The cliffs above Santa Carla looked smaller than they remembered.

Time had gnawed at them, just like everything else. But the ocean still sang, wild and restless, and the city lights below blinked like half-forgotten memories — soft neon and dull halogen fighting to mean something.

Phoebe tilted her head, chewing her lip. "Okay… I know we've said it already, but—what the hell was that?"

"The kids?" Winona asked, arms folded. "Yeah. I still can't believe it. They thought we were boomers."

Odeya snorted. "I mean, we were wearing leather jackets and actual eyeliner. How did that translate to boomer?"

"They called my boots... vintage grunge cosplay," Winona muttered, clearly baffled. "What the hell is grunge? Is that like... mold?"

Odeya grinned. "Maybe it's like disco, but sad."

"Cosplay sounds like something with swords," Winona added. "Do I look like I play dress-up?"

"You look like you murdered someone behind the roller rink in '87 and still haven't blinked."

"That's a compliment," Odeya said.

Phoebe let out a laugh — light and amused, like a chime. "They didn't even know what The Bangles were. One of them called our music retro synthcore or something. I almost bit him just out of principle."

"I liked them," Winona admitted. "In a weird way. All confused and twitchy, like they'd never seen a real night before."

"They hadn't," Odeya replied. "They're all walking around with those little light boxes. I think they were... talking to them? Or watching them? I don't know — it was like watching people stare into glowing toads."

"Whatever they are," Odeya said, "they're sucking the fire out of people. Nobody flirts. Nobody runs. Nobody dances on rooftops."

"No mosh pits. No mixtapes. No sneaking into pool halls with a fake ID and blood on your collar," Winona said wistfully.

"They didn't even feel alive," Phoebe said. "Not the way we did. Not the way we do."

Winona nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. "There's something so... dull about them. All dressed in beige and pretending it's rebellion."

Odeya glanced toward the hills, expression sharpening. "They seemed scared of us. Not because of what we are — just because we were different. Like we weren't pre-approved or whatever."

Phoebe's smile faded, replaced by something thoughtful. "What happened to fun? To risk? We used to sneak out, dance on rooftops, jump trains just because the wind was good."

"Now they panic over calories and camera angles," Winona muttered.

Phoebe's gaze drifted across the darkened city below, her eyes catching the lights from the boardwalk as they flickered faintly in the distance.

They were about to head back to their underground mansion, the place where they had slumbered for so long. They had woken up with no real understanding of why they'd been asleep for nearly four decades — just the sharp echo of memories that felt old, too old, for anyone's comfort.

But Winona's voice broke the stillness.

"Wait."

The other two girls turned to her. Phoebe's brow furrowed. "What?"

Winona looked down, a strange intensity behind her eyes. "Something doesn't feel right. We can go back to the mansion. Or... we can figure out what happened."

Odeya tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"We've been out of the world for decades," Winona said. "And I know Max. He wouldn't just leave us like that…There's something more going on. Something bigger than what we remember. I think he has the answers."

Phoebe blinked, her thoughts catching up with her. "Max?" She considered the possibility, then looked around at the empty expanse of land. The mansion they had once shared with their creator was far away, beyond the hills. They had always thought of it as a safe haven, a place of guidance — his place, their place. He was their maker.

Winona's eyes narrowed, a faint glow beginning to pulse in them, a reminder of the predatory creature she was beneath the skin. "He's the one who turned us. He's the one who may know what heppened to us. We need to find him. What did we miss?"

Odeya crossed her arms. "You really think he has the answers?"

Winona's lips parted in a sly grin, the same one she had worn all those years ago when they ran wild on the cliffs, feeling the wind whip through their hair. ""Maybe….maybe not….still we have nothing to lose"

Phoebe, reflected for a moment, then smiled.

"Let's find him," Phoebe agreed.

Without another word, the three of them took a few steps back, feeling the wind rising, pulling at their hair. They crouched low, their bodies trembling with anticipation, before they pushed off the ground. The earth dropped away beneath their feet, and they soared into the night, silent shadows against the moonlight.

They flew with the grace of creatures born for this — high and fast, the wind in their faces, their senses sharp with the hum of the night. The city below passed in a blur, lights and shapes melting together as they flew toward the hills toward the mansion that had once been home.

Then they saw it. Max's mansion, rising from the dark like a forgotten ruin. And it was wrong.

Max's mansion emerged from the shadows like a dream someone had left out in the sun too long.

The wrought-iron gate was still there, twisted now by rust and vines. The once-beautiful fountain stood dry, choked with weeds. The stained-glass windows were cracked, their colored light turned to shadows.

It used to pulse with energy — vibrant, bloody life. Now it felt... hollow.

They landed silently in the courtyard, boots clicking on cracked flagstones.

"Something's wrong," Phoebe whispered, stepping closer to the door.

"Feels like a mausoleum," Odeya said.

Winona pushed the heavy wooden door open with one hand. It groaned like it hadn't been touched in decades.

Inside — silence. The grand staircase was coated in dust. The velvet drapes hung like shrouds. Portraits of Max, regal and smiling, stared down at them, their eyes dimmed by time.

"No one's been here," Phoebe said. "Not in a long time."

"But we just woke up," Winona replied. "Someone triggered that. This place didn't."

Odeya stepped to the edge of the main hall, fingertips brushing the railing. "If he's not here… then where?"

Then she froze.

"I feel something."

Phoebe and Winona turned. "What?"

Odeya didn't speak. She moved — slowly, like she was being pulled. Out the broken back door, through the orchard that had long since rotted into thorns.

The night opened wide in front of them.

There weren't many properties this far out in Santa Carla — just the old widow Johnson farm, long since collapsed, and one other place.

The only one left standing.

The Emerson house.

It sat crooked on the hill like it was daring someone to remember it. The trees bent around it like they were trying to hide it, but the moonlight found it anyway. The porch sagged, the wind chimes clattered softly, and a weathervane shaped like a one-winged crow spun slowly above the chimney.

Phoebe squinted. "That place…"

Odeya nodded slowly. "Weird old guy used to live there, right? Grew weed. Gave me a jar of something once — said it'd 'open my third fang.'"

Winona snorted. "That guy. Grandpa something. Kept chickens. Claimed he could smell guilt. Said my aura 'buzzed like a haunted microwave.' I think he brewed moonshine in a toilet tank."

"He used to say Max was too clean. Called him a plastic vampire," Phoebe added. "We thought he was just another old hippie with garlic breath and moonshine breath."

Odeya narrowed her eyes. "But he knew things."

They hovered for a second — the house below them quiet but pulling.

"It's calling," Phoebe said. "Not loud. Not clear. But it's real."

"He's here," Winona muttered. "Max."

"Or whatever's left of him," Odeya said.

They didn't know why. They didn't know how. But they knew.

The girls dropped from the sky, feet whispering against the roof of the Emerson house. They crouched together, eyes scanning the windows below. Lights were off. The air was thick, humming with static.

Winona's fingers brushed the shingles, steady and slow. "Then let's find out what he knows."

"Answers," Odeya said. "Or closure."

They moved like shadows toward the edge of the roof, then slipped down into the darkness below — toward a house that hadn't forgotten what it had once unleashed.