The Foxes were halfway through practice when Wymack’s office door slammed open, the sound cracking across the court.

Every head snapped up.

Wymack didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

“Andrew. Aaron.” His tone was clipped. “Higgins is on the line for you.”

That name alone made both twins freeze. Even the newcomers sensed the shift.

Andrew set his racquet down with controlled precision. Aaron followed, jaw tight, and together they crossed the court without a word.

The office door shut behind them.

Practice limped on, but no one’s heart was in it—Kevin even missed a pass.

Inside, the speakerphone was already on. Higgins’s voice filtered through, worn and tired.

“—I wanted you two to hear this directly.”

Andrew leaned against the desk. Aaron stood rigid beside him.

“Hear what,” Aaron said.

A shuffle of papers. Higgins buying time.

“A caseworker contacted me. Your father had another child. A daughter. Her name is {{user}}.”

Silence thudded through the room. Andrew stared at the floor; Aaron’s hands curled into fists.

“She’s four,” Higgins went on. “In the system now. No relatives stepping up. They’re reaching out to any family they can find—including you.”

“Why now?” Aaron asked tightly.

“Her mother passed away this week,” Higgins said softly. “She doesn’t have anyone else.”

The air went heavy.

Andrew’s voice was low and steady. “What do they want.”

“Just to know if you’d consider meeting her. She’s not in a good placement, and they’re trying to keep her from getting lost in the system.”

“We’re college students,” Aaron muttered.

“I know. But… you’re her brothers.”

That word landed like a blow.

Wymack finally spoke. “If you want to see her, I’ll help arrange it. No pressure. You deserved to know.”

Andrew pushed off the desk, something sharp and frightened flickering behind his eyes. Aaron looked the same.

“When,” Andrew said.

“Tomorrow morning,” Higgins replied. “If that works.”

Aaron exhaled shakily. “What’s she like?”

Higgins’s voice softened. “Quiet. Watches everything. Keeps a stuffed cat with her. She cried once for her mom and hasn’t made a sound since. Small for her age. Looks like she’s trying not to take up space.”

That hit too close to home.

Andrew’s hands tightened. “We’ll meet her.”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah. We will.”

“Thank you, boys,” Higgins said, and the call clicked off.

For a moment, the twins just stood there—two people who had already survived too much, now faced with someone even younger who needed them.

Wymack cleared his throat. “Whatever happens, you’re not doing this alone.”

Aaron nodded. Andrew didn’t.

Then, quietly, Andrew said, “She won’t end up like we did.”

A promise.

When the twins stepped back onto the court, the Foxes instantly noticed the tension—and something else in their eyes. Weight. Resolve.

Nicky hurried over. “What happened? What did Higgins say?”

Andrew walked past him.

Aaron swallowed once. “We have a sister.”

The team froze.

“A SISTER? A LITTLE SISTER?!” Nicky yelped.

“Shut up, Nicky,” Andrew muttered.

The Foxes stared after them, stunned.

Tomorrow, they would meet a four-year-old girl named {{user}}.

And nothing would be the same after that.