December 16th called for a forecast of snow flurries and mourning.

Mira rose early, far before the arrival of the sun to linger in the dark, arms resting against the windowsill. She was awake to see the first makings of dawn. She was awake to watch the dull, gray clouds cast themselves in a drape along the baby blue sky.

She was awake to watch the snow flutter to the ground like flakes of powder to the ground, coating it in a thin layer of winter frost.

The season’s chill reared its head late this year. Normally, the worst part of winter arrived in late November, but it had taken all the way until December for the first snow of the season. It also would have caused Mira a distinct amount of joy had the sprinkles of snow been on any other day of the week.

With today being the seventh anniversary of the worst mining collapse in Chrome’s history, Mira thought that the forecast was less a joyful thing than it was some kind of dark omen, a harbinger of grief.

By the time she’d gotten herself prepared and ready for the afternoon, Benji had turned the bakery’s sign to “Closed,” and was seated at one of their small tables, his bicolored eyes trained on the clock above the brick oven. He was still dressed in his work clothes, stone still and frozen in place with the only evidence that he wasn't a statue being the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. Based on the pensive frown on his face, he looked like he was regretting every decision he’d made after waking up this morning.

Mira couldn’t exactly blame him; Uncle Dot’s death anniversary was in approximately a few days from now and Benji always made it a habit to visit both his deceased brother and best friend after their mining collapse dates.

But after what Mira saw on Tuesday, they couldn’t leave Magic and Amelia to suffer the way they were. And, though he’d made it clear that he wasn’t pleased with being volunteered, Benji eventually relented and agreed to go.

Mira leaned out from the staircase, tapping the wall with her nails. Benji started and got out of his chair. “Morning, Bella,” he said, walking past her and up the steps.

“It’s noon, Dad,” she said, one pace behind him.

“Already?”

“You were staring at the clock. I thought you knew that.”

“Staring doesn’t mean looking, Mira. I might have been staring in its general direction, but I wasn’t paying attention to it.”

“So what were you paying attention to?”

Benji didn’t answer the question. He went straight into his room with a sluggish weight in his steps that made Mira think he was walking through a bog. The door closed and, from the inside, Mira heard him sigh noisily, the sound of the bed creaking as though he’d just laid down on it.

Mira seated herself on the hallway floor, hugging her knees to her chest. She felt like a child again, stationed like a sentry in front of her father’s door. The only thing missing from this equation was the walkie in her hands that she treated like a lifeline, the only thing capable in this house that could get her father to safety if he needed it.

Without looking at her dad, Mira found it easier to cross the fragile sheet of ice that was Benji’s streak of sobriety. “You’re alright, right, Dad?”

“Yeah, Bella,” he replied, talking over the sound of shuffling fabrics. “I closed up shop a little bit early today—no one was coming in anyway and I don’t see the point in—”

“That wasn’t what I asked you. I asked if you were okay, Dad.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a sharp indrawn breath.

Mira felt every muscle in her body tense, the air catch in her chest. Before she could stop herself, she eyed the forbidden black box in their living space and bit so hard into her lip that she drew blood. Tell me that stays closed, she thought. Tell me that you won’t look for it.

“Do you want the honest answer?” asked Benji finally. “Or the sugarcoated one?”

“Honest answer,” Mira replied. “Don’t lie to me.”

“The honest answer is no. Not really. I’m not … fond of these dates. If I’m going to continue being honest, I really don’t want to go.” Another pause. Another hesitation. “But,” he went on, “it doesn’t change the fact that we … probably should. Especially this year.”

Soon after, the door opened. Mira looked up to find her father dressed in mostly grays with a darker suit jacket that sat nicely on his shoulders. She pushed to her feet, catching her own reflection in Benji’s glasses and paused.

Mira hadn’t realized how deeply she’d been frowning, her mirror image disappearing the minute Benji turned and walked down the hallway.

“Remember,” he said, one step ahead of her on the staircase, “Light Festival prep is this week this year. They’re letting the miners out one hour early today.”

“Because the hour off makes such a difference,” Mira muttered with a scowl.

