Chapter 4 Two Halves Make a Whole
The scrub brush clattered against the wet floor as it fell from my hands.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything except stare at the boy outside the window who was staring back at me with my own eyes.
Silver-grey. Exactly like mine. Set in a face that looked like someone had taken my reflection and changed it just slightly—made it male, better fed, dressed in expensive clothes instead of rags. But the same. Fundamentally, impossibly the same.
My hand flew to my chest where that terrible pulling sensation had been living for the past week, making it impossible to sleep or think about anything except this desperate need to find something I'd lost. And now here he was.
The pain in my chest suddenly exploded into recognition. Understanding. A feeling so overwhelming I thought I might pass out.
I knew him. I'd never seen him before in my life, but I knew him the way I knew my own heartbeat.
This boy was part of me.
The memories hit without warning. Not memories from my eight years scrubbing floors and hiding from bullies. Older memories that shouldn't exist but did anyway.
Being wrapped in something soft and silver. Feeling warm and safe and complete. Another heartbeat beside mine, perfectly synchronized. Two halves of one whole, never meant to be separated.
The woman who'd found me by the river had told me stories sometimes, before she got too sick to talk much. A baby in a torn basket, wrapped in silver cloth covered in strange symbols. Not breathing. Nearly dead.
She'd never mentioned another baby. Another basket.
But looking at this boy through the window, I suddenly understood with absolute certainty that there had been two of us. That we'd been together once. That we'd been torn apart.
I blinked, and he was moving, climbing down from the tree with surprising grace. Walking toward the school building. Toward me.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door opened slowly, and there he was. Standing in the doorway, staring at me like I was the answer to every question he'd ever had.
We stood frozen, just looking at each other. Same height. Same silver-grey eyes. Same dark hair, though his was neatly cut and mine was a tangled mess. Like looking in a mirror that showed me what I could have been if my life had been different.
He took a step toward me. Then another. Moving slowly, carefully.
When he was close enough to touch, we both raised our hands. His right. My left. Moving toward each other like magnets.
The moment our palms touched, the world exploded.
A flash of memory hit so hard I would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed my other hand.
Water. Cold and violent. Being wrapped in silver cloth that glowed with dying magic. Another baby beside me, our hands clasped together as we tumbled through rapids.
A woman's face. Beautiful and desperate and filled with love. Pressing kisses to two tiny foreheads. Whispering words I felt in my bones.
"Find each other. When the moon calls, you will rise together."
The basket splitting apart. Two halves spinning away from each other. My hand losing grip of small fingers that matched my own. The desperate, silent scream of being torn away from the only thing that made me complete.
The memory faded. I was back in the classroom, staring at the boy who'd seen the same thing.
We were twins. Two halves of one soul, violently separated as babies.
Tears streamed down my face before I could stop them. I hadn't cried in years. Not when the woman who'd raised me died. Not when the headmaster beat me. Not when other children threw rocks at me and called me cursed.
But I was crying now.
The boy's face crumpled with emotion. He squeezed my hands tighter, and I squeezed back.
"Girl! Where are you?"
The headmaster's voice echoed from upstairs, harsh and angry. My blood turned to ice.
If he found me with this boy, there would be punishment I couldn't avoid. Or worse, he might hurt the boy. Call the pack guards.
I couldn't let that happen. Not when I'd just found him.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the corner where I'd hidden so many times before. Behind the supply cabinet was a crawlspace. Small. Dark. Barely big enough for one person, let alone two.
We squeezed into the narrow opening, pressing against each other to fit. Our hands stayed clasped together, neither willing to let go.
The headmaster's footsteps got closer. "I know you're here somewhere, you useless brat."
The boy's hand came up and covered my mouth gently, his eyes telling me to stay quiet.
We waited in the darkness while the headmaster searched. At one point he stood right in front of the cabinet, so close I could hear his ragged breathing. The boy's whole body went tense, anger radiating off him in waves.
Finally, mercifully, the footsteps retreated. "You can't hide forever."
We stayed frozen for several more minutes before carefully emerging from our hiding spot.
In the dim classroom light, the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather notepad and pencil. Of course. Writing.
He wrote quickly and turned it to show me.
Who are you?
I took the pencil with shaking hands.
I don't know. Who are YOU?
My name is Rafe Sterling. I live in the Sterling estate on the western side of the pack. I'm 8 years old. I've never been able to speak.
My name is Mina. I don't have a last name. I live here at the school. I'm 8 too. I've never spoken either.
Rafe's eyes widened. He wrote quickly.
The same age. The same silence. The same eyes and face. I've felt like part of me was missing my whole life. Have you felt it too?
I nodded and took the pencil.
Yes. Always. Like I was only half a person. It got worse this week. Started pulling me toward you.
I felt it too. When our hands touched, I saw memories. A woman. A river. Being torn apart.
I saw the same thing. We've been alone since then.
Not alone anymore. I found you. We found each other.
We stood there passing the notepad back and forth, writing out our lives. I told him about the woman who'd found me, who'd loved me until she died. About the headmaster who worked me like a slave. About sleeping in a storage closet and eating scraps.
He told me about Lord Daemon who'd adopted him. About living in a mansion with tutors and everything he could want except the ability to speak or feel whole.
The contrast was staggering. He'd grown up with wealth while I'd grown up in poverty. But underneath, we were the same.
The sky outside started to lighten. Rafe's face filled with panic.
I have to go. I snuck out during a dinner party. If they notice I'm gone, there will be questions.
My heart sank.
I'm coming back. I promise. Same night next week? After midnight?
I nodded frantically. Yes.
Rafe handed me the notepad and half his pencils.
Keep these. Write to me. Even if I can't read it until next week, write everything.
I clutched them to my chest like the most precious thing I'd ever been given.
Before leaving, Rafe paused and grabbed the notepad one more time. In the growing light, I could see the bruises on my arms. His face darkened with rage.
Who did this to you?
It doesn't matter.
It matters to ME. Tell me.
The headmaster. Sometimes. It's not worth fighting. I'm used to it.
You shouldn't be used to it. You should be safe.
This is my life. There's nothing we can do.
Come with me. Father would understand.
I shook my head and wrote carefully.
They'd never let a poor mute girl from the slums stay in a noble house. They'd ask questions we can't answer. They'd send me somewhere worse.
I could see him struggling with this truth.
I hate that I can't protect you.
You're here now. That's what matters. For eight years I thought I was completely alone. Now I know I have a brother. A twin. Someone who sees me. That's more than I ever thought I'd have.
Rafe wrote firmly.
We'll meet every week. I'll bring food and medicine. And we'll figure out a plan. I promise you, Mina. I'm not leaving you here forever.
Tears streamed down my face, but I was smiling.
Every week. I'll be here.
Rafe pulled me into a hug. I stiffened at first, not used to gentle touch. But his arms felt safe. Right.
Like coming home.
When we pulled apart, he looked at me one more time in the dawn light.
You're not cursed. You're not broken. Anyone who hurts you is the broken one. Remember that.
I pressed the paper against my heart and nodded.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the pre-dawn darkness.
I stood alone in the classroom, touching my chest where that empty ache had lived for eight years. The ache was still there, but different now. Not an empty void, but a stretched connection. Like a rope tying me to something precious that had moved away but was still there, still real, still mine.
For the first time in my life, I felt almost whole.