The forest was quiet in the way that forests only are when something has frightened everything into silence.
Derek and Leo had left an hour ago to patrol the perimeter, their voices fading into the trees until even they were swallowed by the stillness. Maya and Eva sat alone under the ancient tree, its massive roots creating a natural shelter around them.
Eva was staring at something in her hand.
Maya glanced over. It was a small piece of fabric—torn, faded, barely recognizable as anything. But Eva held it like it was made of glass.
"What's that?" Maya asked softly.
Eva didn't answer at first. Her thumb traced the edge of the fabric, back and forth, back and forth.
"Lily's cloak," she finally said. "From when we found her in the bunker. I kept a piece of it. I don't know why. Sentimental, I guess."
Maya looked at the scrap. Just dirty cloth. But to Eva, it was everything.
"When did you last see her?" Maya asked. "Really see her. Not the Monster Queen. Lily."
Eva's eyes stayed on the fabric. "In the corridor. After Theo died. She looked at me like I was a stranger. Like all those years of searching, all those years of loving her... they meant nothing."
The words hung heavy in the air.
"I keep thinking," Eva continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "about when we were kids. Before everything."
She paused. Maya waited.
"Lily used to sing to me when I had nightmares." A ghost of a smile touched Eva's lips. "This stupid little song about stars. She made it up herself. It wasn't even good—the melody was all wrong, and she could never carry a tune. But she'd sit on my bed and sing it anyway, every time, until I fell asleep."
Eva's voice caught.
"And now she commands armies of monsters. She's killed thousands of people. She watched Theo die and didn't... didn't even flinch." She looked up at Maya, and there was something raw in her eyes. "I don't know if that girl who sang to me still exists. Or if she's gone forever."
Maya was quiet for a long moment. The forest breathed around them. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out—a lonely sound, searching for something.
"You know what Helena told me?" Maya said finally.
Eva blinked. "Helena?"
"The other me. In the white space." Maya leaned back against the tree, looking up at the canopy. "She told me she was scared. That she didn't want to hurt anyone—she just didn't understand. She acted from fear, not evil."
She turned to look at Eva.
"Maybe Lily's the same. Maybe under all that Monster Queen stuff, under the scar and the empty eyes and the killing... maybe she's just scared. And alone. And doesn't know how to stop."
Eva stared at her. "You really think that?"
"I think," Maya said slowly, "that the girl who sang to you about stars is still in there somewhere. Buried under years of pain and revenge and people telling her she's a monster. But she's there."
She reached out and took Eva's hand, squeezing it.
"Maybe you don't have to choose," she said. "Protect her and stop her. Bring her back. Not dead—back to who she was. Before the monsters. Before the revenge."
Eva's eyes glistened. "You think that's possible?"
Maya squeezed her hand tighter.
"I think," she said, "that if anyone can reach her, it's you. Her sister. The one who knows that girl who sang about stars."
Eva looked down at the scrap of fabric in her other hand. At the faded cloth that was all she had left of the sister she'd lost.
"I don't know if she wants to be reached," she whispered.
"Doesn't matter." Maya's voice was firm. "You reach anyway. That's what sisters do."
The wind moved through the trees, carrying the scent of earth and leaves and something else—something that might have been hope.
Eva closed her fingers around the fabric.
"Stars," she murmured. "She used to sing about stars."
Maya leaned her head against Eva's shoulder, and they sat together under the ancient tree, waiting for whatever came next.
Holding onto each other.
Holding onto hope.