“The mining captain seems to think so. Extra time is extra time. And less he has to pay his workers for.”

Benji opened the door and Mira scampered into the flurries, turning to face her father as he locked up. “The pay doesn’t even matter, though. What’s an extra hour to him?”

“I don’t know, Bella. Neither Dot nor Bennett talked much about it, so I …” Benji paused, taking in his surroundings as if he’d never seen snow before. His footsteps became more cautious and he gave his suit a nervous tug before walking beside her with his hand at her back. “I didn’t know it was snowing.”

“It’s been snowing all morning, Dad,” she said.

“I imagine this … won’t be good.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Amelia said there was ash everywhere the day of the collapse,” Benji said, his gaze towards the ground. Mira leaned into his side and his supportive hand went to her furthest shoulder, hugging her tight. “According to her, it’s why ash and smoke are such bad triggers for Magic. And, anything that resembles it.”

Mira frowned. Back in the bathroom stall, she recalled Magic saying something about smoke or smells, and she’d chickened out of asking Amelia about it every time she’d seen the seamstress at the house. “How do you know?”

“Amelia called me on Wednesday morning to ask if it was true that the two of us were accompanying them to the mining outpost for the anniversary and I knew by the tone of her voice that she was struggling. Family deaths are hard because you have to keep yourself together for the kids, but the adults don’t really … get the chance to grieve.”

Benji didn’t have to say it, but Mira knew he was talking, not only about Bennett and Uncle Dot, but her mother, too.

“I went to the house while you were at school just to drop some things off and give her that chance while Magic was still asleep,” continued her father. “Granted, he woke up a little while later and I helped her give him some medication she had left over but … It was a vapor-based medication for his lungs he had to breathe in and he wasn’t having any of it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him panic that much before over something so small.”

“Count yourself lucky that it’s only happened once,” Mira said.

Benji took a breath, waving at a passerby on the street who shouted their hello from near the watchtower. “After we finally got him calm enough to tolerate some of it and take a nap, Amelia told me about part of what happened during the collapse—it’s still a rough subject for her, but she seems to handle the recollection of it better than she did a few years ago.”

Mira had nothing else to say to her father after that, so she made only a small noise in her throat to show that she understood and continued her walk through town in silence.

The trek from the watchtower to Magic’s house was the most irritating fifteen minutes of silence Mira had ever endured.

No, that was probably a lie. Mira had survived worse strings of quiet, but this definitely ranked high in her list of ones that rubbed her the wrong way.

The snow had thickened during their walk, presenting less like diamond dust and more like wads and clumps of frozen rain that sat heavily on any surface it landed on—Mira’s jacket and face included. It wasn’t a gentle coating of snow and she felt strangely smothered by it. Normally she wouldn’t have minded the feeling, but today Mira wished to be free of it.

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The Cooper house was a bright array of lights in the gloomy gray of the streets. Candlelight flickered from the top floor windows and in the long ones on the first floor. Mira went ahead of her father, his slowing footsteps not lost on her, and waited for him to be beside her before knocking on the door with her usual.

Unidentifiable chatter erupted from behind the wooden walls of the house, accompanied by what sounded like the obnoxious slam of a closed door. Something thudded on the main level and Mira gave her father a worried glance. His face was pensive and straight.

When the door unlocked and opened a good few minutes later, Mira’s brain stopped working for nearly a half a second.

Magic greeted them in the doorway; somehow, he managed to look worse than when Mira saw him on Tuesday. He was dressed in gray, similar to Benji, and the clothes seemed to fit him for once. They weren’t overly baggy, but they were still big on him. Because of the way the clothes settled on him, Mira would’ve pinned Magic for being a little healthier.

That is, if it weren’t for the fact that the dark spots under his eyes were slightly sunken, and not even leaning against the doorframe could keep him upright. He was just as sickly and fatigued, barely able to stand.

Mira immediately grabbed him from under the arms and moved him to the side of the door. He allowed everything and sank to the floor unprompted. The weakness in his limbs was obvious and she didn’t know how they were going to manage getting Magic to the mining outpost, let alone out his front door.

