, before turning to the stove. "I'll make us tea. Maybe you'll finally smile if it's sweet enough."
Steam curled between them as water boiled. The quiet stretched, fragile but familiar.
When she set a cup in front of him, Aqua took it wordlessly.
The tea smelled faintly of honey and mint Anna's favorite.
They sat across from each other, the world outside their windows still shimmering faintly from the festival's lights.
"Do you ever wish we were… normal?" Anna asked suddenly.
Aqua looked up. "What do you mean?"
"You know. Normal parents. Normal life. Not… the mansion, the cameras, the perfect image thing." She gestured vaguely. "Sometimes I wonder what it's like to be a family that actually eats together."
Aqua didn't answer at first. He looked at her the way she tried to keep smiling even when the words hurt. Then he said, quietly, "If we were normal, you'd still find a way to make trouble."
Anna laughed softly, her smile returning for real this time. "Probably."
Later that night, they sat in the living room with the lights off, the only glow coming from the moon beyond the tall windows.
Anna lay across the sofa, feet resting on Aqua's lap. "You never smile because you're afraid, right?"
"Afraid of what?"
"That if you start smiling, you might like it too much."
He looked down at her. "…You talk nonsense."
She yawned, rolling onto her side. "Then prove me wrong someday."
Her voice was fading, heavy with sleep. Aqua watched her eyelids flutter shut. Her golden hair glimmered in the moonlight, and for a fleeting second, he reached out his hand hovering just above her head before pulling back.
He sat there for a long time after she drifted off, the faint sound of rain starting again outside. The city lights shimmered on the horizon.
And in that quiet, Aqua made himself a promise:
No matter what, he would never let her get hurt.
The days after the festival felt… different.
Subtle at first like the faint change in air before rain.
Anna still smiled. She still laughed with her friends. But something in her rhythm had changed, and Aqua noticed immediately.
She spent longer at school, coming home after sunset. Her phone never left her hand. Her laughter once bright and open had become slightly forced, stretched thin at the edges like paper about to tear.
Aqua didn't ask right away. He simply observed.
That morning, Anna stood before the mirror in their shared hallway, brushing her golden hair into a perfect shine. She hummed softly, her reflection smiling even when her eyes didn't.
"You've been out late," Aqua said from behind her.
Her hand paused mid-brush. "Just school work," she replied too quickly.
"Your school work doesn't text you at midnight."
She turned, eyebrows raised. "You've been checking my phone?"
"No." Aqua crossed his arms. "I just hear you typing."
Anna sighed, setting the brush down. "You really need a hobby, Aqua. Watching me isn't one."
"It's kept you alive so far."
She gave a short laugh not because it was funny, but because it was easier than arguing. "You sound like Dad."
"Dad doesn't know what time you come home."
The silence that followed was sharp. Then Anna grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
"I'm going," she said, walking past him.
"Anna"
She stopped at the door, looking back. Her smile was small, fragile, but still there. "You worry too much. I'm fine."
And before he could say another word, she was gone.
At school, Aqua kept his distance, but his eyes never stopped following her.
Anna moved through her groups like sunlight flickering through leaves never staying long enough in one place to be caught, never quiet long enough to be read.
He saw her laughing with the same friends from the festival the ones whose smiles didn't reach their eyes.
He saw her whispering near the lockers, checking over her shoulder.
He saw her texting, deleting messages, pretending everything was normal.
But he also saw something else: fear.
The way her hand sometimes trembled when her phone buzzed.
The way she forced laughter when someone teased her too harshly.
The way she avoided his gaze in the hallway.
Aqua didn't confront her not yet. He waited, listened, pieced together every glance, every change in her tone.
And every night, when the mansion lights dimmed and Anna's room went quiet, Aqua sat awake by his window, staring out at the city.
The rain had returned again.
It always did when something was about to change.
One evening, she came home long after curfew.
Her shoes were muddy, her hair damp. She tried to sneak past the living room, but Aqua was there sitting in the dark, waiting.
"Where were you?"
She froze, startled. "You scared me!"
"Answer the question."
"I told you study group."
He stood, his voice calm but unyielding. "Stop lying to me."
Anna's lips parted, but no words came out. For the first time, she looked genuinely scared not of him, but of something beyond the walls.
"Aqua…" she whispered, "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
She looked at him for a long moment her eyes searching, trembling then she shook her head. "It's nothing. I promise."
And she slipped past him, running up the stairs before he could reach her.
Aqua stood there for a long time, the soft thud of her door echoing through the empty mansion.
He didn't believe her. Not for a second.
The next day at school, he followed her from afar careful, deliberate.
Anna met the same group behind the gym, where the cameras didn't reach. They talked in low voices, glancing around nervously.
Aqua stayed in the shadows, close enough to hear fragments.
"you said you'd delete it"
"Relax, Anna. No one's gonna find out"
"Just don't tell anyone, please"
Then laughter. Cruel, quiet laughter.
