The apartment was quiet—too quiet.

Aneksi sat at Rebecca’s apartment window, her fluffy gray tail curled around her paws, blue eyes fixed on the city lights below. The downtown traffic circle that was the heart of Citrus Grove bustled, the glow of the streetlamps casting golden halos onto the pavement. The scent of warm cupcakes and cookies from the Sweet Shop drifted in with the late summer evening breeze.

And yet, despite the comforting hum of the world outside, she felt uneasy.

Behind her, a soft thump sounded as Khepeset leaped onto the nearby chair, her silver-striped fur glinting in the lamplight. Her sister was restless, pacing the cushions, her tail flicking with barely contained energy. Aneksi had known that twitchy tail well thousands of years ago—a sure sign that Khepeset was up to something.

“You’re staring out that window like an old house cat,” Khepeset said, her voice light, teasing. “Is this what modern life has done to you?”

Aneksi didn’t turn around. “I was asleep for two thousand years, sister. Forgive me if I take a moment to appreciate the world I nearly lost.”

Khepeset’s ears twitched. “Fair enough.”

A long pause stretched between them.

Aneksi wasn’t sure how to fill the silence. They had spent so much time apart, trapped on opposite sides of history. Once, long ago, they had been inseparable—two kittens nestled in the arms of Queen Cleopatra, whispering secrets in the marble corridors of Alexandria. But time had unraveled them, pulled them into different lives. Now, they were together again, yet neither seemed capable of bridging the gap.

Aneksi felt Khepeset’s presence shift. A moment later, her sister leaped onto the window’s ledge beside her.

“So,” Khepeset mused, tapping a paw against the wood. “You and this human—Rebecca. She treats you well?”

Aneksi’s ears softened. “She does.”

Khepeset smirked. “Does she know how needy you can be?”

Aneksi shot her a look. “I am not needy.”

“Oh, please,” Khepeset purred, eyes glinting playfully. “You used to wail if I so much as left your sight for an afternoon.”

“That was a long time ago,” Aneksi muttered.

“Not to me.”

Aneksi hesitated. There was something in Khepeset’s voice—something uncertain, something that tugged at the vulnerable places in her chest.

Khepeset turned away, suddenly focused on a sliver in the woodgrain. “I missed you,” she said, so softly Aneksi barely heard it. “Even when I told myself not to. Even when I thought I’d never see you again.”

Aneksi swallowed against the ache in her throat. She wasn’t sure if cats could cry, but if they could, she might have.

Khepeset’s tail flicked again, but this time, it wasn’t out of mischief. It was hesitant. Testing.

Aneksi reached out a paw and placed it gently against her sister’s.

Khepeset froze.

Aneksi didn’t say anything. She just let her paw rest there, grounding them in this moment, in the fragile truth that neither of them was alone anymore.

Khepeset let out a breath and leaned ever so slightly against her.

They sat like that, together, as the city lights pushed back the shadows, and the past slipped quietly into the night.