Kyle opened the front door and called out to Aya. But the child didn't appear in the front room. Holding a bag in his right hand, the man placed it on the dining table, then called her name again.
"Aya?"
Still no answer.
Kyle wondered, "Is she out playing in the forest? But she already read my message."
He checked to be sure, and yes—his message had indeed been read. "Then why is the house empty?"
Once more, Kyle called out, "Aya?"
Beginning to feel something was off, the older brother scanned the kitchen and the backyard, but to no avail. He returned to the dining room, intending to go upstairs to his sister's room when his eyes suddenly caught sight of a brownish stain on the floor. Frowning, he crouched down and examined it closely.
"What is this?" Kyle touched it, testing its texture. "Soil?"
When he looked up, Kyle noticed the stains extended from the front door, forming a trail that led through the living room toward the stairs.
He immediately got to his feet and followed it, his instincts tightening in his chest. The trail led to Aya's room—its door shut. Without a second thought, face pale and hands trembling, Kyle pushed the door open, dread tightening his throat as the atmosphere dredged up a terrible memory.
Aya's door didn't creak. But the sound still echoed inside Kyle's head, sending chills down his spine.
"A... Aya?"
He followed the trail of dirt, only to find it ended at the bathroom inside his sister's room. Just then, he heard the shower stop. Aya stepped out, her pants rolled up to the knees, her hands and feet wet and muddy.
The girl blinked up at Kyle.
"Eh? H-hi... Kyle."
The two of them stared at each other.
---
Aya sipped the orange juice Kyle had poured for her while her older brother stood with his back to the dining table.
"So... you were playing in the dirt?"
The little girl choked, erupting into a fit of coughing so long that Kyle had to come over and pat her back.
"Cough—cough—"
"Easy, Aya. I'm not trying to steal your juice. Just take it slow."
Annoyed that Kyle had teased her, Aya stifled her irritation, only to avert her gaze—realizing she had lied.
"Y-yeah... something like that."
"What exactly were you playing?"
Aya wanted more than anything to say she had just dragged home a feral human. But since she had no idea how to dress up a choking match to sound innocent, she opted to lie.
"I... planted flowers."
"Huh?" Kyle turned around, not quite catching what she said.
Aya blushed. "Ugh, whatever! Why are you so nosy?!"
"What's wrong with asking?"
"Kyle, where's my apple pie?"
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses." Her brother placed a slice in front of her. "You ask for too much."
Aya didn't respond. She simply picked up her fork and began eating. The moment the sweetness flooded her tongue, she looked up at Kyle with bright eyes—despite having glared at him just moments ago.
"It's good!" she said. Then offered her fork toward his mouth. "Want a bite?"
Kyle shook his head. "No thanks. I'm not hungry." He sat down, removing his apron with a satisfied expression. "Of course it's good. I cut the pie."
Aya scoffed. "You didn't even help cook."
"Still, it's tasty because I cut them."
Aya didn't bother replying. She focused on her pie while Kyle watched her. She knew he was staring. But to avoid being interrogated, she waited until her fourth bite to ask, "You really not hungry?"
"Just watching you eat fills me up." Kyle shook his head again, resting his cheek on his elbow. "By the way, Aya, there's something I've been wondering."
Aya almost choked again. "W-what is it?"
"Aya... are you still mad?"
Aya froze. She stared straight into her brother's eyes and answered, "What if I am?"
Kyle sighed. "I thought so."
"So what now?"
"I'm sorry." Kyle met her gaze. "But I still can't take you outside."
Aya gave a bitter smile. Inwardly, she laughed at herself, and mirrored his words.
"I figured as much."
Her appetite vanished. She stared cautiously at Kyle as he turned his face away.
"In that case... can you at least give me clarity?"
"…"
Aya bit her lip. "I mean... when will you let me go outside?"
This time, she truly hoped her brother's heart would soften. But Kyle remained silent, and Aya grew more and more anxious.
"Kyle—"
"I'm sorry, Aya..." Kyle lowered his head. Yet his expression stayed blank. "The answer's still no..."
Aya's reaction was silence.
It was what Kyle had predicted—maybe even feared. He'd half-hoped she'd start whining again, because when Aya went quiet, Kyle knew she had lost another shred of hope. And that... wasn't what he wanted.
"What should I do?" Kyle thought. "Should I promise her something else? Should I bring home more gifts?"
But how long can I keep doing that?
The truth was, Aya wasn't the only one who felt suffocated. Kyle was just as desperate. If granted a single wish—even at the cost of his own life—then all he would ask for... was a world safe enough for his little sister.
And so, Kyle chose silence.
Aya, meanwhile, felt her heart sink. It wasn't that she never expected this answer. But since they had sat at the same table peacefully less than twenty-four hours after their argument, a small part of her had dared to hope.
But nothing had changed. Kyle still kept her locked inside a beautiful glasshouse, as if she were an orchid doomed to wither without a host.
Even so, Aya couldn't deny the bitterness inside her. And the seed of her revenge was already in the house.
So for the first time, she ended the argument not with more pleas—but with a calm, patient smile.
Kyle left an hour later, saying he wouldn't be home for the next three days. And after letting him ruffle her hair, Aya pretended to enjoy the second slice of apple pie on her plate until she was sure he was gone.
She rushed to check the front door camera. Once certain that no one was around, she returned to the pantry table, cut two more pieces of pie, poured a glass of orange juice, and arranged everything neatly on a tray.
Carrying it carefully, she walked to the hidden gap behind the staircase.
Her eyes caught the trail of dirt she still hadn't cleaned. Remembering how lost she'd felt when first faced with the wild boy, Aya turned on the cleaning robot.
Truthfully, she had considered leaving him where she found him—by the lakeside—and hoping he was just a ghost. But her conscience had kicked in when she realized how sickly he looked.
He was clearly taller than her. And though his grip had been frighteningly strong—strong enough that she had to change clothes to hide the marks on her neck—he was painfully thin. Dark hollows sat beneath his eyes, and the most unsettling thing was how he trembled—even while unconscious. She couldn't say for sure if he was Kyle's age, but something about him reminded her of her brother.
That was why she'd brought him home.
"I believe in karma," Aya had thought at the time. "What if one day Kyle is the one in need, and no one's there to help him?"
She pulled open a floor-level door after peeling back the rug that concealed it. Her heart pounding, Aya descended the stairs step by step, mentally cursing herself for forgetting to turn on the light earlier.
In the dimness, she placed the tray on the first table she found, then felt her way along the opposite wall toward the light switch.
The lights flickered on.
But when she turned to the bed—there was no one there.
"Huh?"
Where did he go? she wondered.
Aya stood frozen. A chill crawled up her spine—someone was watching her from behind.
She didn't dare move.
Not until an ice-cold hand touched her shoulder.
"AAAAHH!!"
She screamed, falling to the floor in terror. But instead of a terrifying face about to strangle her—as in her memory—what she found was a panicked boy, clearly flustered and confused, almost completely silent save for his fidgeting gestures.
Aya narrowed her eyes.