Lilith stood in the doorway of their dormitory room, her right hand clasped tightly in Eve's.

  "I want to try walking around by myself today," she said for the third time.

  Eve's grip tightened. Her red eyes stared at Lilith with an intensity that bordered on distress.

  "Just for a little bit," Lilith added gently. "I need to learn how to navigate this place on my own. I can't always rely on you to guide me."

  Eve's expression didn't change, but Lilith could read the resistance in every line of her small body.

  She doesn't want to let go.

  Lilith understood. She felt the same pull—the instinctive need to stay close, to maintain that physical connection that made everything feel safer.

  But she also knew it was a liability.

  What if we get separated? What if something happens and I need to move on my own? I can't just be helpless every time Eve isn't there.

  Her depth perception was terrible. She'd noticed it more and more over the past few weeks—reaching for things and missing, misjudging distances, bumping into furniture. Eve's presence helped, somehow, but Lilith needed to know exactly how bad it was when she was alone.

  She knelt down to Eve's level and placed her free hand on her twin's shoulder.

  "I promise I'll be careful. I'm just going to walk around the orphanage for a bit. You can stay in the library or the common room, and I'll come find you when I'm done. Okay?"

  Eve stared at her for a long moment.

  Then, reluctantly, she nodded.

  Her hand slipped free from Lilith's, and the absence felt immediate and uncomfortable.

  But Lilith forced herself to smile. "Thank you. I'll be back soon."

  She turned and walked away before she could change her mind.

  Behind her, Eve stood frozen in the doorway.

  Watching Lilith disappear down the corridor.

  Alone. She's going alone.

  The anxiety was immediate and overwhelming—a tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe.

  But Lilith had said it was okay. Had promised to come back.

  Trust her, Eve told herself. She always comes back.

  Still...

  Eve waited exactly ten seconds.

  Then she followed.

  At first, it wasn't so bad.

  Lilith navigated the familiar corridors without much trouble—the ones she'd walked dozens of times with Eve at her side. The dormitory wing. The path to the dining hall. The route to the chapel.

  She knew these spaces. Could almost walk them with her right eye closed.

  But when she decided to explore further—to the parts of the orphanage she hadn't visited often—things got harder.

  An unfamiliar hallway stretched ahead, lined with doors and alcoves. Storage rooms, maybe? Or administrative offices?

  Lilith moved forward carefully, her right eye tracking the walls, trying to judge distances.

  She reached for the wall to steady herself.

  Missed.

  Her hand closed on empty air, and she stumbled slightly, catching herself before she fell.

  Okay. Misjudged that. Try again.

  She continued, more cautiously now.

  But the problem kept repeating.

  She'd reach for a doorframe and her hand would pass inches to the left. She'd try to step around a corner and clip her shoulder on the wall. She'd move to avoid an obstacle and trip over something she hadn't seen in her reduced field of vision.

  This is worse than I thought.

  Every movement required conscious calculation. Every step was uncertain.

  How do people live like this? How do people with one eye navigate the world without constantly crashing into things?

  She remembered reading somewhere—back in her old life—that people with monocular vision adapted over time. Their brains learned to compensate using other cues: shadows, parallax from head movement, size relationships.

  But she was still new to this. Still adjusting.

  And she was five years old in a body that was still developing. Not to mention she was used to relying on Eve all this time

  This is going to take a while.

  She turned another corner and walked directly into a wall.

  The impact sent her stumbling backward, hand flying up to her nose, right eye watering.

  "Ow! Damn it—"

  She caught herself. Language. You're supposed to be a five-year-old.

  Rubbing her nose, she glared at the wall with her right eye as if it had personally offended her.

  Stupid depth perception. Stupid blind eye.

  She was about to turn back—to give up on this little experiment and return to somewhere familiar—when voices echoed down the corridor.

  Children's voices.

  Lilith looked up and saw a group of kids approaching. Maybe five or six of them, ranging from around her age to perhaps eight years old.

  She recognized a few faces. They were some of the children who'd been staring at her and Eve since they arrived. The ones who whispered. The ones who looked at them with disgust.

  Oh. Perfect timing. Just what I needed.

  The group stopped a few meters away, effectively blocking the corridor.

  One of them—a boy maybe seven years old with a perpetual sneer—stepped forward.

  "Look who it is," he said, his tone mocking. "The mutant girl. Where's your creepy sister?"

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Lilith felt her jaw tighten.

  Don't engage. They're just kids. Ignore them and walk away.

  But they weren't moving. And the corridor was narrow.

  "Excuse me," Lilith said politely, her voice calm. "Can I get through, please?"

