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With a very unladylike grunt, Aimee dropped the barbell, barely missing her feet.

Pain pulsed through every part of her. Her legs burned, her arms trembled, and there was a sharp ache in her back she couldn’t stretch out. Exhaustion draped over her like a too-heavy gown, souring her mood further.

Aimee was no stranger to discipline. Dance required strength in ways most people didn’t appreciate. But this… this was different. Weights, squats, rows—everything about it felt awkward, graceless, and undignified.

She glared at the barbell, its polished surface gleaming under the training hall lights. It looked far too smug for an inanimate object.

Taly’s barbell, by comparison, was loaded with plates so big they looked like wagon wheels. She’d added them, lifted them, and stripped them off again without so much as a huff.

“Now pushups,” Taly said, lounging on a nearby bench. Resting between sets , she called it.

Meanwhile, Aimee wasn’t allowed to stop. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“No complaining,” Taly reminded her, never opening her eyes.

Aimee bit back a growl, muttering, “It’s not complaining to point out how wildly unfair it is that I’m over here sweating my soul out while you lounge around.”

“Supersets save time,” Taly said, unmoving and utterly unrepentant.

It was a convenient enough excuse.

Wincing, Aimee eased herself to the ground. Her arms trembled, her elbows wobbling like they might give out at any moment. “This,” she panted, “is not training. This is humiliation.”

“You have to crawl before you can walk.”

Aimee gritted her teeth and pushed against the floor, every muscle in her arms and shoulders shaking. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate”—she sucked in a breath—“everything.”

“That’s one,” Taly said. “Nine more.”

Aimee didn’t curse. Out loud. But in her head, she burned through every foul word Taly had ever taught her.

“Holy shit,” Aiden said, coming up the stairs, damp with sweat. His hair curled messily against his forehead. “Taly, tell me I’m hallucinating. Aimee is doing pushups. The world has officially turned upside down.”

Aimee attempted a glare, though with her arms shaking so violently, it lacked any real heat.

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 reps fewer than 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 eat all of it. You’re trying to build strength. That means you need more food.”

Aimee’s stomach rolled, protesting the idea of even more food. 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 .

Just eat more. Just push harder. Just... be better.

Be like Taly—the effortlessly strong, naturally graceful, always-right Savior of them all.

“Stair runs.” Taly flicked her chin towards the stairs. “Three times up and down. Then you can have a minute rest.”

“Oh, how generous, ” Aimee grumbled, dragging herself to her feet. Her legs felt like lead. That horrid “protein” concoction Talya had forced on her for breakfast churned ominously in her stomach. She could still taste it—somewhere between burnt oats and wet chalk.

“And remember, they’re called stair runs , Aimee. Not stair crawls ,” Taly called after her. “I want to see those knees up today.”

That something drew taut. Like a thread on a seam pulled too tight. It didn’t tear, but it bunched. Pulled the whole shape off-center.

“Can I get a spot?” Aiden asked

“Ooh,” Taly drawled. “Let me guess. Getting buff for Mina?”

He shushed her. “Keep your voice down.”

Taly’s laugh carried over the scrape of weights.

Aimee barely had the energy to grind her teeth. With Cori, the world had been split clean: the two of them on one side, everyone else—including Aiden—on the other.

But Cori was gone, and Aiden had chosen his side.

Her chest ached, exhaustion and grief blurring together into a single ugly feeling. How easily he laughed with Taly. How comfortably they whispered and joked—like Cori had never existed. Like Aimee was the only one who couldn’t move on.

Before she knew it, she’d spun. “He’s lying, by the way.”

Aiden’s brows rose.

“It’s not okay,” she spat. “He misses her. And every time you fail to remember, it’s like you’re killing her all over again. Do you understand, Taly? You’re hurting him.”

Taly’s eyes widened.

Aiden shook his head. “Aimee—”

But she scoffed. “Don’t you ‘Aimee’ me. Just because you’re not willing to say anything doesn’t mean I can’t. Why should you have to keep swallowing your grief just to protect her feelings when she’s the one who can’t remember?”

Aiden sighed. “Taly, I’m sorry. I don’t why she’s acting like this.”

Aimee barked a laugh, harsh and joyless.

Taly only shook her head, features schooled, but her throat bobbed with a hard swallow she couldn’t quite hide. “Come on, Aiden. It’s not like I don’t know your sister can be a bitch.”

Aimee’s smile was knife-thin. “Better a bitch and honest than someone who hurts the people she supposedly cares about.”

“Honest? You?” Taly laughed. “The same woman who thought pretending to not have a brain would make Skye fall in love. You must be working off a different definition.”

Aiden glanced between them. “Fuck.” He looked for an exit, only to realize he was caged on both sides.

“ You —” Aimee growled, hands curling into fists. “You’re a selfish, insufferable brat!”

“And you’re vapid and shallow,” Taly shot back.

“I genuinely wonder how we could possibly share ancestors.”

“Oh, believe me, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Cori was good.”

“Well, nice for her.”

“Cori was kind.”

“If only we could all be paragons of virtue by age six!”

“Cori loved everyone!” She loved me, Aimee didn’t say. “And she remembered everything—birthdays, stupid songs, the color of your coat from two weeks ago. She wouldn’t have forgotten. She wouldn’t walk around putting everyone in danger and pretending like she’s still the victim.”

“ Aimee ,” Aiden snapped.

But Aimee couldn’t stop. The knife was already in her hand, and if she was going to be the villain, she might as well cut deep. “She wouldn’t have become you !”

The words landed like a slap. Aiden flinched visibly, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he wished he could vanish through it.

Silence fell.

Taly’s jaw worked. Her eyes flickered before setting back into careful emptiness. Finally, she said, “You’re right. I’m not her. And thank the Shards for that.”

Aimee swallowed hard, blinking fast as the burn behind her eyes threatened to spill over.