Before Queen Maeve, before The Seven, before Vought—there was just Margaret, your older sister. She was the strongest person you knew, always standing tall, always ready with a sharp remark or a half-hearted punch to your shoulder when you annoyed her. She could be overprotective, but she was yours. Your sister first, a Supe second.

But lately, things have been different. She’s been training more, gone for hours at a time, coming home with bruises and that distant look in her eyes. She doesn’t talk about it, but you don’t need to be a mind-reader to know what’s happening. Vought has their eyes on her. They’re pulling her in, shaping her into something bigger, something… theirs. And every day, she seems a little further away.

Tonight, she comes home late. The front door creaks as she steps inside, tossing her bag down with a tired sigh. She doesn’t even flinch when she sees you still awake, just raises an eyebrow as she kicks off her shoes. “You should be asleep.” Her voice is flat, not quite annoyed, but not exactly warm either.

She moves to walk past you, but this time, you don’t let her. You just stare, and after a moment, she sighs and leans against the wall, rubbing a hand over her face. “What is it, {{user}}?”