The rooftop’s rough tar stuck to Lyra’s bare soles as she padded toward the low parapet. A silver-blonde head was visible just above it, turned skyward. Nova’s voice drifted back, bright and low. “Check your altimeter—no, not there, the other one—”

“Who are you talking to?” Lyra asked.

Nova jumped, scrambling up from her crouch. She had a disposable phone pressed to her ear. Her violet eyes were electric, her cheeks flushed even in the evening’s bruise-colored light. She wore her denim jacket over a cropped tank, and a streak of what looked like grease smudged one temple. Her messy ponytail swung as she grinned.

“My tandem instructor,” she said, holding the phone away. “Just… debriefing.”

Lyra leaned against the railing. The metal was still warm from the day. “Debriefing. For a jump you did six hours ago.”

“He wanted to know how I landed.”

“I bet he did.”

Nova’s grin widened. She ended the call and tossed the phone onto a folded towel beside her sneakers. “You caught me. I was just… reliving it. The air. The sound. The way your stomach goes right up into your throat and then it’s just… quiet. You should have come.”

“Someone had to cover your shift at the bakery,” Lyra said, but she was smiling. Nova’s energy was a live wire; you could feel it buzzing in the air around her. It was the same energy that had made Lyra split the first time, though Nova didn’t know that. None of them did. They thought they’d always been.

Nova closed the distance between them in two quick steps. The rooftop was empty except for the hum of a distant generator and the sigh of traffic from the street below. “You feel it, though. Don’t you?”

“Feel what?”

“The… leftover.” She tapped her own sternum. “The buzz. After you do something that scares you. It’s in your blood for hours. Like you’re more alive than everything else.”

Lyra did feel it. A low, persistent hum beneath her ribs. It had been there since Nova texted her a shaky, grinning selfie from the drop zone. It wasn’t fear. It was something hotter, sharper. A current. She nodded.

Nova’s eyes flashed. “I knew it.”

Her hands came up, not to hug, but to settle on Lyra’s waist. Her thumbs pressed into the soft fabric of Lyra’s flowing dress, finding the slight indent of her ribs beneath. The touch was casual, sisterly, but it wasn’t. Not really. The hum under Lyra’s skin spiked.

“You’re still vibrating,” Nova murmured. Her gaze dropped to Lyra’s mouth. “Look at you.”

Lyra’s breath hitched. It was a tiny sound, lost in the city’s murmur. Nova heard it. Her grin softened into something more deliberate.

She crowded Lyra back against the railing. The metal dug into the small of Lyra’s back. The drop behind her was four stories of nothing. Nova’s body pinned her there, not with weight, but with presence. With heat. Her hands slid up Lyra’s sides, slow, tracing the line of her ribs through the thin earth-toned cotton.

“Tell me you feel it,” Nova whispered, her mouth close to Lyra’s ear. Her breath was warm. She smelled like wind and sweat and the faint, clean scent of the soap they all shared.

Lyra’s hands came up, flat against Nova’s chest. She could feel the beat of Nova’s heart through the denim jacket. Fast. “Nova.”

“Say it.”

“I feel it.” The admission was a sigh.

Nova’s right hand slid around to the small of Lyra’s back, pulling her hips forward. Her left hand drifted lower, down Lyra’s thigh, gathering the dress’s hem. The cool evening air kissed Lyra’s skin. Nova’s thumb hooked under the elastic waistband of Lyra’s underwear—simple cotton, pale gray—and pressed.

Not inside. Just a firm, deliberate pressure against the seam of her body, through the fabric.

Lyra’s knees buckled. She gripped Nova’s shoulders, her fingers digging into the tough material of the jacket. A sharp, sweet ache bloomed low in her belly, so sudden it stole her voice.

“There,” Nova breathed, satisfied. Her thumb moved, a slow, tiny circle. The friction was maddening. Lyra could feel herself getting wet, the cotton growing damp under that relentless pressure. She bit down hard on her lower lip to keep the noise in.

Nova watched her face. Her violet eyes were dark, intent. “Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?” Lyra managed.

“Don’t hold it back. Let me hear you.”

Her thumb pressed harder. The ache tightened, coiling. Lyra’s head fell back against the railing with a soft thunk. The sky above was deepening to velvet, the first pinprick stars blurred by the city’s glow. Her breath came in ragged pulls. She was holding onto Nova like she was the only solid thing in a tilting world.

“That’s it,” Nova murmured. Her other hand came up to cradle Lyra’s jaw, her thumb stroking the line of her cheekbone. The contrast was devastating—the tender touch on her face, the relentless, building pressure below. “Let it go. I’ve got you.”

The coil snapped.

A wave of pure, white-hot release crashed through Lyra. It wasn’t gentle. It seized her, arching her back off the railing, dragging a broken gasp from her throat. Her cunt clenched, empty, around the sudden, shocking pulse of her own climax. The sensation tore through her, wave after wave, leaving her trembling, her thighs slick. She clung to Nova, her face buried against the rough denim, as the aftershocks shook her.

Slowly, the world swam back into focus. The rough tar under her feet. The cool metal at her back. The heavy, satisfied sound of Nova’s breathing. Lyra blinked, her own breaths still coming fast and shallow. She felt hollowed out. Spent.

And then she felt the pressure in her lower abdomen, the familiar, deep ache that was not pleasure, but consequence. A splitting, cellular itch. She stiffened.

Nova was pulling back, her hands leaving Lyra’s body. “See?” she said, her voice husky with a pride that had nothing to do with skydiving. “Told you it was in your blood.”

Lyra opened her eyes.

There were two of Nova.

They stood side-by-side, identical from their silver-blonde messy ponytails to the smudge on their temple, to the knowing, grinning curve of their mouths. Both wore the same denim jacket, the same cropped tank. Their violet eyes held the same bright, triumphant spark.

Lyra’s heart hammered against her ribs. She knew what this was. She’d caused it. The climax had split her, and the echo had settled into the nearest mirror—her duplicate.

But Nova didn’t know. To her, this was just… another sister. One who had always been.

The new Nova—the one on the right—stepped forward. She reached out, not for Lyra’s hand, but for her hair. Her fingers threaded through the silver-blonde strands, catching on a tangle. Her touch was exactly the same. Familiar. Possessive.