The day had already begun when Antonio woke up. His room, always quiet and orderly, felt oddly empty today. The silence was heavier than usual, like something was missing. He didn't have the same energy to jump out of bed like he usually did. Maybe it was the late-night conversation they had all shared or the weight of the previous days hanging in the air.

As he stretched lazily, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, his thoughts lingered on his little sister, Fina. He hadn't been able to shake the image of her in the doorway of their parents' room, her eyes filled with fear and distress. The kind of pain he could feel but never fully understood.

He had always seen Fina as the strong one, the one who was always so independent, so full of life. But last night had shattered that image. The vulnerability in her eyes—the raw, unfiltered fear—had shaken him to his core. He knew she was hurting, but it wasn't until last night that he realized just how deep that pain ran.

Sighing heavily, Antonio got out of bed, running a hand through his messy hair. He needed to check on her. He needed to make sure she was okay, even though he knew that his own words might not be enough to fix everything. He wasn't the emotional type, and he hated admitting it, but he couldn't ignore how much he wanted to help her.

Grabbing a sweatshirt from the back of his chair, Antonio headed out of his room. He moved quietly through the hallway, his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floors. When he reached Fina's room, he paused for a moment, just outside the door. The thought of disturbing her, especially after everything she had been through, made him hesitate.

He had never been the kind of brother to hover over her, always thinking that she had it all together. But things had changed. They had changed.

The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open, and he immediately saw her lying in her bed, curled up in the covers. His heart tightened as he saw her—her small frame barely visible beneath the layers of blankets. She looked so fragile, so unlike the confident girl he had always known.

Isabella's soft voice came from down the hall, faint but audible. He guessed that she was still with Fina. They had probably been talking, comforting her in a way that only a mother could. Alessandro, too, would have been right there, ensuring their daughter felt safe and loved. The thought gave him some peace. But his concern for his sister didn't waver.

He stood there, just for a moment, watching her. Antonio couldn't remember the last time he had truly seen his sister like this—so raw, so broken. It made him feel useless. He didn't know how to fix it, how to ease her pain. He was supposed to protect her, but how could he protect her from something as dark as the monsters inside her mind?

He could feel the anxiety creeping in again—the same gnawing feeling that had kept him awake at night, wondering how to help her. But Antonio wasn't sure if words would do anything. He wasn't sure if anything could.

After a long pause, he quietly stepped into the room. His movements were deliberate, soft, not wanting to disturb the fragile calm in the air. He stood by her bed for a moment, unsure if he should say something. But the silence between them felt so heavy, so loud in his ears.

"Hey, Fina," he murmured, his voice rough from the sleep he hadn't fully shaken off.

Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked lost—disoriented as she blinked up at him. But then her gaze softened, and Antonio saw a small, almost imperceptible sigh escape her lips.

"You okay?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, but it was laced with something more. Worry. Concern.

She didn't say anything at first, just met his eyes, and for a brief moment, he thought she might tell him everything. He hoped she would. But she didn't.

Instead, she nodded slowly, then pulled the blanket tighter around herself, as though seeking refuge in it. The small, vulnerable gesture hit Antonio harder than he had expected.

"I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice cracked, betraying her words.

Antonio wasn't fooled. He had known his sister long enough to know that when she said she was fine, it usually meant the opposite. But he didn't press her. He couldn't.

He took a step closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed carefully, trying not to disturb her too much. For a long moment, he just sat there, not saying anything, but offering his presence. Sometimes that was enough.

"Fina," he began again, his tone softer now, "if you ever need to talk... or if you need anything, I'm here. You know that, right?"

Her eyes shifted to him, and for a moment, Antonio thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"I know," she replied quietly, her voice barely audible.

Antonio nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wanted to say more—wanted to tell her that he would do whatever it took to help her—but the words stuck. He wasn't the one for deep talks or grand gestures, but he knew his actions spoke louder than anything he could say.

He stood up, patting her lightly on the shoulder. "I'll be around if you need me," he said, his voice more steady now.

As he made his way out of the room, he glanced back one last time at his sister. She hadn't moved, but there was something different about her—something that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone as she had been before.

He left her room quietly, but as he walked down the hall to his own, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were beginning to change. They had to. Because if anyone was going to help Fina find her way out of the darkness, it was going to be them. Her family.