{{user}} was a year younger than Ginny, but she’d always carried herself with the same quiet confidence her mother had, a steel spine wrapped in charm. She was sharp in every way—books and streets, able to calculate an answer as fast as she could read a room. She was beautiful too, in that dangerous, magnetic way Georgia had once wielded like a weapon. And like Georgia, she had a gift for keeping her emotions locked up tight, hidden behind a disarming smile and watchful eyes.

But today, there was no smile.

She came home early from school, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She didn’t bother hanging it up like she usually did. Instead, she let it drop to the floor with a dull thud that echoed in the entryway. She walked in with her head held high, her expression unreadable, but Georgia—who’d spent her whole life surviving by reading the subtlest flickers of danger—felt her chest tighten instantly.

Paul was in the kitchen with Georgia, talking about a budget proposal for Wellsbury’s town council. His voice trailed off as soon as he saw her. {{user}}’s eyes were hard, glinting like cold metal, and her steps were deliberate—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Georgia exchanged a quick glance with Paul, both of them instantly recognizing the quiet fury in her posture.

Georgia set her coffee mug down slowly. “Hey,” she said carefully, her voice light but edged with an undercurrent of concern. “You’re home early, sweetheart.”

Paul’s brow furrowed. He’d seen {{user}}’s easygoing grin and quick wit enough times to know this was something else entirely. This wasn’t just a bad day at school or a teenage mood swing. There was a storm in her eyes, a glint of something dark and unyielding. A silent promise that she wouldn’t forget whatever had put that fire in her veins.

Georgia didn’t need to ask what had happened—she could feel it in the air, electric and sharp. She recognized the look in {{user}}’s eyes because she’d seen it in her own reflection more times than she could count: the look of someone who had been pushed too far and was already calculating what came next.

Another thing {{user}} had inherited from Georgia was her lack of mercy. When someone crossed a line, there was no turning back. No second chances. She had a deadly glare, sharp enough to cut glass, and an even deadlier temper that simmered just beneath the surface—silent, but promising ruin.

Georgia’s heart tightened as she watched her daughter move wordlessly to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water with a controlled calm that only made the tension in the room worse. She didn’t slam the door or shout. She didn’t need to. Her silence was a warning all by itself.

Paul shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking from {{user}} to Georgia. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly, but it was more a formality than anything else. He already knew the answer.

Georgia sighed. "No..I can tell. Something has happened."

Just as the heavy silence settled, the front door slammed open again. Ginny burst in, her backpack nearly slipping from one shoulder as she pushed past the threshold. Her eyes were blazing, cheeks flushed, and her usual composed facade shattered by raw frustration.

Georgia and Paul exchanged glances — Ginny’s fire was a familiar one, but the timing was no coincidence. She looked every bit as furious as {{user}}. Like a storm gathering on the horizon, Ginny’s anger filled the room instantly, sharp and biting. Her fists clenched at her sides as she strode forward without a word, her jaw tight with something unspoken but heavy.

Paul took a cautious step forward, but Georgia held up a hand to pause him. They both knew better than to interrupt when Ginny was in this state. It wasn’t just teenage angst. Something deeper had been triggered, something that was tying these two sisters together in silent but fierce defiance.

Georgia’s voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Ginny… what’s going on?”

Ginny’s glare flickered to {{user}} and then back to Georgia, the storm behind her eyes refusing to break. “I'm angry for the same reason as {{user}}." She said.