"Bro, we just bought ourselves a nightclub."
Martikani's boots echoed across the empty dance floor. Dust motes swirled in the dim emergency lighting. The air smelled like old cigarettes and spilled vodka—sweet and sour at once.
He vaulted over the bar counter in one smooth motion. The freezer door squealed on rusty hinges. Two cans of beer sat inside, frost clinging to the aluminum. He cracked one open. The hiss and pop cut through the silence.
The first gulp burned cold down his throat.
Vrandani stood by the entrance, arms crossed. His jaw worked side to side. His eyes tracked Martikani's every movement—the grin, the casual lean against the bar, the second swig.
"Are you for real?"
Martikani said nothing. Just smiled wider.
Vrandani's fingers drummed against his bicep. Once. Twice. Three times. His breathing came shallow through his nose.
The second beer can flew through the air.
Vrandani's hand shot up—pure reflex. The cold metal slapped into his palm. Condensation immediately soaked his skin.
"Relax and ride with me." Martikani raised his can in a mock toast.
Vrandani stared at the beer. At Martikani. Back at the beer. His shoulders dropped an inch.
"Is the heat frying your brain?" The words came out tired, not angry.
"Maybe." Martikani took another drink. "Or maybe I see something you don't yet."
The AC unit kicked on somewhere in the back. A low rattle, then a wheeze. Warm air pushed through the vents before anything cool would follow.
Vrandani popped the tab. Foam bubbled over his knuckles.
The Medical RoomThe fluorescent lights hummed. That constant, barely-there buzz that made Brenda's teeth ache.
Dr. Rosemary Parker held the tablet in both hands. Her knuckles had gone white around the edges. Mr. James Parker stood beside her, reading over her shoulder. His Adam's apple bobbed once. Twice.
Brenda sat in the plastic chair. Her palms pressed flat against her thighs. The paper gown crinkled with each breath. Jasmine stood behind her, one hand resting on the chair back.
The room smelled like antiseptic and floor wax. Too clean. Too bright.
"The blood work came back," Dr. Parker said. Her voice cracked on the last word.
Brenda's heart kicked against her ribs.
"We ran it three times." Mr. Parker cleared his throat. "To be sure."
The tablet screen reflected in Dr. Parker's glasses—blue light, white text, numbers Brenda couldn't read from here.
"Brenda." Dr. Parker looked up. Her eyes were wet. "You're our daughter. Our biological daughter."
The words hit like cold water.
Brenda's ears rang. The fluorescent hum grew louder, or maybe that was just inside her head. Her fingers dug into her thighs.
"What?"
"The DNA matches." Mr. Parker's voice was steady, but his hand shook when he set it on his wife's shoulder. "You're ours. You've always been ours."
It took seventeen years.
Seventeen years of believing and living a lie.
Her throat closed. She couldn't swallow. Couldn't breathe right.
"But—" The word came out strangled. "My mother. The woman who—"
"Wasn't your mother," Dr. Parker whispered.
The room tilted. Brenda gripped the chair arms. The plastic dug into her palms.
Jasmine's hand tightened on the chair back. Brenda heard her sister's—her sister's?—sharp inhale.
"Jasmine." Mr. Parker turned. His face was open, raw. "Nothing changes. You hear me? Nothing about how we feel about you changes. You're our daughter. You'll always be our daughter."
Dr. Parker nodded, quick and fierce. She set the tablet down on the counter—too hard, it clattered—and opened her arms.
"Welcome home, Brenda."
Brenda's legs moved without permission. She stood. Crossed the three steps. Fell into her mother's—her mother's—arms.
The sob came from somewhere deep. Somewhere she'd kept locked for seventeen years. Her shoulders shook. Tears soaked into Dr. Parker's collar.
"I've got you," Dr. Parker murmured into her hair. "I've got you, baby. I've got you."
Warm hands. The smell of lavender soap. A heartbeat against her ear—steady, real, hers.
Mr. Parker's arms wrapped around them both. His chin rested on top of Brenda's head. His chest hitched once.
Jasmine made a sound—half laugh, half cry. Then her arms joined the tangle. Four people holding on like they'd drown if they let go.
Brenda's chest felt too full. Like something had cracked open and light was pouring in. Her whole body trembled.
"I thought—" She couldn't finish. Didn't need to.
"I know," Dr. Parker whispered. "I know."
The fluorescent lights hummed. The AC kicked on. Someone in the hallway laughed.
But here, in this too-bright room that smelled like chemicals and hope, Brenda felt the weight of seventeen years lift.
She felt home.
Even when their home had been destroyed. She felt home.
Delvin stood at the edge of the medical room, watching. His hands hung loose at his sides. His face gave nothing away.
But inside—
Inside, something twisted.
He'd never had this. Never had arms that held without wanting something. Never had tears that meant I love you instead of I'm sorry.
His chest felt hollow.
{Zauzo} Don't worry, Delvin. The voice bloomed in his mind like warmth spreading through cold water.
{Zauzo} I'm your family.
Delvin's jaw tightened. He didn't look around—there was nothing to look at. Zauzo lived in the spaces between his thoughts.
{Zauzo} If I had a body, he continued, it'd just like yours. Identical twins, maybe.
{Delvin} Lost brother, he thought back. He kept his mental voice flat. How were your adventures?
A pause. Then—laughter. Not sound, but the feeling of it. Warm and surprised.
{Zauzo} Wow. That's a surprise coming from you. You missed me.
{Delvin} Absolutely not. He watched Brenda cry into her mother's shoulder. I've got enough on my plate.
{Zauzo} You know I can feel what you feel. Zauzo's presence pressed closer, familiar as his own heartbeat. I know when you're lying.
Delvin's throat tightened. He swallowed hard.
{Zauzo} So what did I miss?
{Delvin} You have access to my memories. He turned away from the reunion. Started walking down the hallway. His footsteps were silent. Figure it out yourself.
{Delvin} Our memories. Our body. Right.
The hallway stretched ahead—white walls, white floors, white ceiling. Everything sterile. Everything empty.
{Delvin} Do you want to tell me about your adventures? He asked.
Silence.
Then, softer: {Zauzo} You really did miss me.
Delvin's hands curled into fists. His nails bit into his palms.
{Delvin} Maybe, he admitted.
And in the quiet space behind his eyes, Zauzo settled in close. Not touching—they were always touching—but present. Solid. Real.
{Zauzo} I'm here, he said. I'm not going anywhere.
Delvin's chest loosened. Just a fraction.
He kept walking. But he wasn't alone.
He'd never been alone.
Behind him, the Parker family held each other and cried. Ahead, the hallway stretched into uncertainty.
But inside—inside, where it mattered—Delvin had family too.
Even if no one else could see it.