A week had passed since Lilith's fever broke.

  Seven days of normalcy—or as close to normal as life in a Warhammer 40k hive city orphanage could get.

  Lilith was still adjusting to the changes within herself. The clarity. The calmness. The absence of that constant, gnawing anxiety that had colored every moment since she'd woken up in this universe.

  It was strange. Not bad, just... different.

  She found herself noticing things she'd never paid attention to before. Small things. Beautiful things, even.

  During afternoon recreation time, some of the younger children were drawing with colored chalk on pieces of scavenged slate. Lilith walked past them and stopped, her right eye drawn to the bright colors—vibrant reds, cheerful yellows, deep blues.

  The colors seemed almost to sing to her, each hue distinct and clear in a way they hadn't been before.

  Pretty, she thought absently, then caught herself.

  When did I start caring about pretty colors?

  Then she remembered.

  Eve had done the same thing when they first arrived at the orphanage. She'd stared at the stained glass in the chapel with wide-eyed wonder, her red eyes tracking every shift of light and color.

  Lilith had thought it odd at the time—why would someone be so fascinated by something so simple?

  Now she understood.

  When your world has been nothing but gray metal and dim lighting, bright colors become extraordinary.

  Maybe that's what Naic's gift really did, she mused. It didn't just clear the Warp corruption. It let me actually... experience things. Without the constant filter of fear and survival instinct.

  It was liberating. And slightly terrifying.

  Because part of her worried that this calmness would make her complacent. Would dull her edge. Would make her less prepared for the inevitable next disaster.

  But maybe that's okay, she thought. Maybe I don't need to be on high alert every second of every day. Maybe I can just... exist. At least for a little while.

  Her thoughts drifted to Brother Ha'ken.

  It had been a week since he'd left. A week since he'd promised to consult with his chapter and return.

  Will he come back? Or did he change his mind? What if the Salamanders decide we're too dangerous after all?

  The anxiety tried to creep back in, but Lilith consciously pushed it down.

  No. He gave his word. Salamanders are supposed to be honorable. If he said he'd return, he'll return.

  ...Probably.

  She also hadn't seen Sister Mercy in a week.

  That bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Sister Mercy had risked so much to save her—snuck out of the orphanage, traveled through dangerous hive streets, confronted a Space Marine. And now she was facing punishment for it.

  I hope she's okay.

  Lilith rounded a corner, lost in thought, and nearly collided with someone.

  "Careful, child."

  Sister Prudence stood before her, hands clasped, expression stern as always.

  "Sorry, Sister," Lilith said quickly, taking a step back.

  Sister Prudence studied her for a moment. "You seem distracted. Is something troubling you?"

  Lilith hesitated, then decided honesty was probably the best approach with Sister Prudence. "I was wondering about Sister Mercy. I haven't seen her in a week. Is she... is she all right?"

  Sister Prudence's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "She is completing her penance. It will conclude soon. She will be released tomorrow morning."

  "Penance?" Lilith asked, though she already suspected what it meant.

  "Punishment for leaving the orphanage without permission," Sister Prudence said matter-of-factly. "Rules exist for a reason, Lilith. Even when broken for noble purposes, there must be consequences. Otherwise, order collapses."

  "I know. I just..." Lilith looked down at her hands. "I feel guilty. She wouldn't have needed to go if not for me."

  "No," Sister Prudence corrected firmly. "She chose to go. She weighed the risks and decided you were worth them. Do not diminish her choice by claiming responsibility for it."

  Lilith looked up, surprised by the gentleness in Sister Prudence's tone.

  The older woman's expression remained stern, but there was warmth beneath it—like a stone that had been sitting in sunlight, radiating heat despite its cold appearance.

  "Sister Mercy made her choice," Sister Prudence continued. "And she would make it again. That is who she is. Do not dishonor that by wallowing in guilt."

  "Yes, Sister," Lilith said quietly. "Thank you."

  Sister Prudence nodded once, then continued down the hallway, her footsteps measured and precise.

  Lilith stood there for a moment, processing the conversation.

  Sister Prudence is... complicated. Strict but kind. Hard but fair.