“I just got up,” Magic said, wheezing. “Don’t mind me.”

“You look pretty well dressed for someone who just woke up,” Mira said dully.

“I was up earlier. Mom got me dressed. I fell back asleep after.”

“Where’s your mom, kid?” Benji asked, placing a tentative hand against Magic’s forehead; he put up no fight despite his visible distress.

“Upstairs. Looking for a locket.”

“Does she know you’re down here?”

“I slept down here. So did she.”

Mira squinted. “Why?”

Even with his ailment, she could see the disdain in the crease between his brows that became more apparent as he spoke. “She’s worried. Again. She thought being down here would be easier.”

“Easier for what, Magic?” Benji asked, one hand still against Magic’s face. “Your fever still hasn’t gone down, y’know that, right?”

“That was why she was worried. But being here makes it easy to get places. Mom didn’t want me walking down the steps.”

Mira’s brows shot up. “After watching you struggle and nearly faint on them, I can see why.”

Benji sighed heavily. He gave his daughter a pat on the shoulder and pushed to his feet. “Stay here with him,” he said. “I’m gonna go see what the hell is taking Amelia so long. I might have an idea of what she’s looking for—you said it was a locket?”

Magic nodded and, despite his attempts to hide it, Mira saw the look on her father’s face, a comingling of recognition and nostalgia. “I know what she’s looking for. I helped Bennett pick that locket out for her. I’ll be back.”

Mira gave her father’s hand a brief squeeze, locking eyes with him before he turned to go up the steps. He called for Amelia, whose voice, though muffled, rang back in response with a shrillness to it that could have been enough to crack a mirror.

She decided then that talking to the seamstress at all today was probably a bad choice.

Magic grimaced and pushed against the wall he was leaning on, feet sprawled out to help him get his footing on the tile floor. “I want to go.”

“My dad said to wait here—” Mira started.

“I don’t want to be here. I can’t listen to it anymore.”

There was no point in arguing with him to stay where he was or convince him otherwise. Magic had his reasons and she imagined Amelia’s own grief was an uncomfortable thing for him to be around. Especially since he lacked the human art of comforting someone else with the right words.

She helped him to his feet and left him leaning against the wall to grab his heavy coat—which he so feebly directed her to—and his completed scarf, which was neatly wrapped in cute ribbons of blue and green, a bow of silver attached to the fabrics.

Mira supported her brother while he worked to put his jacket on and, sewn scarf in hand, Magic shuffled out the front door with her assistance and sat beside her on the front steps. He pressed the scarf tenderly to his lips, but he gripped the object like a lifeline as though he deeply feared to lose it.

As if it wasn’t put together with that intention in mind.

With his mouth covered by the fabrics, Magic mumbled to himself in a muffled language Mira couldn’t understand. She cast a small glance in his direction before reaching out to grab his coat sleeve, the closest she’d ever get to holding onto his hand to reassure him. The sudden motion seemed to startle him because he jumped a little in his seat. Soon after the shock faded, Magic rested his head against her shoulder in silent solidarity.

Through the muffled screams and chatter from inside the house one floor up, Magic spoke into the wind that swept over the two of them, brushing the snow along with it. “Do you think I should say something? When we’re there?”

In his depressive haze, he seemed to not notice the flurries, which Mira strangely found herself grateful for. “Up to you. What do you usually do when you go with Amelia?”

“We sit there together. We don’t really talk—I don’t, anyway. Mom talks. I just listen.”

“Then you don’t have to if you don’t want to. That’s your choice. You can figure that out on the way there. Can I ask you another question, though?”

She could hear his squint based on the tone of his voice. The scarf fell from his mouth. “What?”

“Why aren’t you using your headphones?”

Magic took a deep breath and rubbed at his ears where his headphones—his beautiful, life-saving headphones—would have been. “Because I’ve done this before with Mom without them. I can do it now. And I don’t want to rely on them for everything because once we give them back—”

“You don’t have to give them back, Magic.”

