Emma manages to wait for about three hours. It's all she can do. It's probably a little after one o'clock when she finally slips across the yard and onto the back porch. She pulls out a pin from her hair, and it takes barely a minute of jiggling it around in the lock before she hears a definitive click. She holds her breath as she nudges the door open.

It's a risk coming even at this time. She's lost count of the number of times she stayed up till dawn when she was in foster care. There's an equal chance that a few kids in this house will be doing that too- maybe for the fun of it or maybe to get some time to recover from whatever horrors have been inflicted on them during the day. And she can't discount the late night parties where all the kids drank from their foster parents' stash upstairs while the adult in question lay passed out on the couch.

But it seems she's safe for now. She's checked all the rooms downstairs, and there's no sign of anyone awake. Just in case, she slips on a faded grey hoodie she finds crumpled on a chair before she heads upstairs. If it belongs to someone living here, it might make her hard to recognise as an outsider on the off chance that she's seen.

She pads upstairs as quietly as she can while trying to get her bearings. Eva's window was near the top of the house- probably the attic. If that's the case, she'll have to look for a side door, or maybe one of those sliding ladders that her old house had. At the end of the corridor, she finds what she's looking for. There's a small staircase that leads up into what can only be Eva's room. Emma tiptoes up, and is stopped short at the sight of the five tiny sleeping forms that are huddled in the corners under piles of moth-eaten blankets.

She tries to prevent her anger from boiling over. All these kids deserved better than this mess. She wants to wake them up and take each and every child away from this horrible life. But she can't. She's here for Eva. Anything else could put them both in danger.

She scans the room, trying to identify her sister in the darkness, when something catches her eye. At first glance, all she can see of one huddled form is a pile of blankets. But when she looks again, she sees a few stray locks of black hair tumbling down from the edge of the covers. Her breath catches. Eva. She rushes over, trying to make as little noise as possible, and pulls the cloth down.

It's her.

Emma stares at her sister for a few minutes, taking in her face. She traces the bruise that is just healing on Eva's chin. She notices the way the twelve-year-old no longer sleeps with a small smile, the way her hands clutch tightly at the blanket like its protection from more than just the cold. She takes in everything, every moment that she's missed over the past two years, every moment that their parents have missed.

And then she wakes her up.

Eva's eyes open slowly, but once she sees someone leaning over her, she starts to scream. Emma clamps a hand over her mouth before she can get a sound out and stares into her sister's haunted eyes.

They stay like that for a few seconds, with Eva staring brokenly up at her like she can't believe she's here, like this is just another dream from which she will eventually have to wake up.

"Shh," she finally whispers, taking her hand away and pulling her sister close like she used to do in another life. "It's me."

Eva's eyes widen and she chokes out a sob before falling into her sister's embrace.

"Emma?"

Emma smiles as best as she can through teary eyes. "Yeah. I'm going to get you out of here."

It doesn't take much time for Eva to pack her meagre belongings. Emma watches as she flits around the room while gathering her clothes, seeming more alive with every step. There isn't time for conversation, so they hug briefly before Emma leads the way down the stairs. It takes longer for Eva to follow her-she's limping, and Emma has to bite down on her tongue to stop herself from marching into Eva's foster parent's room and seeing just how much they liked being at the receiving end of such torture. She restrains herself, though, and offers Eva a small smile after telling her to wait near the back door. Then she walks into the kitchen to steal some food.

The problem? Someone's already there.

A man is standing next to the counter in the dark, trying to pry open a bottle with the tip of a knife. She starts to back away, but he catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. The hoodie she's wearing doesn't help at all. The second he sees her, he's advancing in her direction, waving the knife threateningly.

"Whatya doin' in my house, darling?" He says drunkenly, and she can see the menace lurking in his eyes. She steps back, but he raises the knife and swipes at her with the cold gleaming metal so fast that it's a silver blur, and suddenly she's in another time.

She's twelve years old. Her father is practising with her, parrying her blows as she swipes with her wooden sword. The polished wood gleams in the light as they move back and forth across the field. She's never able to hit him, no matter how hard she tries to get past his defences. Finally tired out, she slips down onto the grass of the meadow and lies on her back, staring at the evening sky. Her father sits down next to her and they stay like that for a while, sharing a companionable silence. After a few minutes, she rolls over on her stomach and asks, "Will I ever be as good as you?"

And her father grins down at her and ruffles her hair. "One day- and that day isn't too far off- you'll be better than I ever was. No one will be able to defeat you."

She smiles back, imagining it. "Yeah, and then I won't ever get hurt because I'll be the best."

He laughs with her, and then grows more serious. "That's why we're doing this, Emma. So that you won't ever get hurt."

She believes him.

Emma's jolted back into the present just in time to feel the knife bury itself in her skin.


Again, I apologise for the delay.

Thanks for reading.

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