When Emma ran to her room and slammed the door, the house fell into a sharp, ugly silence.
I stayed where he was, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides.
My mother turned toward him, already irritated. "Honestly, Barry, I don't know what's gotten into her lately..."
"You do," I cut in.
She froze.
"What did you say ?"
"You know," I repeated, voice low but firm. "You just don't want to admit it."
Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me ?"
I exhaled sharply through his nose. "Do you really think I don't see how you've been acting ? Dad might pretend not to notice...or maybe he really doesn't…but I do."
"That's not your place," she snapped.
"It is when it's my sister," I shot back. "We're almost ten. And you're putting her on diets like she's some kind of project."
"She needs discipline."
"She needs a mom," I said, the words coming faster now. "Not someone weighing her every day.
My mother's face hardened.
"You're very mature for your age, Barry," she said sharply, "but that doesn't change the fact that you're still a child. Just like Emma. You don't know what's best for you."
I laughed bitterly. "You hear yourself ?"
"I am your mother," she continued, voice rising. "And I will not be contradicted in my own house. Everything I do is for your good. For both of you."
"If you keep doing this," I said, anger bleeding through now, "all you're going to do is push us away from you."
She scoffed. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I do," I said quietly. "And one day you're going to realize it—when we stop telling you anything at all."
That was the last straw.
"Enough," she said coldly.
I stared at her for a long second, eyes bright with restrained emotion.
Then I vanished.
A burst of wind slammed through the living room as I shot down the hall toward Emma's door, too fast, too angry, too scared of what I might find.
I didn't slow down when I reached Emma's door. I stopped instantly, the air snapping around me as if reality itself had been yanked short.
I raised my hand to knock, then I hesitated.
"Em ?" I called, softer now. "It's me." No answer.
I opened the door anyway.
At first, his brain refused to process what his eyes were seeing.
The room was empty.
Or—no. That wasn't right.
The bed was there. The desk. The posters on the wall. Everything exactly where it should be… except for a messy pile of clothes near the foot of the bed. Emma's clothes. Way too big to be discarded like that.
My heart skipped, and my gaze dropped.
And then I saw her. Tiny.
Standing beside the pile of fabric, barefoot, arms wrapped around herself like that was the only thing holding her together. Her eyes were red, face streaked with dried tears, body so small that one of her own sleeves lay across the floor like a fallen curtain.
"Uh…" Emma said, her voice impossibly small, trembling. "H-hi."
I didn't move. I could barely breathe.
For half a second, a thousand thoughts detonated in my head—fear, shock, calculations, questions, blame, guilt—all crashing into each other at once.
Finally, very quietly, I whispered:
"Shit…"
I crouched down slowly, as if sudden movement might scare her or make her disappear.
"Okay," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm, steady. "Okay. I've got you. You're… you're okay."
Emma's lip trembled again.
"I didn't mean to," she said quickly, panic creeping back in. "I was crying and then my hands…Barry, my hands got smaller and I tried to stop it and I couldn't and…"
"Hey." I held out a finger, letting her decide if she wanted to grab it. "Hey. Breathe. You're safe. I promise."
She hesitated only a second before clutching his finger with both hands. Her grip was weak, but real.
I stayed crouched in front of her, never taking his eyes off Emma, as if looking away might somehow make everything worse.
"Hey," he said gently. "You're okay. You're right here with me."
Emma nodded, though her breathing was still uneven. I noticed how her shoulders rose and fell too fast, panic still clinging to her like static.
"Can you… can you calm down a little for me ?" I asked softly. "Just try. I'm not going anywhere."
She squeezed my finger again, this time not as tightly. Slowly…very slowly…her breathing began to even out.
After a moment, she looked up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable.
"Barry ?"
"Yeah ?"
"Do you think I can go back to normal ?"
The question hit me harder than any punch ever could.
I didn't lie.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But we're gonna figure it out. Together."
Emma swallowed. "I don't even know how I did this. I wasn't trying to. I just… looked down and my hands were smaller and then everything felt wrong."
I nodded, thinking fast.
' Powers don't just happen randomly, ' I thought. ' They react to something. '
I already had a suspicion.
"What were you feeling ?" I asked carefully. "Right before it happened."
She hesitated, then her voice dropped.
"I was crying because of Mom," Emma said. "I was tired. Of the school, of the diets… of never being enough." Her eyes shimmered again. "I felt like she didn't even see me. And when she looks at me like that, it makes me feel… small. Like I don't matter."
My chest tightened.
' Small. '
The word echoed.
I understood instantly.
"…Okay," I said slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. "Then maybe that's it. Maybe your powers listen to your feelings."
Emma looked at me, hopeful but scared. "You really think so ?"
"I do," I said firmly. "Which means if bad emotions made you shrink… good ones might help you grow back."
She sniffed. "How ?"
I smiled a little.
"Well," I said, settling onto the floor so I was closer to her level, "I could tell you about some stuff from my school."
Emma tilted her head. "Like what ?"
"Like how Luke almost set off a fire alarm because he sneezed while training," I said, smirking. "Or how Andre keeps pretending he's not competitive, but absolutely loses his mind if he loses."
That got a small laugh out of her.
Encouraged, I kept going.
I talked about the campus, the weird classes, the coliseum, and how Luke kept challenging me to spar even though I could end it in a second. I told her about inside jokes, dumb mistakes, moments that made me feel normal again.
Then I shifted.
"Remember when we were six," I said softly, "and we tried to build that 'fortress' out of couch cushions?"
Emma smiled wider now. "And it collapsed on Dad."
"And he pretended he was trapped for like ten minutes just to mess with us," I said, laughing.
Emma giggled…really giggled this time.
I glanced down.
Emma's hand…still wrapped around my finger…was bigger.
"Em," I whispered.
She followed my gaze, eyes widening as her body slowly, steadily grew. Her feet pressed properly into the carpet again. The sleeves of her shirt no longer looked like blankets. Inch by inch, she returned to herself.
I didn't say a word until she was back to normal.
Then I let out a shaky breath I hadn't realized he was holding.
"You did it," I said, grinning.
Emma looked at her hands, then at him. "I did…"
Before she could even think about it too much, I grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Hey," I said firmly but gently, meeting her eyes. "You don't have to worry about Mom's stupid diets anymore. Okay ?"
She frowned slightly. "But…"
"No buts," I interrupted. "You don't have to follow any of that. Not anymore. I've got you."
Her eyes filled again…but this time, it wasn't sadness.
She leaned forward and hugged me tightly.
I hugged her back just as hard.
For a moment, the world felt steady again.