Phoebe and Freya walked side by side through the crisp air toward the botanic garden, their steps crunching softly against the gravel path. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken weight that Freya couldn’t ignore. She glanced at her younger sister, noticing the way Phoebe’s gaze seemed distant, her usual fiery energy dimmed.

“Hey,” Freya said gently, breaking the silence. “I heard about Irene.” Her voice was soft, laced with genuine concern. Freya wasn’t the type to pry, but she could see that something about the situation had shaken Phoebe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Phoebe replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Freya frowned. She knew her sister better than anyone, and this wasn’t like her. Phoebe was rarely quiet, especially when something bothered her. She always had something to say, always wore her emotions boldly on her sleeve. This silence? It was foreign.

“We can talk about it if you want,” Freya offered, her tone careful, her steps slowing to match Phoebe’s. She didn’t want to push, but she also didn’t want Phoebe to keep whatever was eating at her bottled up.

“Not right now,” Phoebe said, her voice tight. She kept walking, her arms crossed as if to shield herself from the conversation.

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Freya stayed quiet, sensing that Phoebe wasn’t ready, but her heart ached for her sister. Phoebe never shied away from fear—she confronted it head-on. To see her like this, so closed off, was unsettling.

Phoebe’s thoughts, however, were miles away. The memory of Irene whispering to herself in the bathroom stalls kept replaying in her mind, the hushed, fractured sentences sending a chill down her spine. Irene’s words had been too much like the stories she’d told her about her father—about the schizophrenia that had consumed him, the way he’d spoken to people who weren’t there. Phoebe could still remember the fear in Irene’s voice when she recounted how helpless she’d felt as a child, watching her father unravel.

And now, Phoebe was terrified that Irene was heading down the same path.

“I’m just scared for her,” Phoebe finally admitted, her voice barely audible.

Freya glanced at her, her expression softening. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Phoebe hesitated before nodding, her throat tightening. “Yeah. I do.”

Freya reached over and gently looped her arm through Phoebe’s, offering her silent support. “We’ll figure it out, Phoebs. Whatever’s going on with Irene, we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

Phoebe glanced at her sister, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Freya’s unwavering confidence was like a lifeline, grounding her in the midst of her spiraling thoughts. She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Okay,” she whispered.

As they continued toward the botanic garden, Phoebe felt a little less alone, knowing Freya was by her side.