Chapter 14: The New Normal: Sisters, Scars, and Setting the Stage
The ordeal was finally over. Elara, Iris, and Akari emerged from the lawyer's office late in the afternoon, all bearing the subtle weariness that comes from hours spent processing complex paperwork. Akari was officially family.
Inside the clinic earlier, the doctor had been efficient—too efficient, perhaps—offering perfunctory reassurances while her gloved hands moved Akari through the examination like a checklist. "Everything looks fine," she'd said without looking up, scribbling notes in illegible shorthand. The words were hollow, but Akari clung to them anyway, wrapping herself in their brittle promise of normalcy as she adjusted the unfamiliar fit of Iris's borrowed sweatpants.
They drove straight to the boarding house. The landlord, a man whose gaze had previously been too familiar and invasive, was now nothing but cooperative—Elara's generous financial tip had successfully greased his palms, erasing any lingering threat.
He had them sign a hasty termination form, barely glancing at Iris's disdainful look before sliding the paperwork across the counter with a greasy smile. "No hard feelings," he muttered, pocketing the envelope Elara handed him, the bills inside thick enough to make him back out.
Inside Akari's cramped room, they began packing. It was a meager collection of clothes, books, and small personal trinkets. Iris hesitated at the sight of an old photo tacked to the wall—Akari with a woman who could only be her mother, both smiling beneath cherry blossoms. Another was Akari, much younger, smiling brightly, nestled between two people who could only be her parents. The Akari in the photo had none of the hollowed-out fear in her eyes now.
A genuine pang of sadness hit Iris. For a moment, her usual cynicism faded, replaced by empathy for the depth of loss Akari carried.
Akari, noticing the sudden silence, saw Iris holding the photo. She approached, her smile turning sad and distant. "My parents," she murmured, taking the picture gently from Iris's grasp. She tucked it quickly into a small side pocket of her duffel bag, sealing the memory away.
Elara, watching from the doorway, cleared her throat quietly. "We'll find frames for those," she said, her voice softer than usual. "And a proper place for them in your room with Iris." There was no pity in her tone—just a quiet determination, as if she'd already decided that Akari's past would not be discarded like the boarding house's peeling wallpaper.
Iris, though, continued to look at her, the initial surge of empathy battling with the ingrained sense of superiority she reserved for anyone weaker than herself.
As they finalized the last of the packing, Iris paused near the door. With a casual flick of her wrist, unnoticed by the others, she triggered a small, pre-set device near the ancient, faulty wiring in the wall. It was a minor, subtle act of sabotage, designed to look like a frayed circuit or old-age accident.
It would be a slow burn—literally. The device Iris left was no dramatic incendiary, just a frayed copper wire spliced into the boarding house's ancient wiring, rigged to overheat the already brittle insulation over hours. By midnight, the first tendrils of smoke would creep from the walls, the stench of melting plastic dismissed as another quirk of the building's decay. By dawn, flames would lick up the cheap wallpaper in Akari's old room, erasing every trace of her past there—not out of malice, but calculation. Iris needed no witnesses to the life Akari had fled.
The landlord would swear it was an accident, pointing to at the half burnt boarding house salvaged by the crappy firemen in this shitty town which could only be rebuilt by an insurance company, if he had one that is. Fire investigators would simply nod, jotting notes about "faulty wiring" and "structural wear" with bureaucratic disinterest, pinning the blame on the outdated electrical work he'd neglected for years. Only she, Iris, would know how perfectly the timing aligned. The landlord deserved a messy eviction, she thought, the act a strange, dark form of protection.
They dropped the last bags into the trunk. Akari glanced back at the boarding house—the scene of her pain—and let out a quiet breath of relief.
With that, they headed to a cheerful, brightly lit family restaurant to celebrate.
Akari, sitting between her new mother and sister, looked truly happy for the first time in days. "Thank you, both," she said softly, her eyes shining. "I really don't know what I would have done."
Elara smiled, reaching across the table to pat her hand. "You don't need to worry about that anymore, honey. You are family now, and this is your home. You need to feel safe there."
Iris grinned, a real, unforced expression. "Yeah. Don't worry. You're stuck with us. We're sisters now. Whether Elijah likes it or not, we're sisters now."
Akari nodded, a radiant smile transforming her face. They ate, lingering over the meal, the conversation light and easy, before heading home as darkness fell.
When Elara, Iris, and Akari finally arrived back at the Miller home, the interior was quiet and dark. They found Elijah sprawled on the living room couch, ostensibly asleep, the television flickering silently beside him, tuned to a muted late-night movie. He looked utterly harmless, the picture of a grounded, repentant teenage boy.
Elijah had returned over an hour earlier, long after setting the crew's next operational date for Monday morning. He'd slipped back in through the utility closet window and reset the pins, reversing Elara's elaborate lock-down with ease. He'd then forced himself to consume the dry chicken and boiled potatoes Elara had left, ensuring the plates were cleared to solidify his alibi. The nap on the couch was the final, critical piece of the performance.
Elara sighed, rolling her eyes but showing a flicker of relief that he hadn't broken the rules. "He never moved," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "Iris, honey, wake your brother up and send him to his room. It's too late to be sleeping here."
Iris nodded and walked over. She shook him softly, calling his name twice, but Elijah remained motionless—his breathing slow and steady, his face slack with the deep stillness of sleep. "Elijah," she repeated louder, nudging his shoulder roughly this time.
Elijah woke up with convincing grogginess, rubbing his eyes. "Hmm? What time is it?" he mumbled, his voice thick with feigned disorientation. His gaze flickered briefly toward Akari—just long enough to note her proximity to Elara—before he yawned and stretched, the movement casual, practiced. The act was flawless; even Iris hesitated, momentarily buying the performance.
"It's late, Eli. Mom says go to bed," Iris whispered. She tried helping him up, but Elijah shrugged her off with a lazy groan, staggering upright on his own—letting his knees wobble slightly for effect. He glanced at Akari again, gave her a short, neutral nod of acknowledgment before walking past them toward the stairs.
Akari watched him go, and a tiny, fragile spike of warmth bloomed in her chest. Maybe he was starting to accept her, she thought, clinging to the small gesture of recognition.
Elara, satisfied, waved her hand. "Alright, you two. Long day. Go take a bath and get some rest."
Iris and Akari nodded and headed upstairs to their rooms.
Elara sank onto the couch Elijah had just vacated and sighed, leaning her head back. She was bone-tired but satisfied. She had a new daughter, and she hoped Elijah would eventually accept her. She turned off the television and finally headed to her own room for the night.