We carefully escort the quiet girl back to Mike’s place, the air thick with uncertainty as the others debate their next move.
Stepping closer to her amidst the murmurs, I venture, "Hey, I’m Y/n. What’s your name?" She doesn’t speak, simply meets my gaze with unreadable eyes. "Can you talk at all?" I press gently, searching for any sign of recognition.
Turning to Mike, I ask, "Do you have some spare clothes she can wear?"
"Yeah, hold on," Mike replies, diving into a laundry basket piled high with garments.
Suddenly, a delicate hand grips my right wrist, tugging my sleeve up. "Hey, what are you—" I start to protest, but my words falter as she points to the faded '010' tattoo etched there.
Her fingers drop mine, then she lifts her own wrist, revealing an '011' marking worn like a secret badge.
"Sister," she whispers so faintly I nearly miss it, but my heart jolts at the word.
It all clicks into place—this is Eleven, the other experiment, the sister I'd met only in the silent corners of my mind during those endless lab days. She was the one who kept me grounded, the only connection in a cold, lonely world. Yet somehow, I forgot her over the past three years.
"Sister," I echo, pulling her into a brief, reassuring hug.
"Um... why’s Y/n hugging the weirdo?" Lucas’s voice cuts through, sharp and skeptical.
Mike ignores the jab and holds up a bundle of clothes. "I’ve got some stuff for her." I take the garments and hand them over to Eleven.
She gingerly accepts them, then hesitates before reaching down to peel off the oversized T-shirt she’s wearing.
"No! No, no no!" Dustin yells, eyes wide with alarm.
"Wooooahhh, no way," Lucas adds, quickly turning away and burying his face in his arms.
Mike swiftly turns his back, covering his eyes.
"No, no, no. Let’s just go to the bathroom. You can change there," I say, grabbing Eleven’s hand and guiding her toward the bathroom.
I start closing the door behind us, but she shakes her head.
"Okay," I say, easing the door open a crack to give her space while respecting her privacy.
Returning to the others, I find them still tangled in their heated discussion. Lucas crosses his arms, glaring. "What’s going on? Care to explain?"
"She was raised in the lab like me. We shared everything—the pain, the experiments. So please, try to understand where I’m coming from," I answer firmly, hoping to quell their doubts.
The bathroom door creaks open, and Eleven steps out, now clad in a cozy sweater and sweatpants that hang comfortably on her slender frame.
Dustin hoists his bag. "Well, I should head out."
"Yeah, have fun with the... weirdo," Lucas mutters as he grabs his own bag, ignoring the sharp look I shoot him.
"I’m going to stick around for a bit," I tell Mike.
"Sure thing! Just help me with these," Mike says, nearly dropping a pile of blankets and pillows.
I rush over and grab half the stack, and together we build a makeshift fort in the corner of the room, soft and inviting—a refuge for Eleven.
She settles quietly inside, eyes scanning the irregular fortress we've crafted.
"So, do you have a name?" Mike asks gently.
Eleven remains silent, her gaze fixed on the floor.
"I’m Mike—short for Michael—and I guess you’ve met Y/n already," he continues. "But we need to call you something. Can I tell him your name? Or would you like to?" I ask her softly, exchanging a look that seems to reach through her silence.
Slowly, she raises her arm, palm facing us, revealing the '011' tattoo once again.
"Whoa, is that real?" Mike reaches out instinctively, but Eleven pulls her arm back.
"Sorry, I’ve never met a kid with a tattoo before—except Y/n," he laughs nervously, nodding toward me.
Eleven points to the number and then to herself, as if to say, "That’s my name."
"So, you’re Eleven," I say quietly.
"Maybe we can call you El," Mike suggests with a smile, "short for Eleven." He looks at her expectantly.
She glances at me, then slowly nods.
"Alright, it’s getting late. Time to get some rest, El," Mike says, standing up.
"See you later, El," I add, giving her a warm hug before heading upstairs with Mike.
"So, she really is your sister?" Mike asks as we climb the stairs.
"In a way," I reply. "We grew up together, shared the same horrors, and Brenner called us sisters. But... not by blood, I don’t think."
"Got it," he says, opening the door for me. "Goodnight, Y/n."
"Goodnight, Mike," I reply, stepping out into the cool evening air.
Mounting my bike, I take a deep breath, the night around me calm but charged with unspoken truths. As I pedal home, my mind races—Eleven is back, and with her, the past I thought I’d left behind begins to stir anew.