Iris sat across from me at a diner down the street from the adaptive dungeon. She’d sent me a message that she was hungry and mom was MIA. Despite it being well past noon, she kicked both legs out in front of her in excitement as the waiter brought a stack of pancakes slathered in syrup.

It was almost nostalgic. Like the old days.

Only instead of SAT prep, I was perusing Kinsley’s store page, racking my brain on how to prepare to fight a creature that might not have any discernible weaknesses. I chased an over easy egg across my plate, brow permanently furrowed, as Iris prepared to dig in. “There’s only a fork in here. Give me a knife?”

I passed my roll of silverware over, dimly aware that my own over-easy eggs were getting cold.

“Where’s Ellison?” Iris asked.

“Hm?” I responded, trying not to lose focus. The waiter passed by again, topping off our water and leaving without saying a word.

“Just, his stuff is gone from your place. And he’s not with me and mom. So, where is he?”

She’s trying to distract me. whispered.

I huffed in irritation, not at Iris, but the Title. It was always so grating when there wasn’t a direct threat. Which is why I generally leaned back on

That was odd. I’d intended to make the switch later, minimizing the time I’d have the title chittering in my ear. Had I just altered it subconsciously?

Unable to stop myself, I pulled up the title screen and selected

Apparently, I’d changed it a little over twenty minutes ago. That was concerning. The low-threat dungeon crawling with Sae had gone well—I hadn’t hesitated or frozen during the brief time we were fighting together—but that didn’t mean I was at a hundred percent.

“Matt,” Iris asked. Her dirty-blonde hair was in a side-ponytail, and her nails were painted. She looked a hell of a lot better than she had a few days ago.

“Ellison is working some stuff out. And we should be patient with him while he does.” I glanced up from the store page suspiciously. “You already messaged him, haven’t you.”

“Just a few times. He’s ignoring me.” Iris pouted.

“Yeah. You know how El is. The harder you try with him, the more he pulls away.”

“So nothing happened?” Iris asked. There was an implication in her tone that hinted she knew there was more to it.

I rubbed my eyes blearily. Nothing had shown up on the store page when I searched for divine bows or crossbows. Now, I was going through the flavor text of uncommon or rare items in my price range, looking for anything that hinted at divine association. So far, the search was unproductive. “He’s a kid trying to figure out how to be an adult in a world that somehow makes less sense than it already did. He just needs time.”

“I guess.” Iris carved into her pancakes, making content noises as she shoveled them into her mouth. “It just worries me.”

“Why?” I asked idly, mentally turning the page.

“Because he’s not as together as he acts. He used to cry at night.”

The words immediately broke my focus. An image of Ellison came to mind. He was so strong, so unflappable most of the time. The day he’d been suspended, he came home and explained it in the same sort of tone a person would use to comment on the weather. For a long time, I’d just thought he was stoic.

But as it turned out, the facade wasn’t perfect.

I’d snuck back into the apartment late one night a few years ago to the sound of sobbing. A sound so unfamiliar it was almost alien. When I snuck a glance around the dividing wall, I saw Ellison there, clutching his chest like his heart might explode, weeping tears that glimmered on his cheeks in the darkness, folded halfway over like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

When I opened the door and closed it—louder the second time, the crying immediately stopped. I walked in, poured two cups of water, and sat with him in the dark to spare his dignity. Ellison gave me the typical catty line about being out so late, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it.

I tried to get him to open up. That night and the days that followed. As sure as I was that there had to be something more to it, there didn’t seem to be anything specific bothering him. Eventually, I came to the uneasy conclusion that the nights crying alone on the couch were just his way of venting the emotion. Which wasn’t great, but arguably better than keeping it bottled until it exploded.

I gave Iris my full attention. “Yeah, he did have episodes. Didn’t know you knew.”

“But you don’t think it’s weird?” Iris asked. “That the crying got worse the week before the meteor?”

This isn’t an innocent conversation. She has an angle.

My jaw worked as I considered that. Things had been worse than usual, before the system appeared. Our usual avenues for cash had dried up, which was why I was so dead-set on getting the tip-sheet from Nick. I’d dismissed it as stress at the time, refocused my resolve on working my ass off, so he didn’t have to worry as much.

Only, now, looking back at the timing, it went a long way to painting Ellison’s distress in a new light. Which begged another question—If he’d known what was about to happen, why didn’t he tell us?

Iris was watching me, waiting for an answer. When I couldn’t form one, she rested her head on her hand, sipping her water. The waiter immediately came by and refilled her glass, ignoring mine, which was still filled to the brim.

“I think I know what happened,” Iris’s expression turned pensive. “You pushed him away. Just like you always push everyone away.”

