I pedaled slow.
The weather was getting worse. Clouds darker now—heavy and swollen and pressing down on the world like a held breath.
There was no single living being outside. The farmers who usually waved from their fields had retreated hours ago.
It was just me.
And the wind.
And the cycle's steady hum beneath me. And the growing certainty, settling into my bones like cold water, that something was coming. Something that had nothing to do with the weather.
°°°
I walked through the door.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
There's no Angy or Shenhe. Not even Mochi on the windowsill, judging passersby with his yellow eyes.
Strange. They're always here. Always. Angy was always bouncing toward the door before I could open it. Shenhe was always standing in the kitchen doorway, watching, waiting. Even when I'd collapsed, even when I'd disappeared for hours.
This silence was wrong.
I went upstairs. The steps creaked beneath my feet—familiar sounds in an unfamiliar quiet.
The hot water ran over my shoulders and down my back, and I stood under it longer than necessary, letting the heat seep into muscles that had tensed against the cold wind.
I changed into dry clothes. The usual routine. The ordinary rituals of coming home.
But the silence followed me. It pressed against my ears like cotton. It filled the spaces where Angy's chatter should have been, where Shenhe's quiet observations should have settled.
When I came down, they were on the couch.
Sitting together. Side by side.
Angy's hands were clasped in her lap—still, for once, completely still. Shenhe's posture was perfect as always, but there was something different in the way she held herself.
They were worried.
I'd seen Angy worried. When I collapsed in the bathroom, she'd cried. Angy's worry was loud and visible and impossible to miss.
But Shenhe? Shenhe didn't worry. Shenhe watched. Waited. Eyebrow twitched. Shenhe's concern was a quiet thing, expressed in extra water bottles and the particular intensity of her gaze. It never showed on her face.
It was showing now. Just a little. Just enough to terrify me.
I sat across from them. The coffee table between us felt like a chasm. The silence stretched and pulled and refused to break.
"What?"
They exchanged a glance.
"Master." Angy's voice was quiet. Too quiet. The voice she used when something was wrong. Really wrong. "Some calamity is coming."
"Calamity? Dumans in Ilsa?" The question felt ridiculous even as I asked it. Ilsa didn't have Dumans.
"No, Young Master." Shenhe's voice. Flat. But heavy. Heavier than I'd ever heard it. "It's worse than Dumans."
Worse than Dumans.
"You don't mean—"
"Yes."
"Ahh hell no." The words came out before I could stop them. Automatic.
"Yes, Master."
Angy held out her hand. Her fingers were steady, but I could see the tension in her wrist, the way she was holding herself together through sheer force of will.
A letter. Cream paper—the expensive kind, the kind that cost more than most people made in a week.
"We got a letter from her."
I took it. The paper was smooth beneath my fingers. Expensive. It even felt expensive.
The seal broke easily. The wax cracked and fell away in small red fragments that scattered across the coffee table like drops of blood.
Inside, handwriting. Looping and dramatic and completely unmistakable. Covered in little hearts and stars and flourishes that turned ordinary letters into something that belonged in a fairy tale. Or a horror story. Depending on your perspective.
---
To my cutie patootie Lil bro,
Helllllo Lil bro! Did you miss your hot, cute, sexy, innocent, big-chested big sister?
---
What. What is this. What kind of opening was that? Who started a letter like that? Who—
---
Sorry for writing a letter... well, you see, there's no network in my phone. I don't know when you're receiving this, because I'm writing from a place where time and space doesn't exist and you're in a place where time is artificial. (Don't ask. You won't understand. Actually ask. I like explaining.)
---
A place where time and space doesn't exist. Of course. Of course my sister was writing from a place where time and space didn't exist.
That was just... that was just her. That was the kind of thing she said like it was normal. Like "I'm at the supermarket".
---
Btw Lil bro, I'm coming in a few to your house in Ilsa. Like, SOON soon. Not soon soon as in "next week" soon. Soon as in "any moment now" soon. Possibly while you're reading this.
---
I stopped reading. Looked up at Angy and Shenhe. They were watching me with the kind of intensity that meant they'd already read the letter. They already knew what was in it. And they were still scared.
I kept reading.
---
Also—
And did your maids do any sexual things to you? If yes... I'll beat their asses. Hard. With my bare hands. While smiling. You know I will. Oh I love touching Angy's thick ass.
---
I don't know what to feel. Fear? Confusion? The profound and unsettling realization that my sister was apparently attracted to my maid? All of the above? Probably all of the above.
---
Muah... Lil bro...
Your lovely onechan,
Scarlett
P.S. — There's a photo attached. Look at it. I look cute.
---
I turned the page. A photo fell out. It drifted down to the coffee table, turning once in the air before landing face-up.
It was Scarlett. Red hair—bright and wild and unmistakable. Red eyes. Her tongue was out, caught mid-wag like she was in the middle of teasing someone.
She was smirking like she'd just won something. Like she'd just pulled off the greatest prank in history and was waiting for you to realize what she'd done.
In her other hand—
A head.
A severed head.
Someone's head. Held by the hair like a trophy. Like an accessory.
She was grinning. Ear to ear. The grin of someone who was having the time of her life.
She was grinning.
---
I stared at it. For a long time. The photo didn't change.
Angy and Shenhe watched. Waiting.
The silence stretched between us like something physical. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows in their frames. Thunder cracked overhead, closer now, loud enough to shake the house.
And then—
Rain. Slow at first. A few drops against the glass. Then harder. Then pounding against the windows like it wanted in. Like the storm had finally decided to break, and it was breaking all at once, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
I looked up. At them. At their worried faces. At the way Angy's hands were still clasped in her lap, white-knuckled and trembling slightly. At the way Shenhe's eyebrow hadn't twitched once since I'd sat down—the most telling sign of all.