Aqua's fists clenched.
He wanted to step out, to tear the truth from their mouths. But he didn't. Not yet.
Because Anna was still smiling — still pretending everything was fine.
And for now, he let her have that illusion.
Because once he broke it, nothing would ever be the same again.
That night, he stood outside her door, listening to the soft sound of music through the wall.
He could almost imagine she was happy again.
Almost.
But Aqua had learned long ago that happiness was just another kind of mask.
And Anna was wearing hers too tightly.
The morning began with sunlight spilling through the white curtains, golden and soft, brushing across the twin beds.
Anna was already awake, sitting cross-legged, scrolling through her phone with a faint, distracted smile.
Her hair caught the light yellow and bright like flame and for a moment Aqua thought she looked like she did when they were kids.
He sat up slowly.
"Morning," he said.
She looked up, startled, then smiled. "Oh morning, old man."
He raised a brow. "You've been up for a while."
"Couldn't sleep."
He didn't answer. She didn't explain. The silence between them was no longer comfortable like it used to be; it was heavy, full of things neither wanted to say.
Finally, she broke it with a sigh.
"There's a party tonight," she said. "At school. Kind of like a farewell thing before exams. I'm going with the girls."
Aqua froze. His mind immediately replayed every red flag he'd seen these past weeks the whispers, the hidden messages, the way she flinched when certain names appeared on her phone.
"No," he said simply.
Anna blinked. "No?"
"You're not going."
She laughed nervously. "It's not that serious, Aqua. It's just a night party"
He stood. "You don't even like parties. You're only going because they asked."
"So what if they did?" she snapped. "They're my friends."
"They're using you."
Her voice rose. "Why do you always say that? Not everyone is out to hurt me!"
He looked at her for a long time expressionless, unreadable. Then:
"Not everyone. But they are."
Anna clenched her fists. "You think you know everything because you don't talk to anyone. You don't even try to understand people."
"And you trust everyone because you want to be loved," he replied quietly.
The words struck deeper than he meant them to.
Her eyes shimmered with hurt.
"You're just jealous," she whispered. "Because no one wants to be around you."
Aqua said nothing.
He only looked away, his jaw tightening.
Anna grabbed her bag and stormed toward the door.
"Don't wait up for me," she muttered.
The door slammed.
The mansion felt emptier than ever that day.
Aqua sat at the piano room their late mother's favorite place his fingers hovering over the keys.
He hadn't played in years. But now, something inside him itched to.
He pressed a single note. The sound lingered, echoing through the silent halls.
Then another.
And another.
It became a soft melody the same lullaby their mother used to hum when they were little.
The same one Anna loved.
Aqua closed his eyes and saw her laughing, spinning in the garden, holding his hand as the rain fell that one summer when they were twelve.
That version of Anna carefree, bright, unbroken still lived somewhere inside his memory.
He wished he could freeze time there.
But night always comes, no matter how hard you beg it not to.
At 7:45 p.m., the rain began.
Heavy. Unforgiving.
The city blurred behind the curtain of water, streetlights glowing like candles drowning in fog.
Aqua stood by the window, watching lightning slice the sky. His phone buzzed one message.
Anna: "Hey. Don't wait up, okay? I'll be fine."
He stared at the screen for a long time.
Then he typed:
Aqua: "Come home."
The three dots appeared. Then vanished.
No reply.
By 8:30, Aqua had already put on his raincoat.
He didn't tell himself he was going to stop her. He didn't even tell himself why.
He just moved.
The mansion doors opened to the sound of thunder.
Rain pelted his face as he stepped into the storm, his footsteps splashing through puddles that reflected the pale city lights.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
At the school gates, a crowd had already gathered cars lined the street, students under umbrellas, music faint in the distance.
The night party.
Laughter echoed, loud and false.
Phones flashed, recording everything.
But as Aqua got closer, he noticed something off.
The laughter didn't sound like celebration. It sounded nervous. Scattered.
And everyone's eyes for some reason lturned toward him.
He felt it in his gut before he even reached the main building:
something was wrong.
He pushed through the crowd, his breath growing short, rain soaking his clothes.
Students whispered.
Some took videos.
Others just stood, pale and silent.
And then
the murmurs stopped.
Aqua's eyes caught something bright in the corner of the courtyard yellow, like sunlight.
But it wasn't light.
It was hair.
Anna's.
Aqua ran before his mind could stop him.
He fell to his knees beside her her hair drenched, her school uniform torn, her hand still clutching a phone.
Her purple eyes the same as his stared blankly into the storm.
The rain ran down her face like tears she could no longer shed.
He screamed her name, shaking her, begging her to wake up.
But the world had gone deaf.
The flashing lights of cameras began to blur into the darkness.
And for the first time in years, Aqua cried not with sound, but with silence so deep it felt like the earth itself was holding its breath.
Above him, thunder rolled again.
The storm had won.