What Protects

The airbag powder was still settling when I woke up.

I don't remember much about the crash itself. Just Maya screaming. The sound of metal folding. The way the wheel jerked in my hands like it had a mind of its own. Then nothing. Then waking up with my face against deployed fabric and that chemical smell burning my throat.

Maya was making this sound. Not screaming anymore. Something worse. A high, thin whine like air escaping from something punctured.

"Maya?" My voice came out wrong. Hoarse. "Maya, are you okay?"

She didn't answer. Just kept making that sound.

I turned to look at her and that's when I saw her arm. The bone was visible. White against red. Her whole body was shaking.

"Okay," I said. Trying to sound calm. Trying to sound like I knew what to do. "Okay, I'm calling 911. Just stay still. Don't move."

I looked down for my phone and that's when I noticed.

No shadow on the floor beneath me. Just empty space where it should have been.

I looked out the shattered driver's side window. Down the embankment. My shadow was walking away from the car. Moving through the trees. Getting smaller.

"Wait," I said. To my shadow. To no one. "Wait, come back."

It didn't come back.

I found my phone. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely unlock it. The screen was cracked but it still worked.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Car accident. Route 17. I don't know the mile marker. My sister's hurt. Her arm is broken. Really broken. There's bone and she can't stop shaking."

"Are you both conscious?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

I looked at Maya. At her shadow pressed flat against the passenger door. At the way she wouldn't meet my eyes.

"A deer," I said. "A deer ran out in front of us. I swerved to avoid it and we went off the road."

The lie came out smooth. Easy. Like I'd been practicing it.

"Okay. Help is on the way. Can you describe your injuries?"

"I'm fine. Some bruises maybe. But Maya needs help. Please hurry."

"They're coming. Stay on the line with me."

I stayed on the line. Answered questions. Kept Maya talking so she wouldn't go into shock. Watched my shadow disappear into the trees.

The ambulance took fourteen minutes.

They asked me at the hospital where my shadow was.

"It left," I said. "During the accident."

The intake nurse looked at me differently after that. Made a note on her tablet. Moved me to a different waiting area. One with a security guard standing by the door.

I understood. Shadow separation during trauma meant guilt. Meant your shadow couldn't handle what you'd done. Meant you were unstable. Dangerous. Someone who needed to be watched.

My parents arrived while Maya was in surgery. My mom saw me first. Or her shadow did. It pulled back when she got close. Like I was something contaminated.

"Where's Maya?" she asked. She didn't hug me.

"Surgery. They're repairing her arm."

"What happened?" My dad's voice was flat. Controlled. The voice he used when he was trying very hard not to yell.

"A deer ran out. I tried to avoid it. We went off the road."

My dad's shadow shook its head. Slow and deliberate.

"Your shadow left you," he said.

"Yes."

"During the accident."

"Yes."

He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. We all knew what it meant.

"I want to see Maya when she's out of surgery," I said.

"We'll let you know," my mom said. Which meant no.

They left me in my isolated waiting room. The security guard shifted his weight. Watched me like I might do something violent.

I sat there for six hours.

Maya survived surgery. They repaired her arm with pins and plates. Concussion protocol. Observation for internal injuries. She'd be fine, they said. Lucky.

I wasn't allowed to see her for three days. Hospital policy. Shadow-separated individuals required clearance from a therapist before visiting trauma patients.

Like I was the trauma.

Dr. Martinez came to my apartment on day four. State-mandated evaluation. She had kind eyes and a shadow that sat perfectly aligned with her body. Perfectly controlled.

"Tell me about the accident," she said.

"I was driving. A deer ran out. I swerved. We went off the road."

"And your shadow left immediately?"

"Yes."

"That must have been frightening."

"I was more worried about Maya."

She made notes. "Shadow separation during accidents typically indicates the person feels responsible for what happened. Does that resonate with you?"

"I was driving. So yes. I'm responsible."

"But you said a deer caused the accident."

"I swerved to avoid the deer. Maybe I overcorrected. Maybe I made the wrong choice. My shadow knows better than I do."

More notes. She asked about my childhood. My relationship with Maya. Whether I'd had shadow discord before. Whether I felt depressed. Whether I had thoughts of self-harm.

I answered everything. Passed whatever test she was giving me.

"I'm going to clear you for supervised visits," she said. "But I want to see you twice a week. Shadow reintegration therapy."

"What if it doesn't come back?"

"Then we work on helping you adjust to life without it."

She left. Her shadow followed obediently behind her.

I waited until dark. Then I drove to the hospital.

Maya's room was on the third floor. I could hear voices inside. My parents talking quietly.

"Her shadow won't stop reaching for her," my mom was saying. "The nurses noticed. They called Shadow Services."

