Hedi flicks open the magic scroll and slaps it dead center on the door, her five pressed fingertips spitting firefly sparks in the dim.

She narrows her focus, and the runes inked on the scroll erupt like a geyser of light, flames racing up the paper like a gust-fed bonfire.

As the scroll keeps burning, the door pales to orange, then to a searing bright red, lava-bright rivers crawling to all four corners.

It proves my guess, but using two in a row still pinches like a miser’s purse tightening in my chest.

Hedi watches the scroll cling to the wood like melted wax, then fishes a second from her pocket to cradle the heat, a shield of fire holding shape like glass over a kiln.

She feeds the blaze into a barrier that roaches won’t cross, a red curtain that sizzles like summer oil on a pan.

Burn, you filthy roaches, and let the heat singe your whiskers like dry straw.

No problem? Selina’s question draws taut like a bowstring in the smoke-hazed air.

Hedi says nothing; from the corner of her eye she sees Selina at her side, and she lifts her reddened right hand, each finger tugged by invisible silk threads toward Selina’s palm.

What am I doing? The thought rises like mist before the sun, soft and stinging.

It’s always Selina comforting me; if I keep seeking comfort, I’m a child clutching a reed in a storm.

No, don’t think like that; I flip the coin like a leaf in the wind.

If I hold her hand, I’m giving comfort, not begging for it; that warmth travels like a candle passed from wick to wick.

Hedi’s mind hums with a hive’s worth of noise as she grazes Selina’s fingertip, every nerve ending twitching like a sparrow hit by static.

She jerks back on reflex, tries no more, her private play swirling down like tissue spinning into the drain.

It’s absurd when I step back; the thought stands there like a mirror in a strange room.

I’m trapped in some nameless chamber with a trainee Investigator, two lanterns in a tunnel.

She wants to find her sister; I just chased a fox of curiosity into thorns.

She stepped into Shattered City and wanted out at once; I wanted out too, and we stumbled into the Dark Realm like two moths into a cave.

In the Dark Realm, Selina keeps the shield raised like a sentinel, and I crack like thin ice, the designated victim.

Even when I pull my weight and shake off the deadweight tag, my heart still reaches for the protector like a vine to a trellis.

Say it plain: taking her hand to “comfort” her is also me fishing for a reply like a line cast into a quiet pond.

It feels like someone force-installed a soft persona in me, but I’m not a girl sobbing in someone’s arms—though yes, I’m short like a willow sapling.

The Dark Realm’s puzzles open under my reasoning like knots loosening in warm water; there’s no hard reason to beg solace.

Is it the no-mana handicap that makes me lean on her, like a boat leaning on a pier in wind?

I can’t figure it out, and the thought spins like a weather vane in a restless squall.

It’s like an existential play acted in a locked room, all monologue and no exit like a maze without sky.

No movement outside, Selina says, her voice slipping in like a cool stream, and Hedi drops back into the room like a stone to the riverbed.

She blinks fast, then lifts her red fingers to her lips and blows, the heat fluttering like moth wings. The action-trigger theory holds, but it hints the roaches are being driven.

Driven? The word clicks like a pebble against glass.

I thought there were just too many roaches to fit the passage, but they hammered the door like a ram, planned and precise.

Then why not break it? Selina tilts her head, her question falling like a leaf.

Because it hurts, Hedi says, flat as iron, like a thorn under skin.

Selina’s head tilts farther, a bird testing the wind.

That kind of discipline screams a puppeteer; when the flame bit them, I felt a faint feedback, a hair-thin pain tugging back to the source like a fishing line.

You mean there’s a third party in the Dark Realm besides us? Her whisper moves like fog through reeds.

Just a guess, Hedi shrugs, her lightness a paper umbrella in drizzle. I’m burning scroll-stored mana; my feel could be off, and maybe no one’s pulling strings.

Where next? The question hangs like a lantern at a fork.

Hollow wall or deeper into the passage, Hedi says, her words mapping the dark like chalk marks. If the Dark Realm wants to herd us, the hollow wall is prime, but the wind deeper—

Where there’s wind, there’s an exit. Selina’s certainty snaps like a sail catching gust.

You sure? Hedi’s doubt crosses the floor like a shadow.

You decide. Selina offers it up like a palmful of water.

I’m terrible at multiple choice, Hedi admits, the confession falling like a pebble into a well.

It’s fine, Selina answers, light as a leaf floating on that same well.

Hedi looks at Selina and wets her lips, her glance a moth circling a flame. Don’t dump everything on me. And also—how didn’t you hiccup? I almost went weak in the knees like noodles.

Because I trust you, Selina says, simple as bread and warm as fresh steam.

What if I pick wrong? Hedi’s voice thins like smoke in a draft.

Then it’s your turn to trust me, Selina says, her smile steady as a lamp in wind.

Hedi musters a crooked smile, a crescent in cloud. Right. I called you my sense of safety, and then I let my thoughts run wild like horses anyway.

What do you mean? Selina’s brows draw together like two strokes of ink.

Nothing. I’m padding my nerves with useless logic, dressing a simple need in robes; seeking comfort needs no brief, just a hand like a hearth.

You’ve wrestled like this before? Selina bites her lip, the memory dark as tea. When?

All the time, Hedi says, a sigh curling like steam. I’m wired for inner conflict.

Maybe it’s age? Selina’s voice drops like dusk. Professor, you put too much weight on your years. You think the older one must be the model, but without magic, you can’t, and you feel ashamed to lean.

No way, Hedi shoots back, her denial quick as a snapped twig.

Your wish for comfort and the fact you’re older cut a trench between expectation and reality, Selina says, each word a measured step on stones.

You lean on me, then snap back to reason; that’s self-expectation, shame at reliance, and age plus social pressure braided like a tight rope.

That’s not it, I— Hedi starts, her protest thin as rain on slate.

That’s exactly it, Selina cuts in, clean as a blade through grass.

Enough, one more word and I’ll sock you, Hedi growls, heat flickering like a coal.

Hedi watches Selina press her lips shut, a red seal on porcelain, and sighs, the sound a small tide. She slides her right hand from her pocket and holds it out like a branch.

What… what are you doing? Selina’s voice trembles like a sparrow on a wire.

Don’t hold it, then, Hedi says, feigning nonchalance like a cat turning away.

Hold! I want to hold! Selina blurts, bright as a bell, and reaches like a careful restorer.

She cups Hedi’s wrist like a fragile artwork, her fingers tracing the lines of her palm like rivers, stopping at the knuckles to press, then lacing their fingers like woven reeds.

How is it? Her eyes shine like wet stones.

Not great. All sweat, Hedi says, and she feels Selina loosen, then squeeze harder, pressure warm as a pocket.

Heh-heh-heh, Selina laughs, her chuckle wobbling like a squeaky hinge.

Your laugh sounds worse than crying, Hedi says, her tease light as ash.

I found a side of the Professor no one expected; has anyone else seen it? Selina’s curiosity peeks out like a fox.

No, Hedi answers, flat as a closed fan.

Of course not. Once we’re out and you can use magic again, you’ll be the reliable big sister, Selina says, certainty steady as a stone bridge.

Hedi walks silent toward the deeper passage, her steps beads on a string, and Selina follows like a field-trip tagalong, arms swinging like willow branches.

Don’t be so carefree, Hedi calls back, her warning a tossed pebble.

Selina pounces from behind and hugs her, soft as a quilt. You’re so cute!

Careful, or I really will hit you, Hedi snaps, her threat a spark that dances and dies.