Rein sat on the couch with Damian curled against his side, wrapped in his weighted blanket. His brother’s eyes were red and puffy, his fingers twitching against Rein’s hoodie every so often like he needed to check that he was still there.

"It’s okay," Rein murmured, rubbing circles into his back. "I’m right here, Damin. I’m not going anywhere." He had lost count of how much he had said those words. 

Damian didn’t answer. His breathing hitched every few minutes, like he wanted to start crying again but was too exhausted to follow through.

Hours passed like that—muted light, soft jazz looping on the laptop, the air thick with salt and worry. Dinner time came and went. Rein tried to coax him into eating a little rice and vegetables, but Damian just shook his head and muttered, "No." 

Rein didn't try again. 

By the time he finally drifted into a restless sleep, he was still trembling.

Rein didn’t sleep well either. He kept waking to check if his brother was still there, still breathing.

                                       _________

The next morning, sunlight felt like an intruder.

"I'll stay home," Rein said softly, hovering in the doorway of Damian’s room. "I’ll skip school. We can just… hang out. Watch dumb movies. I’ll make pancakes."

Damian was sitting cross-legged on his bed, hoodie zipped to his chin, staring at the wall. "No," he said flatly. "Go to school. Don't want you here."

"Damin…"

"If you stay, I’ll worry. If you go, I can… reset. Routines help." He didn’t look at him. "I’ll be fine. Just go. I don't want you here."

Rein hesitated, stomach twisting. But he knew that tone—when Damian set a boundary, pushing usually backfired, hard. 

"Okay," he said finally, voice small. "I’ll go."

                                         _______

School felt different.

The hallways were the same, the chatter the same, but Rein’s brain was wrapped in a thick layer of worry. He breezed through first period without really hearing the teacher. He doodled in the margins of his notebook, stared out the window, and counted the minutes. His felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he couldn't get past the buzzing in his ear. 

The bell rang and he stood up, grabbed his backpack and left the class. He had a free period. At least an hour to breathe. Rein barely made it to his locker before a silver-eyed shadow fell over him.

"Hey," Torren said quietly. "You’re… different today."

Rein blinked tiredly. "I’m fine."

He didn’t say anything right away, just watched him in that unnerving, still way of his. "You’re lying."

Before Rein could argue, Lucy popped up at his side like a burst of color. Their hair today was tipped in bright peach, their hoodie covered in tiny embroidered suns.

"Hi!" Lucy said cheerfully, then paused, tilting their head. "Oh. No. That’s a sad aura if I’ve ever seen one."

Rein sighed. "I don’t have an aura."

"You so do."

"Come with me," Torren interrupted, his voice gentler than usual. He paused then turned to Lucy. "You're coming too."

"Where?"

"The old theater hall."

Rein hesitated. "…Why?"

"Because you need to talk to someone," Torren said simply, "and I’m not letting you melt down in a hallway. Neither am I letting you be alone right now."

Lucy nodded. "Cool, I kinda want to see if the drama kids left any cool props in there."

                                __________

The old theater hall was dim and dust-scented, long abandoned except for the rows of chairs and a half-finished set piece from last spring’s musical. Sunlight filtered through high windows, painting gold squares across the stage.

Rein sat on the edge of the stage, hands twisting in his lap. Torren leaned against a wall, and Lucy sat crisscross beside him, their presence warm and expectant.

"So," Lucy said gently. "Spill."

Rein hesitated. His throat felt tight. But he thought of Damian’s trembling hands, his broken voice.

"You guys don't know this but...." He sighed. "My brother is autistic, and not the inspirational write a book about kind," he chuckled wetly. "I mean he's inspirational to me but he's also weird and awkward and stubborn and plain rude sometimes, but that's just him....." He sighed again. "He had a… meltdown. A really bad one. At the library, where he works. They had to call me."

Lucy’s smile faded. Torren’s gaze sharpened.

"He saw something," Rein continued, picking at his hoodie string. "Like—a vision. He said he saw me. Dead. In the street. With… three other bodies around me."

The words felt heavier out loud.

Rein didn't mention that one had silver-gray eyes like Torren or that one had… hair like sunset. And the last one he didn't know. He didn't. 

Silence filled the theater. Dust motes drifted lazily in the light, like they were holding their breath.

Rein stared down at his hands, voice low.

"It’s normally never serious. He has always had weird dreams like this since he turned ten. We…we don’t take his dreams serious." He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "But this wasn't a dream, it was a vision. And the last time he had a vision like this… my parents disappeared."

Lucy’s bright energy dimmed, their face folding into concern. "Oh, Rein…" they whispered and scooted closer to him. 

Rein chuckled bitterly and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I must sound crazy. Dreams, vision." But Lucy shook their head and moved even closer, pressing against Rein. Rein smiled at them gratefully. Rein pressed back against them, their weight grounding him. 

But Torren—Torren looked the same as always. Calm. Collected. Like he was already three steps ahead of the conversation.

"Don’t worry about it," he said smoothly, silver eyes steady on the two of them. "He’s going to be fine."

Rein blinked and looked at him in confusion "Torren…"

"Just trust me."

Torren’s voice was soft but firm, the kind that didn’t need to be loud to fill a room. He stepped closer and, without hesitation, and took both of their hands—Lucy’s first, then Rein’s.

Lucy startled a little at the touch, their green eyes widening in surprise, but they didn’t pull away. Instead, their fidgeting stilled, and they leaned closer as though drawn in by the gravity of Torren’s voice.

"I know we just met," Torren said quietly. "And I know this is… strange. But I need you to trust me. Both of you. Even if nothing makes sense yet. Even if the world starts to feel like it’s tilting under your feet."

His fingers tightened slightly around theirs.

"I promise," he said, almost solemnly. "As long as we stay together, we’ll be okay."

Rein felt Lucy’s thumb brush lightly over the back of his hand—nervous, but seeking comfort. And for a moment, in the dusty quiet of the old theater hall, with sunlight striping across the stage, he almost believed Torren.