Daniel watched Anna from across the breakfast table, fork paused halfway to his mouth.
"You’re sure she’ll be fine," he asked, squinting slightly, "after you replied to her text three hours late?"
Anna calmly took another bite, completely unbothered.
"I think so," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "But I should still go check on her."
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Check on her how exactly?"
Anna swallowed. "You know. To make sure she hasn’t broken her wrist or injured her knuckles."
He stared at her. "That... was very specific."
"She was angry," Anna said matter-of-factly. "Angry Kathrine punches things."
"People?" he asked carefully.
"Only emotionally," Anna replied. "Furniture physically."
Daniel leaned back in his chair. "Remind never to beco furniture."
Anna smiled faintly, poking at her food. "Relax. She punches with purpose."
"With purpose," he repeated, alard.
"Yes," Anna nodded. "Very therapeutic. Very violent."
He watched her for a mont, then sighed. "You really think she’s okay?"
Anna paused, then looked up at him, her expression softening.
"Yes, she will," she said with quiet certainty.
This ti, Daniel didn’t question her. He simply nodded and went back to his breakfast, trusting the calm conviction in her voice.
They ate in companionable silence for a mont before Anna spoke again, casually, as if she were comnting on the weather.
"By the way," she said, "Kathrine asked Ethan to look for you."
Daniel’s fork stopped mid-air. "?"
She glanced at him. "Mmm."
His brow arched in confusion. "For what reason exactly?"
Anna hesitated—not long, but enough for him to notice. The silence stretched, thin and deliberate, before she finally added,
"The family of the man who abducted her."
Daniel slowly set his fork down.
Sothing tight twisted in his chest.
For years, that accusation had been a ghost that followed him—his father’s na dragged through mud, a cri stitched onto it until truth no longer mattered. Even now, knowing what he knew, the words man who abducted her landed like a quiet provocation.
"They already have their culprit," he said carefully. "Why dig into that now?"
Anna studied him, her gaze steady. "Because Kathrine’s mories don’t make sense."
He looked up.
"She rembers fear," Anna continued. "Fragnts. Panic. Running. But she doesn’t rember who hurt her. Just shadows. Just impressions."
Daniel’s jaw tightened. "And you think—"
"I think she was told who to bla," Anna finished softly. "And her mind filled in the rest."
The thought unsettled him more than he expected.
"For a while," Anna went on, "she believed one version of the story because that’s the only one she was given. But now that we know her mories were altered... how can we be sure that version is complete?"
Daniel leaned back in his chair, conflicted. Part of him wanted to shut the door on this entirely. Digging into the past had never brought him peace—only blood and loss.
"And what if looking into this opens wounds she’s not ready to face?" he asked.
Anna’s voice gentled. "What if it heals the ones she never understood?"
He looked at her then—really looked.
"I don’t want revenge," she said quietly. "I don’t want soone to pay just because it’s convenient. I want to know if an innocent family has been carrying bla that was never theirs to bear."
Her fingers curled lightly around the edge of the table. "If the truth is ugly, we face it. If it’s different... we face that too."
Daniel exhaled slowly.
Her words stirred sothing deeply uncomfortable—and deeply right.
"You think her mories are only giving her half the truth," he said.
Anna nodded. "And I don’t want the rest of it buried just because it’s inconvenient."
He was silent for a long mont before finally saying, "If you do this... it won’t be easy."
She smiled faintly. "Nothing about our lives has been easy."
Daniel reached for her hand, squeezing it once.
"Then," he said quietly, "we’ll find the truth. All of it."
Anna squeezed his hand back, grounding herself in the warmth of it.
"We don’t have to rush," she said. "Kathrine doesn’t even know where to start yet. Ethan just promised to look quietly—no alarms, no assumptions."
Daniel nodded, eyes distant. "Quiet is good. Quiet keeps people honest."
He stood and carried their plates to the sink, the routine giving him a mont to think. When he turned back, his expression had shifted—asured, guarded.
"If this leads back to my father," he said, choosing his words carefully, "it won’t just reopen wounds. It will change how a lot of people rember the past."
Anna t his gaze. "I know. That’s why I want to do it right. No shortcuts. No narratives shaped to protect anyone."
Daniel leaned against the counter. "Including your mother?"
"Including her," Anna said without hesitation.
That surprised him. He studied her, searching for doubt, for conflict—but found resolve instead.
"For a long ti," she went on, "I kept telling myself that not knowing was easier. That so truths only hurt." She smiled faintly, without humor. "But I’ve learned that half-truths hurt longer."
Daniel exhaled. "Kathrine is strong. But this—" He shook his head. "This will test her."
Anna nodded. "That’s why I won’t let her do it alone."
A beat passed.
"And you?" he asked. "Where does this leave you?"
She considered the question. "Right where I’ve always been," she said quietly. "Between loyalty and honesty. I’m choosing honesty."
He stepped closer, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "If the truth points sowhere dangerous—"
"Then we slow down," she interrupted. "We protect each other. We don’t turn this into another war."
Daniel’s mouth twitched. "You say that like war isn’t my specialty."
She smirked. "You’re retired. Temporarily."
A soft laugh escaped him despite himself. The tension eased—just a little.
"Yes," Daniel said, his eyes flickering with mischief as he stepped closer, voice dropping, "but that doesn’t make any less dangerous."
Anna lifted a brow, unimpressed but amused. "Okay, big guy. We are not starting this now. Rember—I have to go et Kathrine."
Daniel’s shoulders sagged instantly.
He actually pouted.
Anna laughed at the sight.
"Great," he muttered, folding his arms. "Now I feel like I have another rival."
She reached up and pinched his cheek. "Please. She’d eat you alive if you tried to compete."
"That’s what worries ," he replied lightly.
Anna shook her head, smiling. "I’m sure she’s already overthinking what I’m up to."
And she wasn’t wrong.
Once—long before this life—they had never been close. In another ti, another version of themselves, Anna and Kathrine had existed on opposite sides of uncertainty and quiet resentnt. Too many misunderstandings. Too many unspoken fears. And Daniel—unknowingly—had stood right in the middle of that fracture.
It had left Anna carrying insecurities she hadn’t fully understood back then. Doubt had grown easily when silence did.
But now, things were different.
They talked. They questioned. They listened.
And when Anna had chosen to trust Kathrine about the accident—about the past—she had done it with clarity, not blind faith. She had seen the confusion in her sister’s eyes, the raw honesty behind the anger.
Kathrine wasn’t lying.
She wasn’t weaving stories to protect herself.
She was searching for answers—just like Anna was.
Daniel brushed his thumb along Anna’s jaw, softer now. "You’re sure about this?"
Anna t his gaze. "I am."
She smiled faintly. "For the first ti, we’re not hiding things from each other. That alone changes everything."
He nodded, the teasing fading into sothing steadier. "Then go," he said. "I’ll be right here. Trying not to be jealous."
She laughed again, grabbing her bag. "Good luck with that."
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