Aching, every muscle screaming in protest, Daisy dragged herself from bed. Sunlight, sharp and unforgiving, stabbed through the gaps in her blinds. Days blurred since the club, since Leo, since the confrontation with her father and the ghost of Robert. An emptiness settled deep, more profound than any hangover. She attended Kai's funeral in a daze. The church smelled of lilies and regret. Faces, familiar and not, swam past her vision. A quiet sob caught in her throat when she saw his mother, frail and broken. A sudden, sharp ache pierced Daisy's chest. Kai deserved better. He deserved to live. She didn't know him well, not really, but his presence, however fleeting, had been a part of this new, chaotic chapter of her life. A silent promise formed: she would bring flowers to his grave every month. A small, inadequate gesture, but it was all she had. Days melted into weeks. School restarted, a jarring return to routine after the suspended chaos. Hallways buzzed with the usual gossip and laughter. Daisy moved through it, a phantom, her thoughts elsewhere. Found them, sprawled on the floor by the lockers, a familiar cluster of vibrant energy. Mia, Chloe, and Blair. Chloe sat on Blair’s lap, their heads close, whispering secrets. Daisy approached, her own presence a muted hum against their bright chatter. "...and then he just packed his stuff!" Chloe exclaimed, her voice hushed but excited. "Mr. Harrison, the chemistry teacher. Fired! Can you believe it?" "He was always a bit weird," Mia mused, picking at a loose thread on her jeans. "Those strange experiments, the way he looked at the test tubes like they held the secrets of the universe." Blair snorted, adjusting Chloe on her lap. "He probably just set the lab on fire one too many times. Good riddance, honestly. His classes were a snooze-fest." Daisy listened, a small, detached part of her trying to engage. Their conversation felt miles away, trivial. Her own internal landscape remained a tempest. The emptiness grew, a vast chasm she tried to fill with anything, everything. Late nights, early mornings, a parade of faces she barely remembered. Sleep became a luxury. Dark circles, bruised and prominent, painted shadows under her eyes. Her skin, usually vibrant, took on a sallow hue. Food tasted like ash. Her father noticed. He watched her across the breakfast table, his coffee growing cold. His gaze lingered, heavy with unspoken questions. Daisy kept her eyes fixed on her plate, pushing around a piece of toast she had no intention of eating. The air thickened with his concern. One evening, he found her staring blankly out her bedroom window, the city lights a distant, blurry smear. He knocked softly, then pushed the door open, his movements hesitant. Daisy didn't turn. "Daisy," he began, his voice soft, an unfamiliar tremor in it. "We need to talk." His shadow fell across the room, long and intrusive. Daisy felt a familiar prickle of irritation, an urge to retreat. To hide. To scream. "About what?" she asked, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Every nerve ending screamed for him to leave her alone. He stepped further into the room, his expression etched with worry. "About you. About everything. You haven't been yourself lately. Not since… well, not since a lot of things. You look exhausted, Daisy. You're barely eating." His words, meant to be caring, felt like an accusation. A spotlight on her failures. Her facade, already fragile, began to crack. The fear of vulnerability, raw and visceral, clawed at her throat. "I'm fine," she snapped, finally turning, her eyes blazing. "Just leave me alone, okay? I don't need a lecture. I don't need your pity." He flinched, a visible recoil. "It's not pity, sweetheart. It's worry. I'm your father. I see what you're doing to yourself. The late nights, the… the way you just drift through the day. You're hurting, Daisy. I can see it." His voice broke on the last word. A genuine pain flickered in his eyes. It was almost enough to break through her defenses. Almost. But the wall she'd built, brick by painful brick, was too strong, too ingrained. "And what do you care?" she spat, the words venomous, designed to wound. "You've got Elaine now, don't you? You've got your perfect little life. Don't pretend you suddenly give a damn about me. You never have." His jaw tightened. A vein pulsed at his temple. For a moment, Daisy thought he might finally lose his temper, might yell back. Part of her almost wanted him to. Wanted the fight, the distraction. Instead, his shoulders slumped. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a profound weariness. His gaze, usually warm, was now filled with a heartbreaking sorrow. It was a look that spoke of a thousand unspoken apologies, a lifetime of regret. "That's not fair, Daisy," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I've always cared. More than you know." "No," she countered, her voice rising, a desperate edge to it. "You just want to fix me, don't you? Make me into something manageable. Something that doesn't mess up your perfect new family. Well, guess what? I'm not broken. And I don't need fixing." She took a step back, her hand reaching for the door, ready to slam it shut, to lock him out. To lock everyone out. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of self-preservation. "I just want you to be happy," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "To be safe. Whatever you're going through, Daisy, we can face it together. Just talk to me." His outstretched hand hovered in the air, a silent offer of comfort. Daisy recoiled as if burned. The thought of exposing her raw, bleeding wounds, even to him, was unbearable. It would make them real. It would make her weak. "There's nothing to talk about," she stated, her voice cold, flat, a finality in its tone. She knew she was pushing him away, driving a wedge deeper between them. A part of her regretted it, a tiny, buried part. But the larger, more dominant part, the part that had been hurt too many times, refused to yield. She watched him for another agonizing second. His eyes, swimming with unspilled tears, held hers, a desperate plea. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, he slowly lowered his hand. He turned, his back to her, and walked out of the room. The door clicked shut, soft but definitive. Daisy stood frozen, the silence in the room suddenly oppressive. A hollow ache settled in her chest. She had done it again. Pushed away the one person who still tried to reach her. But it was safer this way. Her walls were stronger now, impervious. Later that day, a sharp rap on the front door startled her. She hadn't been expecting anyone. Her father was still at work, Elaine out shopping. Hesitantly, she opened it. No one stood there. Only a small, plain brown package rested on the welcome mat. Frowning, she picked it up. It felt light, almost insubstantial. No return address. No sender name. Just her address, neatly written in an unfamiliar hand. A shiver traced down her spine. Curiosity, a dangerous, potent force, compelled her to tear it open. Inside, nestled amongst tissue paper, was a single, faded photograph. Her breath hitched. It was a picture of her mother, young and radiant, a gentle swell beneath her dress, unmistakable evidence of pregnancy. She was smiling, her eyes sparkling with a joy Daisy had never seen in any other picture of her. Standing beside her, an arm casually slung around her waist, was a man. His face, however, had been deliberately and meticulously scratched out, a void where features should have been. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Chapter 38: The Unseen Hand