  The boy crossed his arms. "Why should we let a mutant walk around freely? Sister Prudence says mutations are signs of corruption."

  She did not say that, Lilith thought. You're twisting her words.

  "I'm not a mutant," she said evenly. "I just have different colored eyes. Now please move."

  One of the girls in the group spoke up, her voice shrill. "Different colored eyes that glow. That's not normal. That's wrong."

  Another boy chimed in. "My brother says people with glowing eyes are touched by daemons. Are you a daemon, mutant girl?"

  Lilith felt her hands clench into fists.

  They're children. They don't know better. Don't escalate. Don't make this worse.

  But the frustration was building. She'd been through too much. Been experimented on. Nearly died. Crashed on a planet that was constantly at war. Been interrogated by an Inquisitor.

  And now she was being bullied by a group of kids who didn't even understand what they were talking about.

  "I'm not a mutant," she repeated, her voice harder now. "And I'm not a daemon. Now move."

  The sneering boy took a step closer, and Lilith could see the cruelty in his eyes—the kind that came from fear and ignorance mixing into something ugly.

  "Make us," he said.

  Eve watched from around the corner, her small body pressed against the wall, her red eyes locked on the confrontation.

  She'd been following Lilith the entire time, staying hidden in alcoves and doorways, moving silently whenever Lilith wasn't looking.

  And now Lilith was surrounded.

  Eve felt something hot and sharp surge through her chest.

  Anger.

  Her hands clenched into fists.

  They're threatening her. I should—

  But she hesitated.

  Lilith had told her not to hurt people. Had said that if she showed her strength, they'd take her away.

  But they're threatening Lilith. They're in her way. I could—

  She took a step forward, ready to intervene.

  And then another voice cut through the tension.

  "Children!"

  Sister Marian.

  The elderly nun appeared from a side corridor, her expression stern but concerned. She was older than the other sisters—probably in her sixties—with gray hair and calm appearance that had seen decades of service.

  The group of children immediately scattered, muttering excuses and avoiding eye contact.

  The sneering boy shot one last glare at Lilith before hurrying away.

  Sister Marian approached Lilith, her eyes scanning the girl with practiced efficiency.

  "Are you all right, child?"

  Lilith nodded, still trying to calm her racing heart. "Yes, Sister. I'm fine."

  Sister Marian's gaze drifted past Lilith, toward the corner where Eve was hiding.

  For a moment, their eyes met.

  And Sister Marian winked.

  Eve froze.

  She knows. She knows I'm here.

  But Sister Marian didn't say anything. She just turned her attention back to Lilith.

  "Come with me to the medicae ward, dear. I want to make sure you're not hurt."

  "I'm really okay—"

  "Humor an old woman," Sister Marian said gently but firmly. "I saw you earlier, stumbling around these corridors. You looked like you were having trouble."

  Lilith hesitated, then nodded. "All right, Sister."

  Sister Marian led her down the corridor, toward a part of the orphanage Lilith hadn't explored much—the small medicae ward where injuries and illnesses were treated.

  Behind them, Eve waited a few seconds, then began to follow at a careful distance.

  The medicae ward was small and sparse—a few beds, some basic medical equipment, shelves lined with bandages and ointments and whatever passed for medicine in a hive city orphanage.

  Sister Marian gestured for Lilith to sit on one of the beds, then began a quick physical examination.

  Checking her eyes. Her reflexes. Her coordination.

  "Why were you walking around alone?" Sister Marian asked as she worked. "I thought you and Eve were inseparable."

  Lilith looked down at her hands. "I wanted to know how bad my depth perception is. When I'm alone, I mean. Without Eve to help me."

  Sister Marian's hands paused. "And why would you need to know that?"

  "Because..." Lilith struggled to find the words. "Because I can't always rely on her. What if we get separated? What if something happens and I need to move on my own? I don't want to be helpless."

  Sister Marian was quiet for a moment.

  Then she asked gently, "Do you hate relying on Eve?"

  "No!" The answer came immediately, almost defensive. "No, I don't hate it. I just—" Lilith took a breath. "I don't want to be a burden. I want to be able to help her when she needs it. To be reliable, not a liability."

  Sister Marian's expression softened.

  She stepped back and regarded Lilith with something that looked like understanding—and perhaps a touch of sadness.

  "Wait here, child."

  She disappeared into a storage room and returned a moment later carrying two items.

  A ball—simple, made of worn leather, probably used for children's games.

  And a stick—about as tall as Lilith, smooth and sturdy, with a rounded end.

  Sister Marian held out the stick. "If you want to navigate unfamiliar places, you should use this. Not because you're broken or lesser, but as a tool. A guide. It will help you judge distances until your brain learns to compensate for your missing eye."

