#meanwhile aventurine: see that? that's one of the higher-end blades in the ipc's inventory

[yuesya]

The darkened screen lights up with a new incoming message.

Sunday immediately lunges for his cell phone, ignoring the scattered sheets of promptly-abandoned paperwork that go flying everywhere as they are knocked over in his haste.

Robin: I found her! Thank you for your help in narrowing down the facilities, brother.

An exhale of relief escapes his lips, and Sunday finds himself slumping down slightly in his seat. The heavy, constricting feeling on his chest finally lightens at the knowledge that his youngest little sister is safe.

Even though he knows that Lyra can take care of herself when it comes to physical confrontations, that does not mean Sunday is happy when his sister –either one of his beloved little sisters– is in danger. Especially not when she does so deliberately.

It also does not help that Lyra knowingly allowed herself to be kidnapped by slavers, because it reminds him of a certain time in their childhood.

A bloodstained warehouse. Dismembered corpses littering the ground. Lyra, blank-eyed and unaffected, standing in the center of it all –and oh, how Sunday’s heart ached for his dear little sister. How fiercely glad he’d been, to find her still alive and well amid the carnage.

Sunday closes his eyes for a brief moment to compose himself, then responds to Robin’s message.

I’m glad I was able to help, he tells his sweet sister. Is everything alright over there?

He sets his phone down to the side of his desk, and goes about the room regathering his paperwork. Given the tone of Robin’s words, the situation was most likely under control. And… all the way in Penacony whilst his sisters were elsewhere among the stars, there was only so much that Sunday could do.

Not for the first time, a sudden jittery, uneasy sensation flutters in his chest. Separation anxiety, was what others had jokingly named this feeling when Sunday described it to them, but–

His phone screen lights up again. Sunday hurries back to his desk, setting down the papers and picking up his pen on autopilot even as his eyes are drawn to his phone.

Robin: All good! Lyra finished things by the time I got here.

Robin: There’s actually very little collateral damage this time, too.

Robin: She also found all of the missing children!

Robin: Everyone is accounted for. [Smiley face]

Robin: [New Attachment: Image file]

Sunday pauses.

… The picture that Robin sent him is clearly one that she’d just taken on her phone. In the frame, there are several children curled up against each other in a small pile, some of whom are asleep, while others hold markers in their hands with mischievous expressions. But more importantly, beside the children–

Lyra.

Soft, silvery hair, and feathery wings. Lyra’s appearance is not elegant or enchanting the way Robin’s is, but no one –not even the other Halovians who incessantly wagged those tongues that they did not deserve to keep– would deny that she was lovely in her own right. His little sister’s beauty is one that’s precious and darling, which has its own charm.

There is a blond-haired young man leaning quite closely over Lyra’s shoulder, his arm reaching over her body to point at something that she’s holding.

Sunday’s eyes narrow at the ostentatious peacock–

Who is he, he means to type to Robin. But as he lifts his hand, Sunday suddenly realizes that he’s dripping ink on the table.

Slowly, he unfurls his fingers. Fingers that he does not recall tightening into a fist in the first place.

Pieces of a broken pen fall one by one onto the polished desk with a clattering sound, ink seeping deep into the wooden grains as dark droplets continue to dribble down from Sunday’s hand.