Even with Althea’s lighthearted words, the atmosphere remained thick with silence — and honestly, I couldn’t blame them. After all, they had fled the hallway in a rush, bursting into my room seeking shelter from the terrifying anomaly lurking outside.

The problem was, at that very moment, that same anomaly — with its grotesquely wide mouth and distorted appearance — had been completely destroyed... by something even scarier. And the worst part: that “something” was now, right then, only inches away from our visitors, silently watching them.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean the visitors would be afraid of Nekra. Considering how the human mind usually works, it was more likely they’d focus first on the main issue before letting any other worries take hold.

In other words, the fact that Nekra had killed that thing didn’t seem to matter as much as one might think — at least, not at that moment. As I suspected, the first voice broke the silence, starting what truly mattered to them.

The voice came from a man. He shook his head from side to side, eyes wide as he scanned the room suspiciously, as if expecting danger to emerge from the shadows at any moment. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, and his hands trembled slightly, still alert.

Finally, after a few seconds of tense silence, when he saw no immediate threat, his voice cut through the thick air: “A-are we safe?”

The question was met with a dense, almost palpable silence. Everyone still seemed to be processing the confusing situation, their eyes wandering, lost, as if searching the air around for an explanation. Then, when the first sigh of relief finally broke the silence — faint but audible — it was like knocking down the first domino. One by one, the others began to fall.

Their legs, once stiff with tension, gave out. They fell to their knees or sat down, as if the very weight of fear lifted now crushed them. On their faces, a deep, almost tearful relief took shape — eyes watery, mouths slightly open, breathing deeply like someone surfacing after being underwater too long.

While everyone around me expressed their relief in different ways — some laughing, others crying or just quietly sighing — I stayed silent, watching the scene from behind, wrapped in my own quiet. It was then I felt a light tug at the hem of my loose shirt, a subtle, persistent touch, as if something or someone wanted discreetly to catch my attention.

I turned my gaze, curious and a bit surprised, and came face to face with a familiar face. There she was — the little girl I first met at the burger joint. Her big eyes looked at me with a mix of shyness and recognition, as if she was sure I’d remember her.

I looked at her for a moment, silently, before tilting my head slightly to the side, struck by a doubt I couldn’t quite explain. The little girl, however, didn’t seem to notice my hesitation.

Her innocent, curious gaze shifted away from me and fixed on Althea, who stood beside me. Noticing the girl’s attention, Althea lifted her golden eyes, softly sparkling under the room’s light, and returned the look.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds, as if trying to understand one another without a word. Then Althea repeated the same gesture I had made — a slight nod — equally puzzled by the situation, as if looking for some hidden meaning in that silent exchange.

Next, the little girl slowly turned her head toward Nyara, who was sitting on the bed. Nyara’s hands slid gently through her long hair in an almost automatic gesture — a silent attempt to shake off shyness, as she used to tell herself.

The little girl watched quietly for a few moments, her big curious eyes fixed on the calm motion of Nyara’s hands, as if trying to decode some hidden mystery in that gesture. After a while, without saying a word, she looked away and turned to Nekra.

Nekra, meanwhile, was distracted, absorbed in her own thoughts. The little girl stared at her with the same attention for a brief moment, as if expecting some reaction. But, receiving no sign back, she simply averted her gaze again and ignored her completely.

Then she turned her curious gaze back to me. Her eyes shone with an almost unsettling innocence, and her small mouth moved slowly as her soft, hesitant voice echoed in the air: “Big sister... are they your family?”

When I heard the little girl’s words, my first reaction was instinctive: my eyes moved from one to the other, scanning each of the girls she’d mentioned. First, I looked at Althea, who was beside me — her serene face contrasting with the intensity of the moment.

Then my eyes met Nyara’s, always observant, with that look that seemed to see more than she said. Finally, I looked at Nekra, silent and steady as always, but with a spark in her eyes that hinted at something deeper. Honestly, it was a feeling hard to describe.

Until recently, they had all been strangers — companions by circumstance, nothing more. But now... now, something had changed. There was an invisible but strong bond tying us together. At that moment, they weren’t just names, faces, or voices around me. They were my sisters. My family.

With that thought, I gently reached out and stroked the little girl’s hair, feeling the softness of her strands between my fingers. She looked up at me with those big curious eyes, and a small smile appeared on her lips, as if she understood more than she let on.

I ignored the narrowed looks from Althea, Nyara, and Nekra — filled with suspicion, jealousy, or maybe just teasing — and without saying a word, spoke tenderly directly into the little one’s mind: (That’s right... the three are my adorable little sisters)

The moment my words echoed in the little girl’s mind, her eyes lit up with an intense glow, as if suddenly she was looking at me with an even deeper admiration than usual. The air around us seemed to lighten, filled with silent tenderness.

