Leo hadn't entered the SeaGlass Café in years, but the place hadn't changed. Still dim and ocean-blue, nestled near Pier 62 on the quieter stretch of Alaskan Way, it seemed to exist outside of time.
The salt-laden breeze slipped through the door behind him, brushing the back of his neck as he stepped inside. A pair of tired baristas glanced up, then down again, as if they knew not to ask questions.
He ordered something he didn't want to look like he belonged. Some overpriced espresso fusion with seafoam syrup and a name that sounded like a dare. It wasn't his style, but blending in felt safer than asking questions.
He tapped his wrist against the scanner, the chip beneath his skin registering with a soft beep, and scanned the café again. Back corner booth, empty. Good. He was early.
The rain hadn't let up since dawn, blurring the city into a watercolor of gray steel and smeared neon.
Outside the glass walls of the café, puddles rippled with each passing car, headlights stretching like ghostly fingers across the wet pavement. Inside, quiet conversations mingled with the soft clatter of ceramic cups, a distant drone Leo barely registered.
His fingers tapped nervously against the cool glass of his untouched drink, tracing invisible patterns on the condensation
. The dampness seeped through the fabric of his jacket, settling against his skin like an unwelcome weight. It wasn't nerves. Not quite paranoia either. It was a sharp knot in his gut, the kind that told him this conversation wouldn't end easily.
Maisie slid into the seat across from Leo, her movements sharp and deliberate, no warmth in the gesture, no hint of the sister he was supposed to protect.
The café's muted light painted her face in cold contrast: half-hidden, half-exposed, like the pieces of her he'd never bothered to understand. Leo felt that familiar sting in his chest, the weight of a role he'd long abandoned, pressing down harder now because Harry had always kept them apart.
She wasn't just a sister; she was the daughter Harry held close, the one Leo was meant to be there for but never was.
The stillness between them lingered, stubborn like a stale fog settling over a broken bridge, filled with years of neglect, fractured promises, and unspoken regrets neither of them wanted to face.
Maisie's eyes held steady on Leo, sharp and unyielding, carrying the weight of everything left unspoken. There was no hint of the sisterly comfort he might have hoped for, only a cold edge like ice creeping through the empty halls of a forgotten home.
The space between them crackled with unease, charged and electric, as if every unvoiced truth pressed against the walls of their silence.
The truths writhed beneath the surface, desperate to break free from the carefully constructed quiet Harry had forced upon their family. Maisie wasn't here to play along anymore. She came to shatter the lies, starting with him.
Leo fidgeted in his seat, the worn leather creaking under his restless movements. Outside, the morning mist blurred the cityscape, softening the sharp edges of buildings and streetlights. Inside the café's quiet nook, words hung between them, fragile and unsaid, like the space waiting to be filled.
Maisie watched him, her gaze steady but unreadable, as if trying to unlock a door he hadn't yet found the key to. Leo's fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop, a small, nervous rhythm barely disturbing the stillness settling around them.
Maisie's voice broke the stillness, quiet, but with an edge that couldn't be ignored. "You don't have to act like this with me, Leo. I see there's more you're not telling, more than Dad lets you know."
The words drifted between them, carrying a weight that settled uneasily in the space. Leo stared down at the barely swirling steam from his coffee, the faint spiral twisting and fading too quickly, as if trying to slip away from the tension hanging over them.
He fought the urge to look away, to push down the fragments of memories clawing at the edges of his mind, snatches of Mara's voice, the chill of truths left unspoken.
A quiet pressure settled deep inside him. Maisie wasn't just accusing him, there was something urgent beneath her calm, an unspoken plea for honesty from someone who had been left in the dark for far too long.
The quiet stretched out, dense and unyielding, as though the room itself was waiting to see if he'd keep holding back or finally let the walls come down.
Leo swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening. "It's not that simple," he said, voice low. "Dash told me something. Just yesterday." He stared into his drink like it might offer answers.
"He said Dad's been… messing with memories. Ours. Mine." The words tasted like betrayal.
"I don't know what's real anymore. I remember things that don't make sense, like Mom pulling me aside somewhere dark, maybe the old greenhouse, holding my wrist so tight it hurt. She was scared. Trying to tell me something. But I don't know what."
He finally looked at her. "It's like someone took the ending and ripped it out of my head."
Maisie's breath hitched, almost too quiet to notice. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table, knuckles paling. "
You're serious?" Her voice dropped, not in disbelief, but something closer to dread. "Dad erased your memories?" She didn't say again, but it hovered there between them like smoke.
"I knew he was hiding things, I knew, but that…" Her voice broke off. For a moment, she looked younger than she had in years.
"That's not just secrets. That's, he's rewriting us." The rain outside thickened, pelting against the glass, echoing the storm rising behind her eyes. "And you only just remembered?"
She didn't realize she was holding her breath until the edges of her vision prickled. Her lungs seized, and she exhaled sharply and quietly like it might keep the truth from settling too deep. But it was already burrowing. Rewriting us.
The words echoed, folding over and over inside her skull like a broken mantra. She remembered telling classmates that her mother had gone on a trip, that it was just one of Mom's long retreats, the kind she always took when the world got too loud. She believed it.