  She liked that about her. It was honest. No pretense. Just straightforward care wrapped in discipline.

  "Lilith!"

  Eve's voice cut through her thoughts.

  Lilith turned to see her twin running down the corridor—well, not quite running. Eve moved with that effortless grace that made everything look easy, her short black hair bouncing slightly with each step.

  She skidded to a halt in front of Lilith and grabbed her hand, tugging insistently.

  "What? What's wrong?"

  "Sister Mercy," Eve said, her voice urgent. Then she pulled Lilith down the hallway.

  They found Sister Mercy in one of the small prayer alcoves near the chapel.

  She was kneeling before a simple wooden shrine, hands clasped, lips moving in silent prayer. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but her expression was serene.

  Lilith and Eve approached quietly, not wanting to interrupt.

  After a long moment, Sister Mercy's prayer concluded. She made the sign of the Aquila across her chest, then slowly—painfully slowly—began to stand.

  Her legs trembled. Her movements were stiff, like someone who'd been in the same position for far too long.

  "Sister Mercy?" Lilith called softly.

  The nun turned, and despite her obvious exhaustion, her face lit up with genuine warmth.

  "Lilith. Eve. How wonderful to see you both."

  She took a step forward and nearly stumbled.

  Both girls rushed to her side, each taking an arm to steady her.

  "Are you all right?" Lilith asked, worried.

  Sister Mercy laughed—a tired but genuine sound. "I'm fine, dear. Just... stiff. Kneeling in prayer for extended periods takes its toll on old knees."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "Extended periods?" Lilith repeated.

  "A week of continuous prayer," Sister Mercy said casually, as if this were perfectly normal. "Reciting the liturgies without pause. It's a traditional penance for serious infractions."

  Lilith's eyes widened. "A week? Without stopping? How is that even possible?"

  Sister Mercy smiled. "You'd be surprised what the human body can endure when properly motivated. Besides, I've received this punishment before. Many times, actually. I was quite the rebellious young novice."

  She patted Lilith's hand gently.

  "This is nothing compared to some of my past penances. Once, I had to scrub the entire chapel floor with a brush no bigger than my thumb. That took three weeks."

  Eve and Lilith exchanged glances, both equally amazed and horrified.

  "Come," Sister Mercy said, leaning on them slightly as they walked. "Help me to my quarters. I think I've earned a proper rest."

  They guided her slowly down the corridor, her steps gradually becoming steadier as circulation returned to her legs.

  "I'm so sorry," Lilith said quietly. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't—"

  "Hush," Sister Mercy interrupted gently. "I told you before—some rules are worth breaking. And you were worth every moment of discomfort. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

  She stopped walking and turned to face both girls, her expression serious despite her exhaustion.

  "You are children of the Emperor, just like all the others here. You deserve care. Protection. Love. Never apologize for existing, Lilith. Never apologize for needing help."

  Lilith felt her throat tighten with emotion.

  "Thank you, Sister."

  "Now go," Sister Mercy said with a gentle smile. "I'm sure you have lessons or chores to attend to. Don't let me keep you."

  "Rest well, Sister," Lilith said.

  "Bye," Eve added simply.

  They left Sister Mercy at her quarters, watching until the door closed behind her.

  Then they looked at each other.

  "She's really nice," Eve said.

  "Yeah," Lilith agreed. "She really is."

  The library was small and poorly lit, filled with ancient books and data-slates covered in dust.

  But it had become Lilith's favorite place in the orphanage.

  Lysander was already waiting when they arrived, sitting at one of the wooden tables with a slate in front of him, his expression one of intense concentration.

  "Hi, Lilith! Hi, Eve!" he said brightly when he saw them. "I've been practicing the words you taught me yesterday!"

  Lilith had been teaching Eve since the beginning—helping her learn to read, write, understand basic concepts and social behaviors. It had become their routine during free time, something Lilith actually enjoyed despite everything else. And over the past week, Lilith had inadvertently also become Lysander’s tutor.

  It had started when Lysander asked her to help him pronounce a difficult word during one of the tech-priest's droning lectures. She'd explained it, and he'd looked at her with such genuine admiration and gratitude that she'd felt obligated to help him more.

