Agitated and wounded, Heather slept poorly that night. A headache and chest pain worsened her already foul mood. She rose for water, then discovered her smashed phone. "Well, I guess I've got to get a new one," she muttered.

Bored after two days at home, she decided to venture out, pondering her next move. Alexander now knew her intentions, making acquisition of the secret handbook far more difficult. Returning to his house was pointless; it would be gone. Yet, after years of searching, she couldn't give up. "My head!" she groaned.

She took a painkiller, attempting to compose herself. Gazing in the mirror, she noticed she was growing thinner, resembling her always-slimmer sister, Hannah. Dismay washed over her.

"Chump!" she called, opening her bedroom door.

Chump arrived promptly. "Miss?"

"How is she?" Heather asked brusquely. (The question's target was clear.)

Chump replied quietly, "Besides the flesh wound, her shoulder bones are slightly cracked, but she should be fine after I bandaged and splinted her."

Knowing her sister's strength, Heather anticipated a non-life-threatening injury. "I'm asking about her emotional response."

This was unprecedented, and Chump's eyes flickered with surprise. He answered honestly, "She was quiet and fell asleep after crying."

"She didn't throw a tantrum?" Heather asked, surprised.

Chump shook his head.

Heather sighed, unsure if she felt relief or disappointment. Her feelings for her twin were complex. While hating Hannah's existence, she knew she wouldn't feel whole if the girl died. Perhaps she'd grown accustomed to Hannah's presence. Like a birthmark or scar, her sister was irremovable, and Heather might even grieve her loss. 'No, no way! How could I be sad? Wouldn't it be better without her? There's nothing to be sad about! What the f*ck was I thinking?'

She dismissed these thoughts, ordering, "Get the car ready. I'm going out."

Heather immediately purchased a new phone at a specialty store. Inserting her SIM card, she saw numerous missed calls. Ignoring them for now, she installed essential apps, then grew impatient needing to transfer data from her old phone.

As she finished, she sensed odd stares. As a kickboxer, she was acutely aware of such things, noticing the sales assistants' gazes. They exchanged embarrassed smiles, clearly gossiping about her.

Narrowing her eyes, Heather approached, devoid of warmth. "What are you talking about?"

She was accustomed to people discussing her, but that didn't grant them license to disrespect her to her face.