Elara returns just as the artificial lights dim, signaling the start of the slum's "night." She enters quietly, as she always does, her footsteps light but deliberate. I glance up from the table, where I've been picking at the remnants of the meal she left for me. Her face is calm, composed—but I know her well enough to see through the mask.
"You're home late," I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.
She offers a tired smile, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Had to stay out a little longer. Work's been... demanding."
I watch as she crosses the room, her movements graceful despite the exhaustion etched into her features. She pulls off her coat—a thin, tattered thing that barely keeps out the chill—and hangs it on the back of a chair. Beneath it, her clothes are simple but well-kept, though there's a certain care in the way she adjusts them, as if trying to hide something.
"I brought this for you," she says, placing a small bundle on the table. When she unwraps it, I see two ripe fruits and a small vial of what looks like clean water. My stomach growls at the sight, but I hesitate.
"Elara... how do you get this stuff?"
She freezes for a moment, her hand lingering over the bundle. Then she sighs, sitting down across from me. "I told you before. I have connections."
"Connections?" I echo, my voice tinged with disbelief. "In the slums? No one gives anything away for free here."
Her expression hardens slightly, and for a moment, I think she's going to snap at me. But then her face softens, and she reaches across the table, placing a hand on mine.
"Adam, you don't need to worry about that," she says gently. "It's my job to take care of you. That's all that matters."
I want to push her, to demand answers, but the sincerity in her voice stops me. Elara has always been like this—protective, selfless to a fault. She's the reason I've survived this long, and I can't bring myself to question her too harshly.
Instead, I nod, picking up one of the fruits. "Thank you," I say quietly.
Her smile returns, warmer this time. "You're welcome."
For a while, we sit in companionable silence, the hum of the flickering lights the only sound in the room. I watch her as she eats, noticing the small details I hadn't before: the way her hands tremble slightly, the faint shadows under her eyes, the way she avoids meeting my gaze for too long.
"Elara," I say after a while, "why do you do this?"
She looks up, surprised. "Do what?"
"All of this," I say, gesturing around the room. "Working yourself to the bone, risking... whatever it is you're risking. Just to take care of me."
Her expression softens, and she leans back in her chair, her gaze distant. "Because you're my brother," she says simply. "And because I know you're meant for something greater than this."
I frown. "Greater? Elara, I'm just—"
"No," she interrupts, her voice firm. "You're not 'just' anything. You're smart, Adam. You see things other people don't. And you have a strength in you... a kind of strength this world can't crush."
Her words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I don't know what to say.
"I just... I don't want you to lose that," she continues, her voice softer now. "This place... it eats people alive. But you're different. I know you are."
I want to argue, to tell her she's wrong, that I'm nothing special. But the conviction in her voice stops me.
"Thank you," I say again, my voice barely above a whisper.
She smiles, reaching across the table to ruffle my hair. "You don't need to thank me, idiot. Just promise me you'll keep fighting. No matter what."
"I promise," I say, and I mean it.
That night, after Elara has gone to bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Her words echo in my mind, filling me with a strange mix of hope and dread. She believes in me, more than I believe in myself. And I don't know if I can live up to that.
But I do know one thing: I'll do whatever it takes to protect her, the way she's always protected me.