A scraping noise woke Rachel in the early morning. She lazed in bed as her dream faded, gazing at the ceiling--then the noise repeated, the scratch of bone against tile, and she came abruptly alert.

Her heart clenched and she found herself standing, staring toward the bathroom that connected her room with Audrey's.

Through the half-opened door, a shadow moved against the shower curtain, cast by the nightlight that Audrey still used.

A spidery shadow, a skeleton with long jointed legs.

Bigger than Rachel.

Three times as big.

"Audrey," Rachel whispered, because she needed to hear a human sound.

She flung herself through the door into the bathroom. The wallpaper had pictures of smiling dolphins and a coral reef. A damp towel lay on the floor, because Audrey always left her towels on the floor. Other than that, the bathroom was empty. No scratch of bone, no spidery shape.

The door to Audrey's bedroom was cracked open six inches. Rachel called her sister's name again, then tugged on the handle. The door didn't move, held fast by an unseen force.

"Get away from her," Rachel gasped, a note of hysteria in her voice. "You stay away from her!"

Another scratching sounded, from inside Audrey's room. Then a bone-white blade--a sickle or a mandible--appeared in the narrow slit of the open door. Moving smoothly, curling in the half-light like a skeletal finger beckoning.

Rachel heard herself whimper. She'd seen this thing before. Her father called it 'Nomika'. She knew what it was, but that only made it worse.

She trembled in terror. Ever instinct told her to scream, to run, to hide. She couldn’t stop Nomika, she couldn't do anything at all. But Audrey needed her, so she yanked at the knob and the door flew open and she stumbled inside, chasing a monster.

Even back then, Rachel was tough. Not 'strong'. Not 'powerful'. Just off-the-scales tough. Most people, we base our decisions on if we're going to win or lose, if we're calm or terrified, if we expect pleasure or pain. But there's a kind of toughness that accepts losing--that expects losing--and stays tough.

That expects to be frightened and hurt, and keeps on going.

Rachel’s like that. She’s not driven to win, she’s driven to fight.

When she's scared and weak and vulnerable, she just shrugs and continues. That's what makes her so dangerous. She’s not afraid to lose.

She took another step, and her sister's bedroom was empty. Nomika was gone.

Audrey was gone, too.

Rachel stood there, her mind blazing with panic. Then a flash of movement caught her eye, the curtain swaying at the open window. She ran and looked outside. No spidery white shape in the moonlight. Where was Audrey?

She opened her mouth to call for help when she saw them: her father and Audrey, walking across the quad toward the house. Coming from the switchback trail that rose to the mountainside 'observatory' where her father worked.

Her sister looked pale in the moonlight, with a blanket around her shoulders and a mug of hot tea in her hands. Steam trailed around her like a silvery cloak.

Rachel stared for a long moment, as a cold anger seeped into her heart. Then a white claw slowly unfurled through the open window and paused in the air, a foot from Rachel's hip. Nomika was dangling from the roof, reaching for Rachel.

That time, Rachel didn't recoil. That time, she understood. Nomika had brought her here to show her this. To show her that her father had taken Audrey in the night, trying to 'activate' her, trying to transform her into what he called a 'longshot.'

Rachel touched the white claw almost tenderly and felt an unexpected warmth in the smooth, rippling bone. She watched from the shadowy window, and knew what she needed to do. She hated herself for it already, but she would not hesitate. Not this time.

She'd failed once, and lost her mother.

She wasn't going to make the same mistake again.