Chapter 1
Nevera
He has only one week left.
The thought settles in like something heavy and unmoving, refusing to be ignored. I turn it over and over in my mind, as if hoping it might somehow change it, but it never does. One week. Seven days. After that, the world continues, and he doesn’t.
I don’t know what I’ll do without him.
Emrys has been the only constant good thing in my life. Through the worst years, when everything felt like it was splintering apart, he stayed, he understood.
I’ve had friends, of course. People who laughed too loudly, promised too much, and faded just as easily as they arrived. They drifted in and out like seasons, warm for a while, then gone without warning. But Emrys… he was never like that.
They say there’s no bond like that of a siblings. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s because we’re twins, two halves that were never meant to learn how to exist apart.
And now, we have to.
I have to.
I won’t let him see how everything inside me is already starting to collapse, how every second feels like it’s slipping through my fingers too fast to hold. He has enough to carry without adding me to the weight of it. So I smile when he looks at me. I make jokes. I pretend there’s still time, as if pretending hard enough might make it real.
I’ve filled this week to the brim, plans stacked on top of plans, distractions carefully arranged so there’s no space left for silence. No space for the truth to creep in. If we keep moving, if we keep laughing, maybe we can outrun it. Just for a little while. Maybe if I make him forget about it he won’t die anymore.
Tonight, there’s a party. The kind we’re absolutely not supposed to go to, the kind that feels like stepping just outside the lines of everything we’ve ever been told. I told our parents we’d be at our grandparents’ place for the weekend. The lie slipped out easier than it should have.
Because what does it matter now?
Rules feel smaller when time is running out. Consequences feel distant, almost meaningless, compared to what’s already waiting at the end of these seven days.
So tonight, we’ll go.
We’ll get lost in the noise, in the lights, in something that almost feels like forever.
And for a few hours, at least, he won’t have to think about it.
And neither will I.
Emrys
Seven days left.
I try not to count them, not to line them up in my head like something that can be measured, spent, wasted. But it’s impossible not to. Every second feels louder now, like time itself is trying to be heard.
I know I shouldn’t think about it. About dying. About the exact moment my life just… stops. But how do you not think about something like that when it’s been handed to you like a deadline? Like an appointment you can’t miss.
The truth is, it could happen at any moment this week. Not even at the end. Not even with warning. Just…gone.
My parents cry every day. At first, it meant something. Or I thought it did. But now… I don’t know. There’s this hollow feeling I can’t shake, like their grief isn’t really about me. Because if it was, wouldn’t it have shown sooner? When I was still trying? When I stayed up all night to get perfect grades, when I stood there with medals in my hands and waited for something anything from them that felt like pride?
Even when I won first place at the math olympiad, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. And now I’m suddenly worth crying over.
They talk about it so much that it feels like the entire city knows. Everywhere I go, there’s that look…pity, curiosity, something in between. Someone always finds a way to remind me. You have a week left. You should be brave. You’re so strong. Like saying it out loud makes it easier for them to understand.
It doesn’t.
At least my sister isn’t like them. She acts like it doesn’t bother her, like this is just another week, like nothing is slipping away. She doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t force it into every conversation the way everyone else does. And I’m grateful for that. I really am.
But I can hear her.
At night, when everything’s quiet and the walls feel thinner than they should, I hear it, the soft, broken sounds she tries so hard to hide. Muffled cries, like she’s afraid even her grief might take up too much space.
It was always the two of us against everything else. Always. And I know this… this is breaking her in ways she won’t ever admit.
She’s planned everything. Every hour, every day, filled to the edges so I don’t have time to think. So she doesn’t have time to think. It’s almost funny, in a way. How hard she’s trying to outrun something that’s already here.
Tonight, we’re going to a party. We’ve never been to one before. Our parents are too strict, too controlling, rules for everything, limits on everything. But she knows I’ve always wanted to go. So she lied. Told them we’d be at our grandparents’ place for the weekend.
I should feel guilty.
But I don’t.
For once, the rules feel small. Pointless, even. I just hope they don’t find out. Not because of me, I won’t be around long enough to deal with the consequences.
But her…
They’ve always taken their anger out on her more than me. I don’t know why. Maybe because she fights back. Maybe because she cares too much.
I don’t want this week to hurt her more than it already will.
So tonight, I’ll go with her.
I’ll laugh, even if it feels strange in my chest.
I’ll pretend, just like she does.
