Two days before prom, Lyra found herself once again at the Marchenko home, though it was hardly a planned visit.
What started as a simple drop-in to return Elias's notes had spiraled into something else entirely.
His sisters were on a mission.
"You're going," Lena, the second oldest, declared, arms folded across her chest.
"There's no debate," said Sasha, flinging open the mirrored closet in the hallway. "You have to go to prom."
"I can't," Lyra said quickly, holding her arms close to her sides.
The girls paused.
"Why not?" asked Mira, voice gentle.
"Because I'm not like you. I don't belong there."
But they didn't buy it. By lunch, they had her cornered in the living room, fabric samples in one sister's hand, a curling wand in another's.
Elias's mother entered with a tray of lemonade and set it down with a knowing smile.
"I heard there's a prom conspiracy underfoot."
"Mom," Lena whined, "Tell her she has to go."
"She should go," his mom said matter-of-factly. "And we'll help her look amazing. That's what we do."
"No," Lyra said. "I can't wear a dress. I can't."
Something in her voice made them pause. Her shoulders curled inward, a reflex. Her arms stayed glued to her torso.
They didn't ask why.
But Elias's mom placed a hand on her shoulder, light as a feather. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But if you ever do want to go, we'll make sure you feel safe and beautiful."
They let her be for a few hours. Let her study quietly with Elias in the sunlit library room.
But by evening, it started again.
"You know Elias isn't going unless you go," Sasha whispered while passing her a bowl of popcorn.
"He won't say it," Mira added, "but he's just waiting on you."
Lyra shook her head. "He didn't ask me."
"He's Elias," Lena grinned. "He doesn't know how to ask things like that."
It was after dinner, long after sunset, that the softest voice spoke.
A tiny boy in footie pajamas stood in the hallway, holding a stuffed dragon by the tail.
"You don't want to go with me?" he asked.
Lyra blinked. "What?"
The boy pouted. "Everyone has someone to go with. Elias said you were nice. And that you're smart. So I wanted to go with you."
Her heart cracked clean in half.
She knelt down and touched his soft curls. "You're too young for prom, little one."
He sniffled. "Then Elias can go with you. But you have to go."
She laughed softly. A sound that felt foreign. Warm.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. I'll go."
---
The walk home felt heavier than usual.
She thought of the closet full of gowns. The light in Elias's mother's eyes. The sisters who touched her hair like it wasn't broken. The small boy who believed she could make everything better.
Maybe, she thought, maybe he won't be mad. Maybe her uncle would be glad to see her trying. Maybe he'd give her money for a dress. Not something fancy. Just something that fit.
She even imagined herself telling him calmly. Strongly. I need this. It's one night.
But when she opened the door, hope died in a heartbeat.
The living room was dark. Only the flicker of the TV cast light across the stained walls. Her uncle sat slumped in his chair, the bottle half-empty in one hand.
"Where were you?" he slurred.
"Elias's house," she said, too honest. "Studying. They invited me to prom."
He laughed, a slow, ugly sound. "Prom."
She swallowed. "I thought… maybe you could help. Just a little money. For a dress."
He stood up.
Her breath caught.
He grabbed the belt from the coat rack. Didn't even speak. Just struck.
Again. And again.
She bit her lip until it bled to keep from screaming.
She didn't cry until he fell back into his chair and the silence returned.
She crawled to her room, hands shaking, dress dreams shattered.
Her body hurt.
But her heart—her heart burned.
Outside, the moon turned her bruises silver.
And something inside her whispered:
This ends soon.