“You’re turning eighteen soon,” Foster Mother Nine says from her place on her spotless white settee in the living room Talia is usually forbidden from entering. Foster Father Nine sits awkwardly next to her, staring resolutely at the landscape paintings on the walls like they hold the secrets of the universe.

“Yes,” Talia says, perched awkwardly on the other settee. She doesn't know what to do with her hands but Foster Mother Nine can’t abide fidgeting, so she’s pressing her palms hard to the tops of her thighs in an effort to keep herself still. “Next week.”

“You know that you can’t stay with us after that, right?” Foster Mother Nine says, dripping with false sympathy. “We don’t have the resources to keep caring for you once you’re an adult.”

Talia resists the urge to look pointedly at the finery around them. She was expecting this but it still stings. “I understand,” she says through gritted teeth, keeping her tone polite.

“And it’ll be good for you to get out,” Foster Father Nine blurts, finally tearing his attention away from the paintings. “Make your own way in the world.”

“My own way?” Talia asks—anger boiling over. She curls her hands into fists on her thighs. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing? When have you ever cared for me? Half the time, it doesn’t seem like I even exist.”

Foster Mother Nine gives Talia one of her patented glares, but it no longer cows Talia like it once did. “We fed you, clothed you, and put a roof over your head. The least you can do is be grateful.”

Talia laughs, rising to her feet. To her delight, Foster Mother Nine flinches slightly. “You left me to feed myself. Your house has so many damn rooms—what sort of sacrifice was shoving me into one? In return, you got to collect a check to pad your pockets every month.”

“Now look here–” Foster Father Nine starts, gathering some courage.

“No,” Talia snaps. She’s done swallowing her words, done being invisible. “I’ll leave, like you want. But the second I’m gone, I’m reporting you and your negligence. You won’t get another cent—out of me or any other kid.”

Foster Mother Nine stands. “Who are you to threaten us, girl. They’ll never believe you! You—”

Talia turns and stalks away, drowning out the rest of Foster Mother Nine’s empty protests and threats. Let them keep blustering and worrying. They can’t hold anything over her anymore.

She slams the door hard on her way out of the parlor.

A vase wobbles on its pedestal from the force of the door closing. Tips over and shatters all over the floor.

It’s a satisfying sound.

***

Polo doesn’t go overboard with celebrations, which Talia is grateful for. There is just a modest cake with chocolate and strawberries, a few balloons, and a small happy birthday banner hung up along one wall. The glittery letters clash with the yellow paint but Talia likes the gaudiness, the homey feel.

She eats two pieces of cake and grins when Polo refuses to let her help with the dishes, piling them carelessly in the sink.

“Let’s go outside,” Polo says. “It’s such a nice evening.”

There’s a strong breeze for once, cooling everything down, and they settle side by side on the stoop, looking out at the street that has somehow come to feel like home.

“My foster parents are kicking me out,” Talia says, knocking her heels against the concrete of the stairs. “I’m supposed to be moved out by the end of the week.”

She hadn’t wanted to mention anything during the actual festivities, didn’t want to ruin the mood. She thinks she should feel more afraid than she actually does, but there is just numbness.

Polo’s hand lands on her shoulder, as warm and anchoring as it was when she was a child. “You can move in here,” she says and tension shakes loose inside of Talia. “It’s small, but we’ll make it work. There will always be a place for you here.”

Talia swallows, blinks back tears. “Thank you,” she says, voice wet. Neither of them are ones for sentiment, for too much emotion—the words well on her tongue anyway. “And thank you for everything. For the last couple years. I don’t … I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met you. If you hadn’t been a part of my life.”

Polo squeezes her shoulder. When Talia glances over she looks both infinitely sad and happy all at once. “Of course,” she says quietly. “It was the least I could do. After everything.”

She’s talking in riddles again.

Before Talia can press her on it, she presents a wrapped box. “For you.”

A gift? Talia can’t remember the last time someone got her a gift. She never allowed Clara to, hating feeling like she might owe Clara something. But she accepts Polo’s gift and tears open the teal paper. Lifts the lid of the box.

Inside rests an amulet unlike anything she’s ever seen before. A long silver chain holds an orb that looks like it’s filled with some kind of green liquid. Silver, metal vines curl around it and there’s a small cap at the top that looks like it can be unscrewed. It’s intricate, beautiful, and hums with an energy that Talia can almost feel buzzing against her fingertips, but maybe that’s just her imagination.

“Wow,” she murmurs. She fiddles with the cap, curious about the liquid, but Polo’s hand darts out to stop her.

“Don’t open it,” she says, firm. “You can’t open it unless it’s an emergency.”

Well that’s weird.

“Why are you giving me this?” Talia asks because it’s clear the amulet has some kind significance.

Polo’s mouth quirks. “It can be a reminder of me,” she jokes. More serious, she adds, “and you’re going to need it. Someday.”

Talia frowns. “Why did you agree to train me?”

Suddenly, the world shifts. A familiar field of rustling grass sprawls out from the base of Polo’s apartment stoop. Polo stands in the middle of it—back turned and wind tugging at the edges of her clothes.

Talia stands and stumbles down the steps into the grass, running towards Polo.

“Polo!” She extends a hand, reaching for Polo’s shoulder.

Right before she makes contact, the world flickers again and she stands in the middle of the gnarled forest.

“I’m sorry,” Polo’s voice murmurs in the rattle of the leaves overhead. “I never gave you an answer, did I? I didn’t want to ruin your birthday with the weight of the future.”

Talia spins in a panicked circle, trying to find Polo amidst the trees. Nothing but shifting shadows.

“I hope you can forgive me one day,” Polo whispers as the wind picks up. “But now, Talia, you need to WAKE UP.”

A car horn blares, drowning out the leaves, Polo, everything. Talia throws up her arms as green light engulfs her vision and she—

Sits up in a foreign bed, screaming Polo’s name.