“Yes, we do, Mira. Mom called them after we couldn’t find the original pair and they said they’ll fine us if we keep the spare.”

Mira straightened. “How much is the fine?”

“It doesn’t—”

“Answer my question, Magic; how much is the fine?”

His knuckles blanched and the scarf returned to muffle his words. Even through that, Mira winced at the price. “Twenty-five thousand zirca.”

Had it been less, she would have offered her father’s savings to help them cover the cost. But even that amount of money was beyond her. Mira let go of his jacket sleeve and swept off snow from her jeans. “That’s so fucked.”

Magic nodded and sat up straight, too. The wind ruffled his long hair making the strands look like a cap tassel. “I know. That’s the other reason why I don’t want to bring them out. I don’t want anything happening to them.” Then, he chuckled and Mira wondered if he was really just that sick or if he’d actually thought of something funny. As if to confirm her thoughts, he went on. “Plus,” he said, “it doesn’t match the style. I wanted to dress nice. The headphones would’ve ruined it. Mom told me this morning that Dad’s taste in fashion must have rubbed off on me in some way when I picked my outfit from what she brought down to me … She went upstairs to look for the locket after that. I fell back asleep so I wouldn’t have to hear her cry.”

Mira kept her mouth shut. She didn’t need to guess at what had gotten Amelia so emotional that she had to physically remove herself from the room. Even now, sickly and fragile as he was, Magic looked so much like his father. The only thing setting him apart right now was the frown on his face and the unsettling sharpness of his bones from beneath his skin.

Heavens, she didn’t know how he was still functioning.

Before Mira could even consider a reply back to him, the door behind them opened. They turned to find Amelia and Benji stepping out of the house and Mira felt her jaw drop a little.

She’d always considered Amelia to be one of the most dainty and elegant women she knew in life. Petite, with her long black hair typically braided to be out of her face while she sewed, Amelia always looked very well put together.

Except for today.

Today, Mira saw a woman so broken, so stressed, that it was taking its toll on her. Had Magic not told her that his mother had spent the majority of the day in tears, she would have pieced that bit together just by looking at Amelia. Her eyes were puffy and red, bloodshot from the excessive tears, though her skin showed no traces of it. Mira didn’t know how she’d missed it with all her days spent at Magic’s house, but Amelia, too, shared the same dull circles under her eyes as her son.

Benji looked a little worse for wear, too, but not nearly as bad as Amelia. His eyes had gotten a little red and puffy—as though he’d also been crying—and kept a steady stare at his shoes as though he couldn’t figure out what to do with himself. Seeing them side by side made Mira’s nerves buzz with uncertainty. This would not go well. She felt that in her bones.

Amelia patted Magic on the shoulder; he flinched, but did not move away. “Get your things together,” she said, a distinct sternness in her voice that even Mira felt strangely intimidated by. “We’re gonna start walking.”

Mira nodded, but Magic looked distraught at the idea and, as their parents walked ahead and into the snow, she heard her brother’s breathing waver. It wasn’t until the adults had disappeared that she heard Magic mumble to himself. This time she recognized the words—not by their meaning, but they were the same words Magic had sung to himself, delirious and half-conscious on his steps at home.

Like a child holding a blanket, this was the thing he clung to for some semblance of calm.

“Magic,” Mira said, once he’d gone through the same phrases three times in an attempt to stall for time, “are you ready to go?”

“No,” he replied, the scarf up against his face, clutching onto it for dear life. Not that Mira could blame him; Magic had put his blood, sweat and tears—literally—into this scarf. She would’ve found it odd if he didn’t feel so attached to it. “I don’t … I’m …”

Mira pushed to her feet, a hand extended in her brother’s direction. He only stared at the offer in silence, his eyes slowly drifting up to find hers. And in those eyes, she saw it: the fear, the uncertainty, the regret.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” she said. “So will my dad. So will Amelia. We’ll walk at our own pace. Whenever you’re ready.”

Magic said nothing. But he did take a deciding breath and grab Mira’s jacket sleeve, hoisting himself up to stand beside her.

They walked in tandem, bracing the winter storm together.