Maya

  Magical Girl Rule No. 4: A strong enough smile can disarm anyone. Friend or foe.

  Magical Girl Rule No. 4, Amendment A: This does not apply to parents or interdimensional super-soldiers currently raiding your refrigerator.

  "Reimi, seriously, stop," I hissed, practically vibrating out of my socks. "That’s my dad’s. He counts those. He has a spreadsheet on the fridge door! Look! 'Tuesday: 40g Protein'! You're eating Tuesday!!"

  Reimi ignored me. She stood in the harsh light of the open fridge, wearing the outfit we’d shoved her into last night: a gray t-shirt with a giant, wide-eyed cartoon cat on it that said 'Hang in There!' and baggy sweatpants that pooled around her ankles.

  She held a Tupperware container of grilled chicken and broccoli like she was inspecting it for poison, then popped the lid with a single thumb.

  "It's dry," she grunted, shoveling a massive piece of cold white chunks into her mouth. She chewed aggressively, staring me down. "You got any hot sauce? This tastes like cardboard."

  "It’s organic turkey breast!" I whispered furiously, glancing at the garage door. "And my parents are going to be home any second! You can't be eating straight from the tub when they walk in! You need to look... I don't know, less like a home invader!"

  "I am a home invader," Reimi pointed out, swallowing the chicken whole. "I just happened to be invited."

  "That's not... oh my god, wipe your mouth!" I grabbed a paper towel and practically threw it at her. "Look, my mom knows we found you, but she doesn't know who you are. We can't just say 'Oh, she's an interdimensional warrior who kills apocalypse beasts.' We need a story. Like you’re an exchange student! That makes sense. You’re just a quiet, polite Japanese girl. That's all you have to say. You are a quiet Japanese—"

  Reimi sighed, a long, ragged sound that seemed to scrape the bottom of her lungs. She looked tired.

  "Just tell them I'm a stray," she muttered, picking a piece of broccoli out of her teeth. "I ran away. Got lost in the tunnels. You found me. End of story."

  "A stray?" I asked. "Like... a victim?"

  Reimi rolled her eyes. "Sure. Whatever makes them feel warm and fuzzy. People love a sad story. It makes them feel like heroes without actually having to do anything."

  "That's cynical," Val said from the table, where she was furiously scrubbing at a grease stain from earlier with a rag.

  "But matches the description we gave them last night..." Althea chimed in, rubbing her chin.

  "It's practical," Reimi shot back at Althea. "And pass me the pepper. This turkey is a crime against poultry."

  The rumble of the garage door opening shook the floorboards.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  My stomach did a backflip.

  "They're here," Linda whispered, her face draining of color. "Oh god. I have a glaive in my pocket. I have a literal lightsaber in my pocket. Your dad helped me build my thing!"

  "Just act normal!" I hissed, smoothing down my frilled skirt which I still hadn't had time to change out of. "Everyone look normal! Just a regular afternoon with no chainsaw or shotgun summoning or death threats!"

  I breathed, letting go of the transformation. My uniform melted away, leaving me in a set of pastel yellow pajamas. I smoothed my hair and tried to look casual. The sound of footsteps echoed in the garage. I heard the clatter of keys, the rustling of a grocery bag. The door clicked, the knob turned.

  "We're home! Please tell me the house is still standing!"

  My dad’s voice. Warm. Safe.

  I forced a smile onto my face. It felt like I was stretching duct tape over a skull. "Hi Dad! Hi Mom! House is standing! Standing so hard!""

  My parents stepped into the kitchen. Mom was a slim, graceful woman with long brown hair, green eyes, and a soft smile. She wore a green dress and a pair of high heels. Dad was a large, imposing man with a sharp beard, glasses, and a stern expression. Dad pushed his glasses up his nose. His eyes swept the room - Sector Scan.

  He clocked me (sweating in my magical girl outfit), Althea (scrubbing a clean spot on the table like her life depended on it), and Linda (trying to look casual while hiding a magical glaive behind her back).

  Then his gaze landed on Reimi.

  Reimi didn't flinch. She just stared back, her expression flat. She looked bizarrely small in the cat shirt, bathed in the afternoon sun. Small, and battered, and angry.

  "Kouji," Mom said softly, stepping up beside him. "This is the girl. The one Maya brought back."

  Dad nodded slowly. He took a step into the kitchen. "Right..."

  Reimi set the Tupperware down on the counter. It made a sharp clack.

  "Sorry about the food," she said. Her voice was rough, like she’d been shouting for days. She didn't sound apologetic. She sounded resigned. "I was hungry. I'll pay you back when I... get money."

  Dad looked at the empty container. Then he looked at her hands.

  I held my breath. I saw his eyes catch on the faded scars. The subtle, jagged, white lines that ran up her forearms, the kind you definitely don't get from falling off a bike. He looked at the light bruising on her cheek. He looked at the way she stood - weight balanced, ready to move, ready to run.

  "Don't worry about the food," Dad said, his voice gentle. "You're the one they found in the tunnels? We saw the news on the airport TV. They're saying the whole Harrison section of the dungeon collapsed."

  Reimi didn't answer immediately. She just looked at him, measuring him. Then she gave a short, jerky nod.

  "Yeah," she rasped.

  "Restricted area," Dad noted, though there was no heat in it. "Dangerous place to be sleeping."

  "Better than the park," Reimi muttered. She crossed her arms tighter, looking away. "Less wind."

  It wasn't a lie. It was just a deflected truth. But to my dad, it painted a picture.

  A runaway. A kid sleeping in subway maintenance tunnels to get out of the cold.

  Dad’s face crumbled. The suspicion vanished, replaced by a profound, aching sadness. He exchanged a look with Mom - the Sentinel Look. The 'We have a civilian in distress' look.

  "And your parents?" Dad asked carefully. "Do they know where you are?"

  Reimi let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a harsh sound, devoid of humor. "No."

  "Do you want to call them?"

  Reimi looked him dead in the eye. "Hell no."

  The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

  My internal screaming intensified. Please don't call the cops. Please don't call the cops.

  "Okay," Dad said, raising his hands in surrender. "Okay. No calls."

  "I'm not going back," Reimi added, her voice dropping. "If you call the cops... if you try to put me in the system... I'm gone. I'll take my chances with the rats."

  Dad stared at her. He saw the defiance. But he also saw the fear behind it — or what he thought was fear. He saw a kid who had been failed by every adult in her life and was waiting for him to do the same.

  "No cops," Dad promised. "And no system. Not tonight." He gestured to the bag in Mom's hand. "We grabbed a late lunch on the way home. Everyone's favorites. You like chicken?"

  Reimi looked at the pizza box. Her stomach growled, a loud, angry sound that cut through the tension like a chainsaw.

  She didn't blush or acknowledge it. She just shrugged and looked away.

  "I... appreciate it when I get it."