April stood at my porch, staring at the doorbell. The winter sun was already low, gold light sliding across the snow and the sharp blue shadows of bare trees. It was a little after five, the kind of cold that clings to your lungs when you breathe. The quiet made everything feel heavier. Maybe that was because I was still linked to April — her nerves were bleeding into me.
“I don’t think we thought this through,” April said. “It’s almost five. Your mom’s probably home from work.”
Her eyes darted from the door to the street and back again. She looked for a reason to leave — a car passing, a sound, anything. Her thoughts buzzed like static in my head, and though I tried to block them, her anxiety kept leaking through. Her heartbeat quickened. Mine echoed it.
“You got this,” I told her. “My mom’s sweet. Like most moms.”
I tried to sound sure. I wasn’t.
“Master,” Oya said softly behind us, her arms folded. “I still think this is unwise.”
“Oya, you’ve been saying that since we left Anna’s,” I said. “You don’t trust me?”
“I trust your will,” she said, her eyes flickering like candlelight. “I don’t trust your calm. You’re still shaking inside, even if you can’t feel it.”
“I’m fine.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “You’ve been carrying the same thought since this morning. The same name.”
I froze. “What name?”
“Brenda.”
April turned toward me. Her voice dropped. “You keep mentioning her. Who is she?”
The question caught me harder than I expected. My throat tightened. I stared past April toward the street, where the last of the sunlight caught on the icicles lining the porch rail. The glint looked like blood for a second. My stomach twisted.
Oya stepped closer. “He has not told you about the cave,” she said quietly.
“Don’t,” I warned.
She didn’t stop. “He blames himself for something that wasn’t his fault.”
April looked between us. “What happened?”
I exhaled, the breath trembling on the way out. “Back when this all started—before I figured out the rules—there was a girl named Brenda. She was with me when everything went wrong.”
I paused, my voice scraping against the words. “We were trapped. Some… people—mages—attacked us. I tried to get her out, but I couldn’t move. My ankles were broken, my head was bleeding. I thought I could still fight, but—”
I looked down. “I ran. Or I tried to. I left her there.”
April’s face softened. “Lonnie…”
“I don’t even know if she’s alive. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face, the way she looked before I blacked out. I keep thinking—if I’d been stronger—if I’d figured this magic out sooner—”
“You would have died too,” Oya said. Her tone was sharp, but not cruel. “You are here now because you chose to survive. The shame is a chain you forged yourself, young master.”
April glanced at her, uneasy. “So that’s why you’re scared to face your mom?”
I didn’t answer. The cold was starting to hurt my hands, but I couldn’t feel the ground under my feet either. The in-between feeling was back — ghost weight, ghost guilt.
“Yeah,” I finally said. “I don’t want her to look at me and see someone who didn’t save the girl he should’ve.”
Oya’s gaze softened. “Then let her see the boy who’s trying to do better.”
I nodded once, mostly to convince myself. Then I phased my hand through the front door. “If you hear yelling,” I said, “run. Don’t wait for me.”
April’s breath clouded the air. “You really think it’ll go that bad?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I have to know she’s okay.”
From here, it transitions cleanly into the scene with his mother (starting “The house glowed softly…”), and the rest of your chapter stays intact — now with the Brenda revelation coming from emotion and guilt, not a third-party plot hook.