Chrome’s winter came with a deadly chill.

Mira wandered from her house bundled in sweaters and jackets enough to nearly double her size, boots crunching in iced over snow. It was late outside—early morning to some—illuminated only by the dying street lamps and the multicolored lanterns from the Light Festival. Those would be coming down soon, though. The lanterns only stayed for a few weeks and they were reaching the end of the festivities. Soon, all her peers would be returning for their last semester.

Mira would not be.

She’d been more or less heartbroken to be on the receiving end of a phone call from the school’s headmistress, requiring a meeting with her to discuss the “more than unsightly” behavior of both her and her peers. Those were the words Headmistress Leia had used over the phone, yet was surprisingly understanding when she hobbled her way to the building with her father a few days ago to discuss a proper punishment: four months suspension with tutoring hours.

It was far better than the alternative sentence of having all her friends serve. Mira was more than willing to take the punishment and Headmistress Leia was lenient enough to compromise.

Seeing as she had no desire to keep to her school schedule, Mira woke up her father to inform him of her nighttime walk, then set out after he gave her a variety of warnings cautioning her to be careful with her foot.

Mindful of her steps, Mira took baby steps down the road, specifically choosing paths that weren’t as littered with snow. Multicolored lights shone down on Chrome’s streets like a prismatic star, a small bit of joy in a dreary winter.

It was a shame she was on her own to indulge in the lights.

Not for long, Mira thought with a bit of giddy glee as she crossed the threshold into Southern Chrome.

Her pace kicked up as the Cooper house came into view. The lights were off, but not because its occupants were one town away. This time it was because the occupants were sleeping. Safely.

There were no lanterns hung up on their assigned line. Amelia hadn’t the chance to purchase nor hang the lights this year and, when she and Magic returned from Grimmshollow, gave a simple shrug of her shoulders and said, “Maybe we’ll do something bright next year. Pick two colors. Throw the neighbors for a loop to make up for this year.”

It was enough to make her and Benji chuckle. Even Amelia’s stoic son managed a smile at it.

Mira shuffled the plants on the front porch, digging through the soil of the smallest one until cool metal grazed her skin. She unearthed the front door key and shuffled the potted plant over to the left side of the door. Magic would yell at her for this later, but they had already established the plan in advance. If he’d fallen asleep instead of staying up—like they’d discussed—then that was his problem, not hers.

Crouched in front of the lock, Mira wriggled the key into the slot and turned, finding the satisfying click of the lock and grinning as the door opened for her. The inside of the house was pitch black. Static took up the majority of Mira’s vision to fill in the gaps in the absence of light. And it would have been completely dark if not for the small candle on the table, partially illuminating the small pocket of space that made up the kitchen. Its tiny flame waved to her from the other side of the house and she resisted the urge to give it a small little finger wave.

With the door locked behind her, Mira blindly navigated the first floor of the house towards the couches. The sound of someone breathing became immediately clear and, once Mira’s eyes adjusted, she was able to make out a shape on the couch. The longer she stared, the clearer Magic became, head resting on the arm of the couch, a heavy blanket tossed over him.

Mira poked him. “Magic,” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

She prodded him again, this time making sure there was enough force to make him move a little. “Magic,” she said again, raising her voice just a little so as not to wake Amelia upstairs. “Magic, get up.”

Her brother made a small noise, then took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “Huh?”

“We were gonna look at the Festival lights, remember? We said we were gonna go really late because there’d be no one around to give you trouble.”

“Now?” Magic asked, voice hoarse. He patted his chest as though he were looking for something. It occurred to Mira then that he couldn’t see. “It’s early.”

“It’s only early if you’ve gone to bed. It’s late for me; I haven’t slept yet.” Mira took a blind look around the living room. “Where are your glasses, Mags?”

“Table probably. Small table, not the big one.”

“I’ll go grab them. In the meantime, start getting up, sleepyhead.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She couldn’t see Magic in the dark, but based on the silence, she imagined he nodded in response to her offer. Mira blindly wandered around with her hands out to look for a table while the couch cushions rustled with the movement of Magic sitting up. Her knee gently bumped the side of a small night table and with a small sweep of her hands, swiped the glasses from it and returned to the sound of velcro ripping in small bursts.

Mira tapped Magic’s shoulder and handed the eyewear over. “I can wrap the other crutch if it’s easier that way.”

“Thanks,” Magic replied, sounding a little more lucid as Mira adjusted the wrist bands on both of his wrists. She rapped her nails on one of the metal rods to signal she was done and immediately Magic pushed himself off the couch.

The two of them trudged out of the house. Mira kept behind so that she could assist if need be, but Magic had gotten quite good at using the crutches provided to him by the Grimmshollow clinic to help him regain balance in his legs. After his nearly two and a half long week stint there, the nurses were adamant that the contraptions would help with the rebuilding of strength. Mira wasn’t exactly sure; she wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. If they thought it would help Magic, then Mira had faith that it would.