  Now he showed up to the library every day during free time, eager to learn alongside Eve.

  Eve came too, of course. She never left Lilith's side if she could help it.

  So Lilith found herself teaching both of them—Lysander, who was enthusiastic but struggled with complex concepts, and Eve, who learned at an almost frightening speed but had massive gaps in basic knowledge at the same time now. Back then, Lysander used to just read picture books when Lilith tutors Eve.

  It was... actually kind of nice.

  Teaching gave Lilith a sense of purpose. And watching both of them improve, seeing their faces light up with understanding when they grasped something new—it made her feel useful in a way that didn't involve survival or combat or desperate planning.

  "All right," Lilith said, settling into her chair. "Let's see what you've been practicing."

  The session lasted about an hour.

  Lysander stumbled through a reading exercise, his pronunciation improving but still rough around the edges. Eve absorbed everything with her usual intense focus, asking occasional one-word questions that showed she was thinking deeply about each concept.

  "Good work, both of you," Lilith said as they finished. "Lysander, keep practicing those letter combinations. They'll get easier. Eve, excellent progress on your reading comprehension."

  Lysander beamed. "Thanks, Lilith! You're a really good teacher!"

  He gathered his things and headed for the door, waving enthusiastically. "See you tomorrow!"

  And then he was gone, leaving Lilith and Eve alone in the library.

  "Ready to head back?" Lilith asked.

  Eve nodded.

  They walked through the orphanage's corridors together, the familiar route to their dormitory quiet in the late afternoon.

  Lilith's mind drifted as they walked, processing the day, thinking about tomorrow's lessons, wondering what Sister Mercy would do now that her penance was complete—

  She caught her reflection in one of the glass windows.

  And stopped.

  Eve stopped beside her, tilting her head curiously.

  Lilith stared at her own image—a small girl with long black hair that reached past her waist, mismatched eyes (one gold, one red), pale skin, delicate features. Staring at her own reflection felt alien, even now.

  I've gotten used to this body, she thought, studying her reflection. The height, the weight, the way everything feels. I don't stumble as much anymore. Don't misjudge distances as badly.

  But seeing herself—actually seeing herself—still felt strange.

  That's me. That little girl is me.

  Inside, she was still Maverick Langley. Twenty-three years old. Male. An adult who'd lived a full life before... before everything.

  But the reflection showed a five-year-old girl. A child. Small and fragile-looking.

  Will I ever get used to this? Seeing this face and recognizing it as mine?

  She touched the window glass, her small hand pressing against her reflection's hand.

  Maybe eventually. Or maybe I'll always feel like I'm wearing someone else's body.

  Her hair, in particular, caught her attention—drawing her away from the uncomfortable thoughts.

  It's really long, she thought. I don't remember it being this long when I first woke up. Did it grow? Or has it always been this length?

  She turned to Eve. "Do you cut your hair?"

  Eve blinked at her. "Cut?"

  "Yeah. Like... make it shorter."

  Eve looked confused. She reached up to touch her own short, cropped hair, then shook her head. "No."

  "Does your hair grow?" Lilith asked, genuinely curious now.

  Eve's confusion deepened. "Grow?"

  Lilith couldn't help but laugh. "Never mind. Yes, hair grows. Normally. For most people."

  She looked back at her reflection, then at Eve's.

  Their hair was so different—hers long and flowing, Eve's short and practical.

  But in every other way, they looked remarkably similar. Same face shape. Same features. True twins.

  Our regeneration keeps us at baseline, Lilith realized. We can't build muscle through training. Wounds heal completely. And hair... hair probably doesn't grow either. Or if I cut mine, it would just grow back to this exact length.

  It made sense in a strange, slightly unsettling way.

  "How convenient," she muttered.

  They resumed walking, but Lilith's mind was now spinning in a different direction.

  If we get into trouble again—and we probably will, because this is Warhammer 40k—what can I actually do to help?

  Eve was strong. Incredibly strong. She could fight, break things, protect them both physically.

  But Lilith? What were her contributions?