  Lilith stared at the stick.

  A cane. She's giving me a cane.

  Part of her wanted to refuse. To insist she didn't need it, that she could manage on her own.

  But she knew that was pride talking. Stubborn, foolish pride.

  She reached out and took the stick, testing its weight.

  "Thank you, Sister," she said quietly.

  Sister Marian smiled. "And this—" She held out the ball. "You can use this to play catch with Eve. It's a good way to train your depth perception. Start close, then gradually increase the distance. Your brain will learn."

  Lilith took the ball as well, turning it over in her hands.

  Training and getting used to it.

  It made sense. It was practical.

  It was also humbling.

  "Thank you, Sister Marian," she said again, meaning it.

  Sister Marian patted her shoulder. "You're a good girl, Lilith. Thoughtful. Trying so hard to be strong for your sister." She paused. "But you should know—Eve was following you the whole time."

  Lilith's head snapped up. "What?"

  "She's very good at hiding," Sister Marian said with a small smile. "But I saw her. She's been shadowing you since you left the dormitory. I suspect she's waiting outside right now."

  Lilith felt her face heat with embarrassment—and also a strange warmth in her chest.

  Eve followed me. Even though I asked her not to. Because she was worried.

  "She cares about you very much," Sister Marian said gently. "That's not a burden, child. That's a blessing."

  Lilith nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  "Now go," Sister Marian said, shooing her toward the door. "Before she worries herself sick."

  Lilith stepped out of the medicae ward, the stick in one hand and the ball in the other.

  She looked down the corridor—and sure enough, Eve was there, pressed against the wall about ten meters away, clearly trying to look casual and failing.

  The moment their eyes met, Eve straightened and hurried over, reaching for Lilith's hand.

  Lilith let her take it, squeezing back.

  "Thank you for worrying," she said softly as she pats her head. "But I told you that I can do this."

  Eve blinked, surprised. "How—"

  "Sister Marian told me."

  Eve looked down, almost sheepish.

  Lilith smiled. "It's okay. I'm not mad."

  They walked back to their dormitory room together, Lilith using the stick to help navigate. It was awkward at first—she kept misjudging how far to extend it, tapping walls and furniture clumsily—but it did help.

  When they reached their room, Lilith closed the door and turned to Eve, holding up the ball.

  "Want to play catch?"

  Eve tilted her head. "Catch?"

  Lilith demonstrated, gently tossing the ball to herself and catching it. "Like this. I throw it to you, you catch it and throw it back. It's a game. And it'll help me get better at judging distances."

  Eve's expression shifted into something curious. "Okay."

  They started simple—standing just a meter apart, tossing the ball back and forth.

  Eve caught it perfectly every time, her reflexes sharp and precise.

  Lilith... did not.

  The first throw, she reached too far to the left and the ball bounced off her arm.

  The second, she didn't reach far enough and it hit the floor.

  The third, she actually caught it, and felt a small surge of triumph.

  They continued, gradually increasing the distance.

  Lilith's success rate improved—slowly, but noticeably.

  After about twenty minutes, she called a break, breathing hard and laughing slightly.

  "Okay, that's enough for now. My arm's getting tired."

  Eve set the ball down carefully and moved to sit beside Lilith on the bed.

  Lilith sat down too, and without thinking, reached over to take Eve's hand.

  Eve's fingers curled around hers immediately.

  They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

  Lilith turned to Eve. "Thank you."

  Eve tilted her head. "For what?"

  Eve looked at her, those red eyes bright and attentive.

  “For being with me, even though you really know who I am.” Lilith then looks away feeling embarrassed. “Well, I know you don’t understand yet back then or right now.”

  Eve was quiet for a moment, then said softly, "You're my sister. Maverick is Lilith."

  "You're my family too now," Lilith said quietly. "And I'm never letting you go. Okay?"

  She squeezed Eve's hand.

  Eve leaned against her shoulder, that familiar warmth spreading through the contact. As she thought of the word, family.

  Family.

  "That's what family does. They look out for each other. They protect each other. They... they treasure each other." Lilith continue as she close her eyes.

  And I do. I treasure you. I always felt close to you.

  The thought came with startling clarity and emotion.

  I don't know why. I don't understand this connection we have. But I know I'd do anything to keep you safe.

  Eve leaned against her shoulder, the way she always did when seeking comfort.

  "Family," she repeated softly, as if testing the word and she asks innocently. “Does that mean that we’d get a father who works and a mother who cooks?”

  Lilith laughs genuinely, her voice thick with emotion she didn't quite understand. "Not really, but we have each other."

  They sat there together as the light from the small window slowly faded, the shadows growing longer.