Page 24

Twenty-Four

They were real.

That was the only thought I could hold.

Not how. Not why. Not what the fuck is happening.

Just that.

They were real.

And they were here.

I sat on the floor where they’d found me—still in the wreckage, legs folded awkwardly beneath me, hands trembling against the hem of my shirt.

Sun knelt nearby, glowing like he’d been born from joy itself. His eyes darted over my face, over my body, back to my eyes again.

“Okay, okay—what do you need? I can do this. I’ve got this.”

He blinked rapidly. His hands twitched like they didn’t know if they should reach for me or stay respectfully at his sides.

“Should I—should I touch you? Do you want that? Wait. Maybe not. Space. She needs space. Or a hug? Do you want a hug? Moon. Moon, what do I do?!”

Moon stood a few feet back, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He didn’t answer right away. Just watched. Measured. Felt.

“She’s in shock,” he finally said. “Overstimulated. Don’t crowd her.”

“Right, right, okay, yeah—no crowding. But what if she falls over? What if she stops breathing?” Sun clapped his hands once, as if it would shake clarity loose. “She needs something. Something warm. Comforting.”

He spun toward the kitchen with a burst of sudden, determined energy.

“I know. Pancakes. Pancakes are sweet. Sweet is comforting.”

I blinked at him.

He practically vibrated with joy, like a golden retriever that had just fetched emotional stability.

“You haven’t eaten today, have you?” he asked, half-laughing, half-terrified. “That’s it. That’s what’s wrong. Pancakes will fix everything.”

Moon tilted his head slightly, then moved toward me. He didn’t crouch. He didn’t smile. Just knelt beside me with the grace of someone who already knew I wouldn’t pull away.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured. “Let him fuss. It helps.”

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

The warmth from earlier hadn’t left. It was still in the air. Still clinging to my skin.

And now it was layered with sugar and butter, the scent of batter sizzling in a pan, and the frantic hum of a golden being trying very hard not to cry into a mixing bowl.

A plate was set in front of me.

Cut into perfect bite-sized pieces. Syrup drizzled evenly. Butter gently melted and pooled in the center like a tiny sun.

“Ta-da,” Sun whispered, crouching in front of me like he’d just laid a crown at my feet. “Sweet. Soft. Like you. Okay, no, maybe not like you, because you’re also steel and fire, but I just—wanted to make you something.”

I stared at the pancakes.

The plate didn’t shake—but my hands did.

Moon gently slid a fork into my fingers.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said. “Just eat. Just breathe.”

Sun was still kneeling, now nervously wringing his hands.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “You let us out. You saw us. You accepted us. I’m so proud of you. You’re our everything.”

My throat worked around a lump I couldn’t swallow.

I lifted the fork.

Took a bite.

It tasted like butter, and safety, and childhood. Like something I hadn’t had since before things started breaking inside me.

I chewed. Swallowed.

And felt something loosen in my chest.

Knock knock knock.

The fork slipped from my fingers.

The warmth in the room didn’t just cool—it evaporated. Gone. Like someone had pulled the sun out of the sky.

Sun’s head snapped toward the door, glowing dimmer. His hand trembled as it hovered near my shoulder.

“What was that?” he whispered.

Moon was already at the window. Silent. Cold. Watching. His presence sharpened like a knife being drawn.

Two men. One woman. Car still running. One of them’s holding a folder.”

Sun jolted upright. “Wait—wait, wait, wait.” He turned to me, eyes wide.

“Sunflower… did you call for help?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

Because I had. But I hadn’t meant for them to come so soon. I hadn’t thought they’d actually listen.

The knock came again.

And this time—a voice.

“Dawn? It’s Dr. Reynolds. I’m here with a crisis counselor. We just want to talk, sweetheart.”

Sun’s panic shifted from confusion to something else entirely.

“They’re here for you.”

He crouched beside me, hands fluttering over my face, my shoulders, like he could press me back into safety with sheer desperation.

“No no no no, you don’t need them. You need us. You’re doing so well. You were eating. You smiled. I saw it—I saw it.”

His voice cracked. He looked like he was going to shatter harder than the dolls had.

Moon didn’t move from the window.

“This is a mistake.”

“She’s scared!” Sun hissed. “She thinks this’ll fix it. We have to stop them?—”

“No,” Moon cut in, voice low and dangerous. “We go with her.”

Sun recoiled like he’d been slapped.

“You want to let them take her?!”

“You want to scare her more?”

They stared at each other, and I swore—for one sharp second— the light in the room bent between them.

Another knock.

Dr. Reynolds’s voice again. Softer.

“Dawn, we’re not here to hurt you. We just want to help. Can we come in?”

I stood. Somehow.

The plate still sat on the coffee table, untouched.

Sun followed me instantly, his warmth clinging to me like a second skin. Moon trailed behind, silent and unreadable.

I reached the door.

Paused.

Then opened it.

Dr. Reynolds stood with two strangers. One woman. One man. Both wearing soft smiles and state-issued concern. The man held a folder. The woman had a padded duffle.

I didn’t speak.

Dr. Reynolds did.

“You mentioned feeling unsafe. That you didn’t trust your body. You said you were afraid of something happening—to you, or someone else.”

I nodded. Slowly.

“We’d like to take you to a facility,” she said gently. “Just for evaluation. Seventy-two hours.”

Behind me, I felt Sun’s breath turn to fire.

Moon didn’t speak. But I felt his presence snap into focus.

They were calculating. Ready. Not angry at me. But at what was about to happen.

I stepped outside. Barefoot. Still in pajamas. I let them lead me toward the car.

And even though I couldn’t see them— I felt them.

Invisible fingers brushing mine. A whisper of breath across the back of my neck.

“We’ll come with you,” Sun whispered, frantic and soft. “I promise. I pinkie promise. We’ll stay. We’ll stay. I swear.”

“No door can keep us out,” Moon added. “Let them try.”

As the car door shut behind me, I looked out the window.

My apartment faded behind me.

But they didn’t.

Because even though I’d asked for help— Even though I wanted to be safe?—

I’d let them in.

And they weren’t going anywhere.