Harry had looked her in the eye and said, "Don't worry, Maisie. Your mother just needed space. She'll be back before you know it." But now her brain itched, like something had been scrubbed too clean.
There were moments she'd dismissed as dreams: Mom brushing hair from her forehead, singing lullabies she couldn't quite place, her scent, salt and lavender, too vivid to be imagined.
But those memories didn't match the story Harry told. They felt more real. And that scared her more than anything. What else had he taken?
Leo watched her, and something in his posture shifted, barely, but enough. He leaned in, elbows on the table now, voice lower. "I didn't remember either," he admitted, the words falling like loose gravel.
"Not until Dash said something. I thought… I thought I was just a shitty son who didn't check in." He let out a bitter laugh, short and hollow.
"But he found something. Records, files, Dad tried to erase. He said there were phrases... triggers. Buried commands. And I…" Leo faltered.
"I don't know what's real anymore, Maisie. I don't know what memories were mine, or what was put there." He looked up at her then, eyes dark and unguarded, and for the first time, Maisie saw how lost he truly was, not a stranger across the table, but a boy without a map, the same as her.
Maisie's breath caught, not from disbelief, but from the sharp, sudden click of something falling into place. "Wait," she said slowly, her voice tightening. "You're saying he made us forget that, now? Just recently?" She stared at Leo, something fraying behind her eyes.
"A month ago, he told me she was on a sabbatical. Said she needed time away. I didn't question it. I thought maybe she was burnt out, maybe she just needed space. I even defended him when Dash got suspicious." Her voice hesitated, not with doubt, but something worse, betrayal. "You're telling me she didn't leave. She vanished. And he made us... not care?"
A fleeting image surfaced in Leo's mind, Mom alone in her home office, the quiet clink of her teacup against the saucer, the soft swirl of steam curling upward. No warning. No struggle. Just a sudden, gnawing silence where she should have been. He didn't see what took her. Just the space she left behind, cold and empty.
Leo blinked, the fragment slipping away like vapor through his fingers. "I don't..." He stopped himself, swallowing hard. "I wasn't there. Dash told me it happened at night, at home. Mom was in her office… drinking tea. Then she just vanished." His voice faltered, the words tasting strange and incomplete.
"No one saw anything. No signs of a struggle. It's like she disappeared into the air." He looked up, meeting Maisie's eyes, searching for something, answers, maybe, or just permission to admit how little he knew.
"I know," he said quietly. "That's why I've been trying to put the pieces together. Dash... he told me there might be more going on, things Harry wouldn't let us see." His voice tightened just a little, though his hands stayed still, almost numb. "But I don't have proof. Just... a feeling. And a lot of questions."
Maisie's eyes narrowed, the sharp edge in her voice softening just a little. "It's not just a feeling, Leo. Dad's been hiding things from us for years. And Mom, she didn't just disappear. Someone took her. Someone who didn't want her to talk."
Leo swallowed hard, a sudden flicker of a memory stabbing through the stupor, the soft clink of a teacup in a quiet room, the faint scent of chamomile, a shadow slipping past the doorframe.
He shook it away, but the weight of it settled graver. "I never saw it happen," he said, voice low. "I don't even know when."
Maisie leaned forward, urgency burning in her eyes. "It was in the middle of the night. Mom was at home, in her office. Just drinking tea. And then... she was gone."
The café's murmur faded into the background as the truth pressed closer between them. Neither dared to meet the other's gaze for long.
Maisie's eyes flickered with uncertainty as she leaned in, her voice low and hesitant. "I don't know everything… but it feels like Harry's been controlling what we remember. Like he's been trying to erase our mother from our lives, from our memories. It's like she never existed sometimes."
Leo's finger traced the rim of his coffee cup, the bitter warmth grounding him as a sudden flash of memory stabbed through, the dim light of Mom's office, her half-empty teacup left untouched on the desk.
He blinked, the image slipping away too fast to grasp. "If that's true… why wouldn't Harry say anything? Why keep quiet about it?"
Maisie bit her lip, struggling to find the words. "I don't have proof yet. But I think… maybe the White Angels had something to do with it. They're the only ones who'd want her gone. I'm still trying to put the pieces together."
The quiet between them grew dense, filled with unease and unspoken questions. Leo's gaze dropped to the swirling coffee, the burden of a lingering truth pressing against his thoughts.
Maisie's voice softened, just enough to break through the fog of hesitation. "I don't expect you to have all the answers, Leo. None of us does. But pretending everything's fine only keeps us trapped." She paused, searching his face for any sign of resistance or relief.
"Dad's been controlling what we remember for years. I only just found out. It's why none of it makes sense, the gaps, the shadows in our past." Her fingers twitched against the edge of the table, betraying the storm beneath her calm words.
Leo finally lifted his gaze, eyes flickering with a mix of resignation and something harder to name, maybe anger, maybe sorrow. "Harry never wanted me to know," he said quietly. "Not really.
I've known I'm not his blood for a long time, but… that doesn't make it any easier." He glanced out the window, the rain blurring the world beyond like a veil. "If he's been messing with our memories all this time… what else has he buried? And why?"
The question settled quietly, carrying a silent demand to unravel the walls Harry had carefully raised between them.