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Fingers laced behind her head, Taly glanced over from her bench. “Woah, there’s a rare sight. Aiden, did you actually stop working long enough to sleep here last night?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, grinning. “I was lured in by the promise of hot food and a real bed.”

“Is that code for ‘Mina was busy’?”

“Who’s Mina?” Aimee muttered through clenched teeth.

“Just a colleague,” Aiden said with a glance at Taly. A glance that lingered, that carried more weight than the words themselves.

That was how it always was with them—glances, inside jokes, silent conversations. Every summer, Aimee lost her brother. He slipped into Taly’s orbit and became someone else. Someone who laughed more, shared more.

While Aimee was left to watch, always on the outside.

“So, I think I’ve got it this time,” Aiden said.

Taly sat up slower than usual. Hungover, no doubt. She came home last night smelling like a brewery. She hesitated—just for a breath—before sliding over to make room.

Aiden dropped onto the bench beside her, a small blue pouch swinging from his fingers. He glanced at Aimee, rolling the fabric between his fingers as if reconsidering, before finally upending the bag.

A handful of dull grey stones spilled between them. “Watch this.”

Green light flashed as he threaded a spark of aether into the stones. They rose, spinning in midair, fusing together into something vaguely animal-shaped—a rabbit, maybe? Or a dog? Whatever it was, it was lopsided and ugly. Her brother had never been an artist.

“Do you remember?” he asked, hopeful. “When we were little, you used to ask me to make you little armies. You’d line them up on the floor and pretend they were charging into battle. You were always the general, of course.”

“Of course,” Taly said with a wry smile, though the distant look in her eyes suggested she was trying—and failing—to pull up the memory.

“I’d spend hours making them for you,” Aiden continued, a faint chuckle escaping him. “And you’d knock them over in about five minutes, claiming they’d been ambushed.”

Taly huffed a small laugh. “That does sound like something I’d do.”

Aimee grunted through another laborious push. The memory was too clear—Aiden, crouched on the floor, hands glowing with green aether, while Cori lined up her tiny stone soldiers, barking orders.

Taly wasn’t Cori. Aimee knew that. Still, something stupid coiled tight in her chest, waiting.

But Taly tilted her head, studying the little creature with a faint smile that faded too quickly.

“I’m sorry, but I… I don’t remember that.”

Aiden’s fingers curled into his palm, crushing the stones inside. “It’s okay.” But Aimee heard the tightness in his voice. The forced compassion. He was good at hiding it, but she knew how to listen.

Her arms gave out, and she collapsed onto the mat.

“That’s failure,” Taly said, her voice annoyingly cheerful.

Aimee glared up at her, face red and damp with sweat. “Excuse me?”

Taly shrugged, unfazed. “You can’t move onto the next rep. That’s failure. Four repsfewerthan yesterday, I might add. Are you eating everything I told you to?”

“Most of it,” Aimee mumbled, dragging herself upright.

Taly sighed, a dramatic, put-upon sound. “We’ve been over this. You have to eatallof it. You’re trying to build strength. That means you need more food.”

Aimee’s stomach rolled, protesting the idea of evenmorefood. She was already too full, too aware of how her clothes clung in places they never used to. She looked desperately to her brother. “Aiden. You’re in medicine. Tell her she’s being unreasonable.”

But once again, Aiden took Taly’s side. “Sorry, Aimes, but she’s right. If you want more muscle, you have to eat in a surplus. It’s basic biology.”

Aimee didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. But something inside her twisted, tight and mean.Basic biology. Like she was too stupid to understand. Like this whole agonizing process was simple, easy,obvious.