  I can't fight. I don't have Eve's strength. I can't use my psyker abilities without risking everyone around me. My Navigator's Eye is blind and useless.

  So what good am I in a crisis?

  The thought bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

  "Eve," she said as they walked. "If we get in trouble—I mean, real trouble—what can I do to help you?"

  Eve turned to look at her, her expression immediately serious. "Protect you."

  "No, I mean..." Lilith struggled to articulate it. "You're already so strong. You can fight. You can protect both of us. But what can I do? I want to help. I want to be useful. I just... I don't know how."

  Eve was quiet for a moment, processing the question with that same intense focus she applied to everything.

  "You... teach," she said finally. "You... think. You... know things."

  It was a simple answer. But somehow, it made Lilith feel a little better.

  Still, she wanted more. She wanted to contribute in a tangible way.

  What if I became an inventor? she thought, her mind latching onto the idea with sudden enthusiasm. I could build things. Tools. Weapons maybe. Things that would help Eve when she fights. Or devices to protect us. Or—

  Reality crashed down almost immediately.

  I have no idea how any of the technology in this universe works. I barely understand lasguns on a conceptual level. Building something functional? That would take years of study. Decades, maybe.

  Her shoulders slumped.

  Okay, so inventing is out. For now, at least.

  But the seed of the idea remained.

  Then another thought occurred to her.

  Sister Marian. She's a medicae. She knows how to heal people.

  Lilith's mind began to turn the idea over.

  Eve can regenerate. I can regenerate. But if either of us gets hurt, the healing takes time. If someone knew how to tend the wounds properly, the healing would be faster, right? More efficient.

  And not just for us. Maybe for others too… But, Eve is my priority.

  Learning medicine—or medicae, as they call it here—that's actually useful. Practical. Something I could do.

  The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

  She could ask Sister Marian to teach her. Start with the basics. Learn anatomy, treatment protocols, how to identify injuries and illnesses.

  It wouldn't help immediately. Learning medicine took time. But it was a goal. A path forward. Something that would make her useful beyond just existing.

  Inventing can wait, she decided. First, I'll learn medicine. Then, maybe later, when I understand this universe better, I can try my hand at technology.

  She smiled slightly, feeling lighter than she had in days.

  A plan. I have an actual plan that doesn't involve running or hiding or desperately trying to survive.

  Eve glanced at her, noticing the change in expression. "Happy?"

  "Yeah," Lilith said. "I think I am."

  They reached their dormitory and entered their small room.

  Eve immediately climbed onto the bed—their bed, since they'd long since stopped pretending to use separate ones.

  Lilith sat beside her, and Eve looked at her with those intense red eyes.

  "You already healed me," Eve said suddenly.

  Lilith blinked. "What?"

  "When you woke up. You filled... the emptiness." Eve's hand went to her chest, over her heart. "Inside. Was empty. Then you came. Not empty anymore."

  Lilith felt her heart squeeze.

  That's so...

  She couldn't even finish the thought.

  Eve was still a child in so many ways. Her understanding of complex emotions was limited. But her words were always genuine. Always true.

  She's adorable, Lilith thought, not for the first time. Even when she's being serious, there's something pure about the way she sees the world.

  "I'm glad I could help," Lilith said softly, reaching out to pat Eve's head. "You've helped me too. More than you know."

  Eve leaned into the touch, her eyes closing slightly—a gesture of contentment that Lilith had come to recognize.

  They sat like that for a while, the room quiet except for the distant sounds of the orphanage settling in for the evening.

  Eventually, they both lay down, side by side, the thin blanket pulled over them.

  Lilith stared at the ceiling, her mind finally quiet.

  We're okay. For now, we're okay.

  One percent survival odds. But we're still here.

  And tomorrow, I'll ask Sister Marian about learning medicine. Small steps. One day at a time.

  That's how we survive. Not through grand plans or desperate gambles. Just... small steps forward.

  She turned her head to look at Eve, who was already drifting off to sleep.

  Thank you for being here, Lilith thought. I don't know if I could do this without you.

  She closed her eyes and let herself fall into sleep—peaceful, dreamless, safe.