"Prisoner 00061, pack your things. Someone's waiting for you outside."
"Sign here, and you're free to go."
"Remember—as a parolee, you'll be under intensive supervision for the next ninety days. Your parole officer will be checking in. Violate the terms of your release, and you could be sent back."
Freedom. It was finally close enough to touch. Something flickered behind Aspyn Guzman's eyes — eyes that had gone still and flat years ago, like water with no current left in it.
The iron door groaned shut behind her, the clang rolling across the empty yard. She stood there alone, too thin for her own frame, and let it fade.
The summer sun came down hard, the kind of heat that had everyone else ducking for shade. Aspyn tipped her face up into it anyway. It had been three years since she'd felt anything like warmth.
The light caught the sharp angles of her face — she'd lost the softness she used to have, and what was left looked almost breakable. Her lashes trembled like something startled.
Sweat beaded along her hairline within minutes. She didn't wipe it away. The heat, the sting of it, was proof she was still here. Still alive. Still free.
A black Maybach idled in the shade nearby. The window slid down, and an impatient face leaned into view.
"Aspyn!"
She squinted against the glare and placed him — her older brother, Grant Guzman. She hadn't expected him to come.
Then again, of course he had. Grant was her court-approved sponsor, and the release plan required him to pick her up. She'd kept him waiting; he had every right to be annoyed.
She slid into the car and got the apology out before he could say anything. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
She had no intention of going back inside. Grant could report any alleged violation to her parole officer, and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to use that leverage. Her only plan for the next ninety days was not to give him a reason.
Apologizing first. It was reflex now.
Grant had actually meant to say something kind. It caught in his throat instead, knocked sideways by how easily the apology came.
He cleared his throat, tone deliberately even. "You don't need to apologize. You're my sister. Coming to get you is the least I can do."
"Thank you," Aspyn said, polite as ever. She'd stopped believing words like that a long time ago.
There was a time she thought they meant it — that she was really theirs. It hadn't taken long to learn better. Not even her birth mother wanted her, not really. Not next to the daughter she'd raised by mistake.
Her mother's voice, from years back: "We raised Avayah since she was a baby. It'll take her time to adjust to you being here. But you're the one who shares our blood. Behave, be sweet — how could we not love you?"
So Aspyn had behaved. Had been sweet. Had worked herself half to death trying to squeeze into the shape of that family.
It never mattered. Every time she came home top of her class, she got a lecture instead of a smile.
"Don't rub your grades in Avayah's face. What are you trying to prove?"
"Avayah's every bit as smart as you. She just isn't as healthy."
"You're hurting her feelings, do you understand that?"
So she stopped bringing her grades home at all. Being first meant nothing if nobody was glad for her.
For a while she told herself it was fine — she was the older sister, it was her job to give way. That her parents just needed time. That once they'd adjusted, they'd love her the way they loved Avayah.
What she got instead, eventually, was a phone call: Avayah had been driving without a license and hit someone. Someone had died.
"Avayah's not well, and she doesn't have a license — the sentence would ruin her. You're the only one who can take this for her."
She'd said no. Then Grant brought up her grandmother.
"You know how things are with your grandmother's family. She's still in the hospital, and the treatment costs more than they can cover."
"Say yes, and I'll get her the best doctors money can buy. The best lawyer, too. Worst case, you're looking at a few months."
"You think I'd let anything happen to you? You're my sister. Trust me."
She'd trusted him. She'd waited, certain someone would come for her. The wait ran three years long.
She didn't believe a word out of his mouth anymore.
The silence in the car had a weight to it. Grant glanced over — Aspyn had folded herself into the far corner of the seat, taking up as little room as she could. His frown deepened.
She hadn't used to be this quiet. She used to trail after all of them, hunting for something to say, and if anyone bothered to answer her she'd be lit up about it for days. Where had that gone?
Guilt needled him, thinking about the three years she'd just lost. He tried for casual. "Dad's traveling for work, but everyone else is home waiting on you. Excited?"
Excited.
The old Aspyn would have been thrilled. This one felt nothing at all.
She'd given up hoping for a family a long time ago.
Instead of answering, she asked, quietly, "Can you take me to see Grandma first?"
Grandma was the only one who'd ever actually cared. After that, Aspyn just wanted to get back to her studies. She was done wanting affection from people who didn't have any to give her — she wanted her research, her lab, a way back into biochemistry. That was the only leverage she had left against this family.
Grant's expression shut down. "Aspyn. We're your family. They're all waiting for you at home, and you want to go see someone else first?"
Something flickered in her eyes and was gone before he could name it. "Okay. I understand."
Watching her fold so easily made something in him twist — like hitting a pillow instead of a wall, all his force landing on nothing. It came out as irritation. "You don't have to be like this with me. I'm your brother."
Aspyn just smiled, faint, and said nothing.
You're not my brother. I don't have a brother. I don't have a family.
The Maybach pulled up outside a walled estate she didn't recognize. She didn't move to get out.
She'd never been here before.
So they'd moved, and no one had told her.
Grant was already several steps ahead before he noticed she wasn't behind him. "Why are you just standing there?" Impatience sharpened his voice.
Aspyn shook herself and hurried to catch up. It came back to him then — they'd relocated two years ago. She'd been inside the whole time. There'd been no way for her to know.
A little embarrassed, he offered, "The old place wasn't a good environment for Avayah's health, so we moved. There wasn't really a way to tell you while you were... away."
Aspyn lowered her eyes so he wouldn't see what was in them.
Of course. Always for Avayah.
She hadn't even wanted to major in literature. Biochemistry was what she loved. But Avayah's health came up, and being the older sister meant giving in — so she'd let the thing she cared about go and taken a degree that meant nothing to her.
Her eighteenth birthday wish had been a day at a theme park. She'd never been to one. They stayed home instead, because Avayah wasn't feeling well.
She was always the one who got left out. She'd stopped expecting anything else.
Her silence was starting to grate on him. "Say something if something's wrong. What's with the attitude —"
"— like you're the one who got wronged here."
He genuinely couldn't understand why none of them warmed to her. Next to Avayah she always came up short somehow — never quite fit for their world, never quite easy to look at.
Out of patience, Grant walked ahead into the house without waiting, certain she'd follow.
She always did.