But her next words soon revealed the reason for that hopeful, longing look: “That’s cool! I also wanted a little brother or sister”

As she spoke, her expression gradually changed, becoming downcast, as if an invisible weight had fallen on her shoulders. In an almost whisper, she confessed: “I asked mom once, but she said she couldn’t give me any more brothers or sisters” There was a moment of silence, and I could see the veiled sadness in her eyes, shining no longer with hope but with quiet longing.

The little girl’s words left me completely puzzled. Did that mean her mother didn’t want any more children? Actually, that didn’t make much sense. Thinking back to the mist episode, I remembered that both her father and mother protected the girl as if she were their greatest treasure, acting almost on the edge of despair.

I’m not saying that’s abnormal — after all, caring for family is perfectly natural — but the intensity of that reaction seemed excessive, almost like something was behind that deep fear, something I still couldn’t understand.

With that thought fixed in my mind, holding the little girl’s hand firmly, I took the first steps toward my destination — her parents. The rhythmic sound of my steps echoed in the room, immediately drawing the attention of the visitors around. They turned quickly, eyes alert with a subtle, almost imperceptible caution.

However, upon seeing my hand entwined with the child’s, their gazes met, and a soft murmur began spreading through the group. Gradually, the tension on their faces eased, replaced by a curious and visible calm, as they continued whispering among themselves.

Of course, both the little girl’s father and mother noticed my approach. Unlike the others, they seemed noticeably less cautious — a calm confidence showing in their eyes and posture. The clearest proof was the fact I was holding their daughter’s hand, yet they showed no sign of worry or fear. At least, they seemed to understand I wouldn’t hurt them.

(Hello, we meet again)

When my words echoed in their minds, their eyes half-opened, revealing a brief flicker of surprise. The silence that followed seemed to carry the weight of recognition. Then the little girl’s father was the first to break the tension, with a restrained smile and a look of acknowledgment: “Ah, yes... we meet again”

He gave a timid, embarrassed smile, barely hiding the anxiety written on his face. His nervous gaze kept shifting between my three sisters, as if trying to find a clue in their expressions about what to say. No matter how much he tried to seem calm, the genuine concern radiating from every gesture was impossible to miss.

Watching him, I decided to break the silence and resume the conversation: “I didn’t expect to find you here... not after everything you’ve been through”

Hearing my words, the man raised an eyebrow, and soon after, an ironic smile appeared on his face, as if he found the whole situation mildly amusing. His words echoed through the room with a tone of lightness and surprise: “Honestly, we hadn’t originally planned to come. Even receiving the invitation was unexpected; we figured ordinary people like us wouldn’t be called to something like this. But...”

He paused briefly, his gaze going straight to his daughter, who held my hand tightly, a determined gleam in her eyes: “well... she really insisted a lot”

I listened silently to his words, each syllable heavy and full of meaning, until another voice cut through the air with an unsettling familiarity. It was a voice I knew very well: “I was the one who sent for you. I thought you’d like to visit your savior again”

We turned to see Laura and Emily slowly approaching, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Their words echoed in our minds for a few seconds, like a persistent whisper, before an ironic smile began to form on Emily’s face.

She let out a deep, almost resigned sigh, commenting in a slightly sarcastic tone: “But honestly, I never expected something like this to happen”

I blinked a few times, still processing Emily’s words, but my gaze quickly shifted from her to the little girl’s mother, who gripped my hand firmly. Instinctively, I started moving toward her, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the other visitors.

In fact, it seemed like all my movements were being closely watched by the people around, as if the moment they looked away from me, something unexpected and maybe dangerous could happen.

While the little girl’s mother stared at me with a confused, uncertain look, I slowly reached out my hand toward her. More precisely, I brought my fingers close to her belly, right where her uterus should be.

My action caused a silent wave of surprise and doubt in her eyes, but honestly, I barely cared about the looks I got. The instant my touch reached that area, a clear, intense sensation invaded me: something was deeply wrong, damaged. It was there, in that uterus, that I felt the wound.

I blinked briefly, surprised by the discovery, tilting my head almost automatically. My eyes returned to the little girl holding my hand — so small and fragile, yet with a firm grip.

If she was here with me now, then all this must have happened after her birth, right? I confess I wasn’t an expert on the matter, but given the context, it seemed that something during childbirth — or shortly after — caused irreversible damage, making her mother unable to have more children. A heavy silence hung in the air as I tried to process that painful reality.

At the same time, the little girl’s mother, not understanding the reason behind my actions, simply watched me in silence, her eyes filled with confusion and a hint of curiosity, as if she were trying to figure out what I was up to.