Daughter of None

18.

Lex

Three hours.

Two grocery store runs.

One melted hair straightener.

Zero answers.

I was sitting on my floor—back to the couch, legs crossed, the world gently unraveling—while Lio hovered like a storm cloud that had learned how to glare.

“Try it again,” he said, arms folded like they were welded that way.

“I wasn’t trying to teleport,” I snapped. “I tripped over a root. That’s it. No magical intent. No incantation. I didn’t even mean to come here.”

Cas was fully horizontal in my armchair, sipping a smoothie the color of pond scum. He claimed it was vital for “magical metabolism regulation,” which was definitely not a real thing but sounded convincing enough to justify a $14 price tag and a smug look.

“So, you tripped,” he said. “What were you feeling?”

“Embarrassed. Cold. Tired. Confused.”

“And how many of those emotions typically open rifts in the fabric of reality?” He turned to Lio like this was a panel discussion.

Lio didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at us. Just stood there radiating judgment.

Cas tried again. “Lio?”

“Her emotions triggered it,” he said at last, like every word tasted like rust.

“No kidding, Doctor Obvious,” I muttered.

Lio’s jaw ticked. “You’re emotionally unstable.”

“Oh, thank you for the professional diagnosis,” I said sweetly, launching a pillow at his chest.

He caught it one-handed without blinking. Of course he did.

“You need to center yourself,” he growled. “Figure out what you’re channeling when things start breaking.”

“Well, forgive me for not having a user’s manual taped to my ribcage.”

“I could write one,” Cas offered brightly. “Chapter One: Lex and the Spontaneous Combustion of Basic Expectations.”

I threw another pillow. It missed. Cas raised his smoothie like a toast.

Lio finally dropped into a crouch in front of me. All tension and gravity and something that felt like danger holding its breath. The kind of quiet that came right before a battlefield went loud.

“Lex,” he said, low. “Whatever’s inside you… it’s not normal. Even by our standards. This kind of power doesn’t just happen. It shows up for a reason. And it always costs something.”

I stared at him. “Whose reason?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched me, eyes storm-dark and unflinching. Then—softer, like it cost him something—he said, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Something fragile cracked in the silence that followed. I looked away first.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I whispered.

“I know.”

He stood and walked off like he hadn’t just split me open with two syllables.

Cas clapped. “So! Interdimensional instability, reality glitches, Lex now possibly radioactive—has anyone tested for hormones? No offense, but this could be a puberty-adjacent late bloomer scenario.”

“I will punch you in the throat,” I said, expression flat.

Cas just grinned. “Worth it.”

---

That night, they didn’t leave.

Cas commandeered my couch like he paid rent. Lio claimed he didn’t sleep much anyway and parked himself by the window like it might try to escape.

I went to bed.

I tried to sleep.

But every time I rolled over, I could feel him shift. Could hear the faint rustle of movement—Lio, watching the night like it might bite me.

Sometime past midnight, I padded out for water.

He didn’t move. Just stood there, silhouetted in citylight, arms crossed, spine straight.

“You’re not a babysitter,” I said, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, “I know.”

I turned slightly, glass in hand. “Then why are you still here?”

He looked at me. Not glaring. Just looking.

Quiet.

Direct.

Dangerous in a way that made my chest ache.

“Because if we hadn’t found you…” His voice dropped. “I would’ve torn the forest apart.”

My throat tightened. “Why?”

That was the wrong question.

I could see it hit him. Could feel the recoil.

He looked away, jaw clenched. “I don’t know.”

He turned back toward the window.

“I’ll take the floor.”

---

The morning showed up rude and uninvited.

I woke to the smell of burned toast and Cas loudly defending Ariana Grande as a misunderstood emotional warrior.

Lio looked like he wanted to strangle a playlist.

“I don’t understand,” he said, poking the toaster like it had dishonored his bloodline. “‘Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m Bored’? What does that mean?”

“It means emotional clarity through chaos,” Cas said, gesturing with a butter knife. “It’s performance art. You wouldn’t get it.”

I walked in wearing a robe and a scowl. “Are we making breakfast or summoning something?”

Cas pointed. “Same thing, honestly.”

Lio turned. And—maybe it was the way the light hit him. Maybe it was sleep deprivation. But for half a second, his face softened.

He almost smiled.

It vanished quickly, like it hadn’t happened.

But it had.

And something inside me caught on the spark he left behind.

Not magic.

Not power.

Just… him.

Just Lio.