The house was too quiet.
No alarms. No rain. No screaming city outside the walls. Just the low hum of electricity and the faint ticking of a clock that had probably been there not so long ago
Sienna sat at the small kitchen table, elbows resting on the surface, hands wrapped around a mug she hadn't touched. Steam curled upward, disappearing before it reached her face.
She looked… smaller here.
Not weaker. Just human again.
I leaned against the counter, watching her in that careful way you do when someone's holding a loaded thought and you're not sure which way it'll fire.
"Do you really remember everything?" I asked I could barely believe it.
She blinked, then nodded.
I waited.
She exhaled slowly. "Thank you Cyrusfor everything" she said.
"It's fine"
She set the mug down, fingers lingering on the ceramic like she needed the anchor. "I was thinking about somebody on the day my parents were killed" she piqued my interest with that.
"Who was that?" I said.
She smiled faintly. "A boy. A friend i.had made in a rather unfortunate accident"
I snorted before I could stop myself. She glanced up, surprised and then laughed. Just once. Short and real.
Progress.
She grew serious again after a moment. "What if I don't want to be who I was before… or who they tried to make me?"
I pushed off the counter and sat across from her. "Then you don't have to be either."
She studied my face. "You really believe that."
"I've seen you choose," I said. "That's the only thing that's ever mattered."
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. "They spent years telling me who I was supposed to be. Strong. Obedient. Useful."
Her jaw tightened.
"I don't want to be useful anymore."
I nodded. "Then don't be."
She huffed a breath. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," I admitted.
She went quiet again, and I let her. Silence, when it's chosen, can be healing.
After a while, she spoke. "You know what scares me the most?"
I met her gaze. "Tell me."
"That it feels good," she said. "Knowing they're afraid now. Knowing I can hurt them back."
Her honesty hit harder than any scream.
I didn't flinch. "Power always does that. The difference is what you do next."
She nodded slowly. "I don't want to become them."
"You won't," I said without hesitation.
"How do you know?"
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. "Because you're asking the question."
That seemed to land.
She closed her eyes, then opened them again clearer this time.
"Okay," she said. "Then here's what I choose."
I waited.
"I choose to remember," she said. "Not for revenge. For truth."
A pause.
"And I choose to live," she added. "Not as their weapon. Not as a ghost of my parents. As me."
I smiled, slow and real. "That's a hell of a choice."
She returned it, just barely. "Stick around and help me not mess it up?"
I didn't hesitate. "Always."
She stood, stretching like she was shedding something invisible from her shoulders.
"Then tomorrow," she said, "we start cleaning up the mess they left behind."
I raised an eyebrow. "Tomorrow?"
She smirked.
"I'm tired," she said. "Even reckoning needs a nap."
I laughed, shaking my head.
Yeah. She was going to be just fine.