A sharp ding-dong shattered the silence.
Emii froze. "Oh, no," she hissed, frantically smoothing an apron that now looked more like a piece of Jackson Pollock's modern art than a kitchen garment.
The heavy oak doors swung open, admitting two towering figures. As they stepped into the foyer, Emii felt her soul momentarily vacate her body.
"Brother! You're home!" she squealed, throwing herself into Krish's arms with an enthusiasm that nearly knocked the wind out of him.
But as she pulled back, her gaze snagged on the man standing behind him. Her internal monologue immediately shifted into a frantic, high-pitched piano solo. This… this must be Dravin.
He looked less like a man and more like a high-concept luxury advertisement. A jawline carved from granite, hair the color of midnight silk, and eyes so deep they felt like a gravitational pull.
Control yourself, Emii! Close your mouth before you embarrass the entire lineage.
A digital ping echoed in her mind—the System's voice, sounding remarkably like a disappointed librarian: [Host, cease the daydreaming. Control your physiological responses and proceed with the mission.]
"Right. Mission," she muttered, forcing her face into a mask of casual elegance. "Hi, Dravin. Give me a moment to… tidy up. Mrs. Lynn, please set the table."
She bolted for the stairs, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
Behind her, Dravin's gaze remained fixed on the landing where she had disappeared. "Krish," he asked, his voice low and laced with genuine intrigue. "Was that… actually your sister?"
Krish's expression was unreadable, his brows knitted in confusion. "I'm as bewildered as you are. It's as if the girl I raised has been replaced by a stranger."