They walked and wobbled in relative silence towards the watchtower. Magic had his reservations about it considering the history that tainted their memories of it. Mira, though, was convinced that looking at all the pretty lights hanging up would be enough to clear the stain that was the past December. Or, if not all of it, then some of it.

Magic paused a little past the border into Central Chrome, marked by the fork in the road making up the plaza with the watchtower stationed in the middle of it. His eyes drifted up at the blue and green lanterns above him.

“You okay?” Mira asked, coming up to stand beside him. In the time he’d spent getting comfortable with the crutches, attached to his wrists with straps, his posture had improved in leaps and bounds—Tammi had been very clear that good posture would prevent him from falling over or losing balance.

From where she stood, Magic was a good head and a half taller than her now. The realization made her frown.

“Mom and I were thinking about doing blue this year,” he said, still looking up. “The LeMonts said they were going to do yellow ones this year and we thought the blue would look really nice with it.” He paused, digging one of the crutch ends into the snow. “They changed it to orange without telling us. Mom only found out because she saw the husband buying the foils before…y’know.” He gestured towards himself, to the poles attached to his wrists. “Everything went to shit.”

“That was rude of them,” Mira said, motioning for him to follow.

He only shrugged, but waddled after her in the snow. “Doesn’t matter too much now since we didn’t put up lights this year. Still sucks though that the lights wouldn’t have looked as pretty.”

“Dad was thinking about doing red this year. We did yellow last year, so he was considering something more…showstopping. In the end, he decided not to put the lights up, either.”

“Why not?”

“Too much going on.” Mira seated herself on the ground, thankful for her layers as the snow crunched beneath her. She patted the spot beside her and, though Magic rolled his eyes, he slid down to the ground using the rickety watchtower as support, kicking out his legs and resting the crutches on top of them. “We both thought it would be fine to skip a year. Next year we’ll do something colorful.”

“If only your house was across from mine,” Magic said. “We could have one hell of a rainbow with these lanterns.”

“If only,” Mira echoed, tipping her head back. She closed her eyes, basking in the lights as though they were tiny suns. She wished Chrome could be like this all the time. The Light Festival was one of the few times of the year where Chromians actually came together instead of passing each other on the street without saying hello. Neighbors who normally never spoke would collaborate on the color of the lanterns, figure out which would make the streets the prettiest. Which colors aligned well with which and what houses were going to get them.

The most unity Chrome ever had was in this festival. Two weeks of harmony before everyone inevitably went their separate ways. Well, that is unless you had connections. Then people cared and would bother to make the effort. The same old song and dance every year.

Again, the gears in Mira’s head turned. She recalled the faint inkling of an idea she’d had a little under a week ago, the small thought that filled her with an endless amount of energy.

If Chrome and its citizens cared this little for people like them, people who broke their backs to give the city what it needed and people who stuck their necks out for the miners keeping the economy afloat, why stay? What did they owe this town?

Nothing, Mira thought. Realistically, they were the ones that needed reparations, payment for the damages caused in their lives. The gaping holes that not even bandages could cover.

She didn’t exactly have a plan. But maybe the idea was all she needed.

“Magic,” she said, opening one eye to glance at him, “do you like it at home?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “At home? Of course I do.”

“No, not home-home. Here. The town.”

“Short answer? No. Long answer? My mom and I deserve better than to be treated like the mud on the bottom of someone’s shoe. I deserve better than to have been tormented by teachers and students alike.” His eyes narrowed, expression darkening. “I deserve better than to be stared at like a wild animal seen in the forest for the first time.”

“One day,” Mira said, “when we’re both old enough, would you want to explore with me? Leave the town? See what’s out there? Or who’s out there?”

“You know you turn twenty before I do, right?” Magic pointed out.

“I know. I’m willing to suffer a good four years until then. Besides, who would tell me that my ideas are shit if not you?”

Magic rolled his eyes. “Fair enough. You’d probably do something stupid like get lost in another town.”

Mira tsked at him, grinning. “Such little faith in me, Mags.”

“Am I wrong though?”

“No, probably not.”

Magic gave a curt, knowing nod. He tipped his head up, staring beyond the multicolored lights towards the twinkling stars in the sky. She watched his eyes move back and forth as if considering the offer, asking the stars for answers. He wrung his hands, limited in motion as they were, and nodded once. “If you’re willing to wait until my twentieth,” he said, “I’ll go with you. Because I don’t want to lay my life down for a place that won’t respect me. Living or dead.”

With a smile, Mira held out a closed fist, bumping it into Magic’s. He recoiled, but mirrored her grin, if not a little sheepishly and embarrassed from his flinch. “Deal.”

The two of them said nothing more than that, existing under the rainbow of lights in the quiet of the sleepy town filled with resolve.