Sakura woke up earlier than usual.

Her head throbbed dully, a lingering ache that pulsed behind her eyes every time she moved. Crying always did that to her. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, before becoming aware of **K** beside her—warm, solid, arm loosely draped over Sakura’s waist,her tail gently wrapped around her.

For a second, everything felt normal.

Then Sakura turned her head.

The red mark on her cheek stared back at her from the mirror across the room, faint but unmistakable.

K noticed immediately.

“Hey,” she murmured, thumb brushing Sakura’s jaw with careful gentleness. Her expression darkened. “Does it still hurt?”

Sakura shrugged, wincing. “It’s fine.”

K didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she squeezed Sakura’s hand once before sitting up. “Come on. Let’s get breakfast.”

They moved through their routine on autopilot—getting dressed, walking down the hall, heading for the kitchen—

And then Sakura stopped short.

Izzy sat at the table, drinking coffee in silence.

For half a second, Sakura forgot how to breathe.

**Tom** stood beside their mother, posture straight, shoulders squared. He looked almost as tall as her like that—intimidating in the way he always was to others. But Sakura saw it anyway: the tension in his hands, the way his jaw was set too tight.

Kit entered behind them, mid-step grin already forming—

—and then it vanished.

“Mother,” Kit said carefully.

“Kit,” Izzy replied, cool and distant. “You’ve grown lax.”

Her eyes flicked down, sharp. “Where is your corset?”

The room went still.

Kit swallowed. “I—sorry. I’ll get it.”

They didn’t argue. Didn’t explain. They just turned and left the room, shoulders stiff.

Sakura’s nails dug into her palm.

K said nothing, but her expression was tight, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. She remembered the conversations. The way Kit had laughed nervously when they’d admitted how hard it was to breathe in that thing. How unnecessary it was.

No one spoke.

The silence only broke when **Lou** and **Isaac**burst into the kitchen.

“Why does Kit look mad?” Lou asked, then froze. “—Mom?”

Isaac stared.

Then both kids rushed forward.

“Mom!” Lou cried, throwing her arms out.

Izzy stood abruptly, pushing them back with little effort. “No,” she snapped. “Hugs are for the weak.”

Lou recoiled, stunned. Isaac didn’t react—just stepped back, eyes down.

Kit returned moments later, corset tight beneath their sweater, breathing already shallow. Izzy barely spared them a glance.

“I have work to do,” she said, grabbing her coat. “Do not disappoint me further.”

And then she was gone.

The door closed.

The house exhaled.

Tom leaned back slightly, tension draining from his shoulders. Kit pressed a hand to their ribs, taking careful breaths. Lou frowned, confused and quiet for once, while Isaac drifted closer to Sakura without a word.

K moved first, stepping beside Sakura, her presence grounding.

No one said anything.

They didn’t need to.

The silence this time felt different—heavy, yes, but shared.