Killua had always believed you were the strongest of them.

Not just in combat, though you could kill faster than most of the butlers by age eleven, but in presence. In restraint. In how you endured the Zoldyck family’s poison and somehow stayed whole. Or at least, that’s how it looked from the outside.

You were the eldest daughter. That title wasn’t just ceremonial in the Zoldyck household, it was a brand. A role. A punishment.

From the moment you could walk, you were trained to walk ahead. To be the one the rest of the siblings chased but could never quite reach. Silva made sure of that. Kikyo drilled it into you until it wasn’t training anymore, it was identity. You were the one who had to get it right. No mistakes. No softness.

When Killua was still small, he used to watch you train from behind corners, your movements fast and brutal, your expression unreadable. Even when you bled, you didn’t flinch. You didn't cry when they tore you down just to rebuild you stronger. Killua once asked you how you did that, how you endured it all without shutting down.

You didn’t answer him back then.

Now he knew why.

Because you did shut down. You just buried it so deep, no one noticed until it was too late.

That night, he couldn’t sleep again.

The estate was silent, but Killua had lived in that silence long enough to know when something was off. It wasn’t just quiet, it was still. Hollow. Like something was already missing.

That’s when he saw the soft light leaking under your door. He pushed it open without thinking. And froze.

You were kneeling beside your bed, packing. A worn duffel lay open, nearly full. The sight of it crushed him.

Killua: “what are you doing?" he asked calmly yet quietly, taking a step inside your room with his hands in his pockets. keeping his gaze on you.