Phoebe stood in front of her vanity mirror, carefully touching up her makeup. The soft hum of the room seemed to echo in the background, broken only by the faint clink of her makeup brushes. She swiped the last layer of gloss onto her lips when she heard a gentle knock on her door. Without looking up, she called out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Freya stepped inside, her steps light but deliberate. She rubbed her forehead as if the motion could somehow ease whatever was bothering her. "Hey," Freya said, her voice soft yet carrying a certain tiredness Phoebe hadn't missed. "Dahlia and Airam are gonna carpool with us today."

Phoebe glanced up, raising an eyebrow. She studied her older sister for a moment, her sharp eyes noticing the way Freya’s shoulders sagged a little more than usual. "You okay?" Phoebe asked, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

Freya offered a small, strained smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, I’m fine," she replied, but there was an edge of weariness in her voice that Phoebe didn’t miss. "Just... got a little headache."

Phoebe's gaze lingered on her sister as she leaned against the edge of the vanity, her fingers running lightly over the smooth surface of the countertop. "Alright," Phoebe said softly, the hint of concern still in her voice. "Just let me know when you're ready."

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Freya nodded and turned to leave, but paused by the door, casting a quick glance back at Phoebe. There was something unspoken there, something that hung between them, but Freya quickly masked it with a tight-lipped smile. "See you out there," she said, her voice more distant now.

Phoebe watched her sister exit, her head still tilted, brow furrowed. Freya had been acting strange lately—distant and off in ways Phoebe couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t like her to be so withdrawn. The thought gnawed at her, but she forced it aside. She had enough on her plate, and for now, she needed to focus. Turning back to the mirror, Phoebe finished the last touches on her makeup, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in her chest. Phoebe ran the brush through her dark hair, the red streaks catching the light as she worked the strands into a tight ponytail. The rhythmic motion of the brush seemed to steady her, but her mind wandered—back to Irene. She hadn’t heard from her in days, and the silence between them was starting to feel heavier than she expected. Phoebe couldn't shake the nagging ache in her chest, the way everything had felt so broken between them the last time they spoke. She longed for the chance to apologize, to clear the air, to make things right somehow. She thought about Irene’s piercing gaze, the way her emotions had swirled that day—angry, hurt, confused. Phoebe couldn’t help but wonder how Irene was holding up, whether she was still angry or if maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to heal what had been damaged. She silently hoped she'd get the chance to talk to her at school, to say the words she’d been holding back for so long.