And for a few hours, maybe I won’t feel like someone who’s about to die.
Lirael
Today, I’m in charge again.
Luan and Meeri are already arguing over something stupid, something small enough that it shouldn’t matter, but loud enough to fill the whole house. My parents are gone, of course. Another “important meeting.” Another night where responsibility gets handed down like it’s part of my name.
Which means I’m babysitting. Again.
I know I’m the older sister. I know what that’s supposed to mean. Responsibility. Patience. Being the one who keeps everything from falling apart. But I’m so tired of it, of being the one everyone assumes will handle things without complaint. Like I was born already grown, already capable, already done becoming.
I practically raised them.
I’m the one who makes their food, who reminds them to brush their teeth, who cleans up the messes they don’t even notice they make. I’m the one waiting at the school gates, the one checking homework, the one tucking them in when the house gets too quiet.
Sometimes it feels like I skipped something. Like I went straight from being a kid to being… this.
And no one even noticed.
There’s a big party tonight, everyone’s going.
And tonight I’ll go aswell!
The night air will be cold, probably. It always is when you’re about to do something you’re not supposed to. I’ll climb out anyway, careful not to make a sound, and drop down into the quiet like I’ve done this a hundred times, even though I haven’t.
And then I’ll go. Just for a few hours, I won’t be the one holding everything together. I won’t be the responsible one, the careful one, the one who always stays.
I’ll just be… me.
And for once, that has to be enough.
Drystan
There’s a big party tonight. Everyone’s going. So are we.
For most people, it’s just a party, loud music, cheap drinks, something to talk about the next day. For us, it’s a stage. A crowd. Another night of being watched, listened to, talked about.
We’re playing a live set. Dropping the new song.
But right now, all I can think about is rehearsal.
We’re in my garage, same as always. Cables everywhere, amps humming, that familiar echo that turns every mistake into something bigger than it is. I run the same part again. And again. And again. It has to be clean. Tight. Perfect. Because if it’s not, people notice. And once they notice, they don’t forget.
The others don’t seem as tense. Or maybe they just hide it better.
I don’t.
I keep hearing the song in my head, not as it is, but as it should be. Sharper. Better. Worth all the noise people make about us.
My parents don’t mind the rehearsals. They actually come sometimes when they have time and listen to us. They say they like the music, that they’re proud, that it’s “nice to see the house full.”
They’re not the only ones.
There’s always a crowd. Tonight, it’s bigger than usual, girls leaning against the doorframe, sitting on the steps, pretending they’re here for the music. Maybe some of them are. Most aren’t. I catch the looks. The whispers. The way they laugh a little too hard at things that aren’t even jokes. It used to feel strange. Then flattering. Now it’s just… background noise.
They don’t really see me. Not past the idea they’ve built. And honestly, I don’t have the time to care. There’s a song to get right. A set to deliver. A moment that’s supposed to matter.
Tonight, I’ll step out there, lights in my eyes, crowd pressed close, and I’ll give them exactly what they came for. Every note where it belongs. Every word hitting just right.
They’ll scream. They always do. And when it’s over, they’ll remember the music. Or the image of it. Either way, it works.
But until then “Again,” I say.
Because ‘good’ isn’t enough. Not tonight.
Vanya
I’m throwing a party tonight.
Not just any party, the kind people talk about before it even happens. The whole town’s invited. Music, lights, noise loud enough to shake the walls. Drystan’s band is playing live, which means even more people then usual. Well, more girls then usual. Whatever. It still fills the house.
I told my parents everything. Didn’t even bother to hide it. Illegal party. Alcohol. Strangers. The works. My mom barely looked up. Just smiled like I’d told her I was going to the store and said, “Great, sweetie. Don’t stay up too late.” Then they left. Just like that. Door closing, engine starting, gone.
For a second, I almost wished they’d yell. Ground me. Say something that meant they actually saw me standing there.
But no.
This house is always like this, big, quiet, empty in the worst way. You could disappear in it and no one would notice until the next morning. Maybe not even then.
So yeah, I’m throwing the party.
If they won’t fill this place with anything real, I will. I’ll pack it with people, with music so loud it drowns out the silence, with laughter. By midnight, every room will be full. Strangers on the stairs, drinks on every surface, someone yelling over the music, someone breaking something, someone kissing someone they barely know.
And for a few hours, it won’t feel so empty.
For a few hours, I won’t feel so…
I don’t know.
*Invisible.*