"She's..." My voice cracked. The sound was unfamiliar in my own ears. "She's coming here?"
Shenhe nodded. Just once. The movement was small and precise and carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"Soon."
Soon. What does soon mean? Days? Hours? Minutes? Was she already here? Was she standing outside right now, in the rain, holding another head, waiting for the right moment to knock?
I looked at the photo again. The head. The grin.
"She killed someone."
Angy shifted on the couch. "Probably."
"Probably?!" The word came out louder than I intended. It echoed off the walls of the quiet house.
"She's... your sister, Young Master. She does things."
She does things. What kind of things? Things that involved severed heads?
Things that—what? What kind of person was she? What kind of person had she become since I'd last seen her, whenever that was, in whatever blurry childhood memory I could barely access?
The rain hammered harder. Thunder shook the house. The windows rattled. The lights flickered once—just once—and then steadied.
And somewhere, in the back of my mind, a voice whispered:
She's coming. Your sister is coming. And she brought a head.
"Hey bro"
"What Scarlett?"
"When I grow up... I'm going to destroy the whole universe for you"
"Oh? And why you want to do that"
"Because it's annoying when someone says this ugly universe is beautiful than you"
A memory flased in my head.
I set the photo down. Carefully. The way you'd set down something fragile.
"When?"
Shenhe's eyebrow twitched. Finally. The first sign of normalcy in fifteen minutes. "The letter said 'a few.' That could mean anything. Days. Weeks. Hours."
"In her language," Angy added, her voice finding a hint of its usual energy, " 'a few' could mean tomorrow. Could mean next month. Could mean never—but it won't be never, because she's your sister and she's insane."
I looked at the window. Rain streaking down the glass in endless rivulets. Dark clouds swallowing the sky whole.
The world outside reduced to shades of gray and black and the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated everything for one brilliant, terrifying second.
She's out there somewhere.
"Did she..." I swallowed. The question felt ridiculous. But I had to ask. "Did she always send heads?"
Angy and Shenhe exchanged another glance.
"No," Shenhe said quietly. "That's new."
I didn't move. Couldn't move. The photo was still on the table. Scarlett's grin was still frozen in place. The head was still severed.
°°°
We sat in silence. The rain kept falling. The wind kept howling. The world outside disappeared behind a curtain of water so thick it was impossible to see anything beyond the windows.
We were sealed inside the house like a ship in a bottle, adrift in a storm that showed no signs of stopping.
Angy broke first. She always did.
"So... your sister."
"Yes."
"She's... intense." The word was inadequate. She knew it. I knew it. Shenhe knew it. But it was the only word we had.
"Yes."
"The head thing."
"Yes."
"That's... new?"
"Yes."
She looked at Shenhe. Her expression was somewhere between desperation and the particular madness that came from trying to process something completely unprocessable. "We're not equipped for this."
Shenhe's eyebrow twitched. "We're equipped for everything."
"Are we equipped for a woman who sends severed heads as family updates?! Are we equipped for Scarlett?! Are we equipped for—for—" She gestured at the photo, at the letter, at the entire situation. "—THIS?!"
"We'll adapt."
"HOW?!" Angy's voice cracked. "How do you adapt to a person who thinks a severed head is an appropriate thing to put in a LETTER?! Who writes 'muah' and 'your lovely onechan' and then attaches EVIDENCE OF MURDER?!"
Shenhe didn't answer. Because there was no answer.
I picked up the photo again. My fingers were steady now. The shock was fading, replaced by something else. Something more complicated. Something that felt almost like nostalgia.
Looked at her face. Red hair, wild and untamed, the same shade I remembered from blurry childhood memories.
She was something that chased away nightmares and bullies and anything else that tried to hurt her little brother.
I don't remember her. Not really. Just fragments. Blurry smiles at the edges of my memory. The feeling of someone bigger standing between me and the world. The sound of laughter that was too loud for the room. The warmth of hands that were always, always ready to catch me if I fell.
And now—this. A letter. A photo. A severed head. The same sister. The same grin. The same promise, unspoken but absolute: I'm coming.
"Master."
Shenhe's voice. I looked up. Her blue eyes met mine, and for just a moment, the mask slipped.
"She loves you."
"I know." The words came out automatically. They were true. I knew they were true. Scarlett loved me. She'd always loved me. It was the one thing about her that had never changed, would never change, could never change.
"Whatever else she is... whatever she's done... whatever she's holding in that photograph..." Shenhe paused. "She loves you. That matters. That's the only thing that matters."
"Yeah," I whispered. "I know."
The storm didn't stop. The rain kept hammering against the windows. The thunder kept rolling across the sky.
"Young Master." Angy's voice.
"We'll handle it. Together. Whatever she is. Whatever she brings. Whatever's in her luggage—and I'm really hoping it's not more heads, but if it is, we'll handle that too." She squeezed my fingers. "We've handled worse. Probably. Maybe. We'll find out."
"She's my sister."
"I know."
"She might be dangerous."
"I know."
"She might be—she might be worse than anything we've faced. Worse than Dumans. Worse than—"
"She's your sister." Angy squeezed harder. Her grip was almost painful now. "That's all that matters. That's the only thing that matters. She's family. And family—"
She glanced at Shenhe, at the silent woman who'd been watching over both of us for seventeen years.
"—family is what we do. Family is what we've always done."
Family. Even when they're terrifying.
Family.
I picked up the letter again. Read the last line. The one I'd skimmed over before.
Your lovely onechan, Scarlett.
Lovely onechan. Lovely big sister. The woman who'd protected me when I was small. Who'd chased away nightmares. Who'd held my hand through the dark.
And who now, apparently, collected heads.
"Yeah," I whispered to no one. To the storm. To the photo. To the memory of a sister I barely remembered. "I know."
----