Chapter 1: The Bonds That Break

In my last life, Aubrey and I spent decades fighting for the same man—our so-called big brother. Loyalty ran deep in our small American town, but it couldn’t save us from betrayal.

Those years blurred together—church picnics on sunburnt lawns, late-night stakeouts in Pastor Joe’s pickup, and backyard barbecues that stretched until the lightning bugs came out. Aubrey was always the wild card—never followed orders, always found a way to break the rules. The kind of bonds you only get from late-night stakeouts and backyard barbecues felt unbreakable—until the day everything shattered.

Aubrey would skip out on chores, spend her allowance at the thrift store, and act like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

I used to watch her strut into Sunday service in some thrifted dress and pastel sneakers, batting her eyelashes at anyone who’d look. The church basement always smelled like coffee and lemon bars, the pews creaked with every restless kid, and Aubrey? She’d duck training with Pastor Joe to curl her hair or paint her nails, grinning under that sugar-sweet smile, but sharp as broken glass when she wanted to be.

But when our senior brother Caleb teamed up with a dark cult and tore our community apart, Aubrey did the unthinkable: she ruined her own face, disguised herself as me, and bought us a sliver of hope.

The night it happened, the world went silent except for the ringing in my ears. The girl who never skipped a chance to fuss over her looks took a knife to her own cheek and stepped into the fire for us all. In that moment, I learned what real courage looked like. She bought us time—enough for a handful to escape, enough to keep hope alive.

She never backed down, not even at the bitter end.

I still remember the harsh porch lights on her battered face, the way she stared down the monsters in our own backyard. Not once did she beg for mercy.

Now, back in this life, Aubrey fixes me with her signature syrupy sarcasm:

"Whoa, nice charm, Lillian. Think I could borrow it, or is it glued to your hand?"

Her tone drips with fake innocence, her eyes flickering with mischief. The kitchen clock ticks behind us, cicadas gearing up outside. It’s almost like we’re back at the beginning, but this time, I’m not playing it safe.

Without a word, I hand her the charm.

My hand shook a little as I unclipped it—funny, after everything, this tiny gesture scared me more than any demon. The memory of what she did—the price she paid—burns in my chest. If this is how I make it up to her, so be it.

Aubrey’s eyes narrow, suspicious, as she studies the sword charm I’m offering.

She always has a way of turning even the tiniest moment into a showdown. Perched on the battered steps of the community center, she shoots me a look like she’s checking if I spiked the punch. The late summer air smells like cut grass and someone grilling burgers two blocks over.

Today, Caleb and I just got back from a demon-hunting mission outside Maple Heights.

We’re still covered in road dust, boots thunking on the porch, bringing with us that sharp, electric scent of sweat and ozone that always follows a close call. The others swap stories, tend bruises, but the air is tight with things unsaid.

Aubrey just noticed my sword charm looked better than the one Caleb gave her, so—naturally—she wants to stir up trouble.

She twirls her old charm, smirking, eyes darting from me to Caleb and back. Never lets things settle, always prodding until someone snaps.

But she didn’t expect me—the big sister who usually ignored her—to give in so easily today.

For once, I don’t rise to her bait. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the ghosts only I can see. I just unclasp the charm and drop it in her palm.

"Are you really giving it to me?" she asks, her voice a weird mix of hope and disbelief, lips twitching up at the corners. She’s waiting for the punchline, sure I’ll snatch it back.

I meet her gaze. "I really am."

No tremor, just quiet finality. Confusion flickers behind her eyes.

A sly glint flashes. Afraid I’ll change my mind, Aubrey snatches the charm quick, tucking it away like I might yank it back.

Watching her so lively, my heart aches. She’s always most alive when plotting something. Maybe that’s why I missed her, even after all the petty fights.

"Whatever my little sister wants, big sister will give you."

The words come out clumsy, but I mean them. Guilt or gratitude—she deserves more than I ever gave.

Aubrey’s brow furrows. Then she sneers: "Did you get possessed or something? Where’s the real Lillian? Dead?"

She wrinkles her nose, half-joking, half-serious. In this town, that kind of talk gets you a side-eye and a lecture.

She didn’t know I really had died once.

Not just me, but the whole community—at Caleb’s hand.

And the one who suffered most was Aubrey.