The morning of Amira's first appointment arrived with a quiet, anxious tension that seemed to hum through the hallways of the mansion. The new Amira, with her fiery crimson bob and a wardrobe of Amara's softer, borrowed silks, looked like a different person, but the way she paced the lobby told a different story.
Amara stood by the front door, watching her sister. She saw the way Amira's hands shook as she adjusted her bag, the old defensive fire in her eyes flickering against a new, raw vulnerability.
"I don't have to do this," Amira muttered, her voice dropping into that familiar, jagged register. "I'm fine. The noise is quieter today. Maybe I just needed a haircut and a nap."
Amara walked over, not to pull her toward the car, but simply to stand beside her. "The noise is quieter because you're safe here, Amira. But wouldn't you like it to stay quiet even when things get loud outside?"