“What? No. That’s wrong, Iris. I don’t push family away.” I bit back, raising my voice slightly before I realized it.

“Sure you do.” Iris twiddled her straw between her fingertips. “That’s why you pawned me off to that architect, rather than helping me yourself.”

“With a small-fucking legion of mercenaries watching and reporting your every move. You’re literally safer now than you have ever been.”

“I wonder if that’s true,” Iris responded.

As I stared at her, my heart raced. This wasn’t happening. I wasn’t within a hair’s breadth of losing both of my siblings, days away from each other. It was up there with some of the worst things I could possibly imagine.

Focus on that thought.

I tried to listen to but it was impossible to focus on anything as Iris flayed me to my very core.

“It’s obvious.” Iris said. Her eyes took on a glazed look. “Someone as obsessive as you doesn’t just suddenly decide to take a hands-off approach. You’re probably hoping Kinsley’s people get sloppy.” She stared me dead in the face. “I’ve always been the weak link. Your stupid, overly empathetic little sister. Bleeding heart, disabled, and broken. I barely even had the courage to speak before I became a User. We both know you’ve always wanted to be free of me.”

My mouth was dry. “I’ve never thought that. Ever. If you want me to spend more time with you, I’ll make time. Things will be tight for the next few weeks, but after—“

“Always an excuse.” Iris rolled her eyes. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

As my sister stood to leave, I fought back a storm of emotions. All the while, my title whispered in my ear, slowly eroding the pain. This felt exactly like when Ellison had left. It was almost play for play, point by point. As if it were intentional.

An overwhelming sense of déjà vu swept over me.

Slowly, curtains of stone lowered over my tormented mind, shutting out all emotion as I withdrew something from my inventory and placed it on my knee beneath the table.

Her back was to me as she walked towards the women’s room beyond the tables.

“Iris.” I called after her.

My deaf sister turned to look at me, showing an expression of utter disappointment.

I pulled the trigger.

The crossbow made an audible twang and the bolt flew out from beneath the table, striking Iris directly in the chest. She wobbled on her feet, staring down at herself as blood blossomed. Iris fell to her knees, helplessly clawing at the bolt.

Someone screamed. Time slowed down as Iris fell backwards, and I recounted everything that had led me to this like a mantra.

It wasn’t necessarily unlikely that I’d invite my sister to lunch while I prepared for something. That was standard. But today was different. I’d intended to go to the adaptive dungeon. And I’d specifically been preparing myself for the lithid to use my family against me. It was my intention to avoid them until the matter was resolved, leaving early in the morning with Sae. So, it made far more sense that I’d send her to Kinsley’s than invite her here. And as much as I was sure Iris was capable of being disappointed with me—maybe rightfully so—she’d never approach it this way. She’d hint at it, or perhaps avoid me entirely. Direct conflict was Ellison’s style, not hers.

It was possible that a bad title could alter her behavior. But not this drastically. If this was still the earlier days, and Daphne was my only example, perhaps I could have believed that. Yet, the more Users I encountered, the less viable that seemed.

Astrid and Astria’s title reflected a sibling dependency turned literal. Like them, each of my titles reflected a part of me that had existed before the system, good or bad.

It was clear by now that titles weren’t absolute. They could augment who you were, exacerbate it, even push you towards extremes you’d usually never consider—But they couldn’t change you entirely.

The final piece was simple. When I’d called out to Iris as she’d walked away, she’d heard me. Her back was to me, and she still turned when I called. Undoubtedly, it was probably possible for Iris to get her hearing back through some sort of system loophole. Healing, or a boon or reward of some kind. But she would have been so excited, everyone with her contact info would have gotten a celebratory message.

All of this led to one, immutable conclusion:

I was already on the fifth floor of the adaptive dungeon.

And the lithid had come to play.

Enraged, I loaded another bolt and stalked across the room to my sister’s body. I pointed the crossbow at her forehead. “Are you done?”

There was no response. Through the peripheral of my vision, I saw people exiting the diner in panic, some of them taking off in cars or on foot, while others crowded around the building in a half-circle.

What if I’m wrong?

My resolve began to crumble around the fringes. In the distance, I heard the sound of sirens. I repeated myself once more, my entire body so tight it felt as if I could snap at any moment. “Are you… fucking… done?”

Slowly, as if it was a post-mortem spasm, Iris moved. The movements became less spastic, more guided and intentional. She reached up with one hand and ripped the bolt free, the open wound bleeding freely. Her head rotated slowly until dead eyes stared directly above my head. Her lips parted in a wicked smile. “Oh no. We’re just getting started.”

The world around us fell away, revealing the dungeon beyond.