"Shadow Services?" My dad sounded worried. "Why?"

"They said shadows that try to touch their people after separation are showing active harm indicators. They want to evaluate her tomorrow."

I stood outside the door. Listened to them discuss Maya's shadow. Discuss whether the trauma of the accident had damaged something. Whether she'd need therapy too.

They never once discussed what actually happened.

I pushed the door open.

My parents' shadows moved first. Pulled back. Defensive. Protecting Maya from me.

Maya was in bed. Arm in a cast. Bandages on her forehead. She looked small. Younger than seventeen.

Her shadow was on the wall above her bed. Reaching down toward her. Fingers stretched like it was trying to touch her face. The nurses had moved her bed away from the wall but the shadow followed. Always reaching. Always trying.

"What are you doing here?" my dad asked. "You're not supposed to-"

"I need to talk to Maya."

"She needs rest."

"I need to talk to her."

Maya's eyes were open. Looking at me. There was something in her face. Something that made my stomach drop.

Fear. But not fear of me.

Fear of what I might say.

"Tell them," I said quietly.

Maya closed her eyes.

"Tell them what really happened."

"Sarah, what are you talking about?" My mom's voice had an edge to it. "You told us a deer-"

"There was no deer."

The room went silent. Even the heart monitor seemed to pause.

"What?" My dad's voice was barely a whisper.

I looked at Maya. At the way she was gripping the sheets with her good hand. At the way her shadow was reaching harder. Fingers straining toward her throat.

"Tell them, Maya."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice was small. Broken.

"Tell them what you did when we were on that curve. Tell them what you grabbed."

Maya's shadow lunged. Suddenly. Violently. Reached for her face.

But another shadow appeared. Between Maya and her shadow's reaching hands. Blocking it.

My shadow.

"Tell them why you grabbed the steering wheel."

My mom made a sound. Not quite a gasp. Not quite a word.

My dad sat down hard in the chair by Maya's bed.

Maya started crying. Not loud. Just tears running down her face while she stared at the ceiling.

"I wanted it to stop," she whispered. "I just wanted everything to stop."

Maya's shadow tried again. Reached around my shadow. Trying to get to Maya's throat.

My shadow moved with it. Always blocking. Always between them.

"Maya." My mom's voice broke on her name. "What are you saying?"

"I grabbed the wheel. Sarah's telling the truth. I made us crash."

"But why would you-" My dad couldn't finish the sentence.

"Because I've been wanting to die for months and I finally had the courage to do something about it."

Her shadow strained toward her. Desperate. My shadow held position.

"Jesus Christ," my dad muttered.

"Your shadow," my mom said. She was staring at the wall. At the two shadows fighting. "How long has Sarah's shadow been here?"

"Since I woke up," Maya said. "It won't leave. It won't let my shadow reach me."

"I don't understand," my mom said. "Why would your shadow leave to protect Maya?"

"Because someone had to."

My parents stood frozen. Watching our shadows fight. Watching the truth they'd been refusing to see.

"Your shadow's been here the whole time," my mom whispered.

"Yes."

"Protecting her from her own shadow."

"Yes."

Shadow Services came an hour later. Two collectors with glass containment vials and scanners. They took Maya's shadow. Sealed it. Said they'd store it until she was stable enough for reintegration.

They tried to collect mine too.

But my shadow wouldn't leave Maya's bedside. Wouldn't stop standing guard between her and where her shadow had been. The collector scanned it. Frowned at the reading.

"This is highly irregular," she said. "Your shadow separated three days ago. It should want to be collected."

"My shadow didn't separate," I said. "It's exactly where it needs to be."

The collector looked at Dr. Martinez, who'd arrived with the team. Who was staring at my shadow like she'd never seen one before.

"Classification?" the collector asked.

"I don't know," Dr. Martinez said. "Active separation with protective intent. I've never seen this documented."

They left with Maya's shadow in its glass prison.

Mine stayed by Maya's bed. Standing guard.

My parents apologized later. Said they were wrong to assume. Wrong to judge.

I told them it was okay. That everyone assumes the worst about the uncast. That it's how the system works.

Maya stayed in the hospital for two weeks. Psychiatric evaluation. Medication. Therapy. They said she'd been depressed for almost a year. None of us had noticed.

I visited every day. Sat by her bed. Watched my shadow standing guard beside her.

"When I get better," Maya asked one afternoon, "will your shadow come back to you?"

"I don't know."

"Aren't you scared? Being without it?"

I thought about that. About the stares I got now. The way people moved away from me in grocery store aisles. The questions from Dr. Martinez about whether I felt incomplete.

About how my shadow had chosen Maya over me. Had chosen to protect her instead of following me.

"No," I said. "I'm not scared."

Because my shadow was doing exactly what I would have done if I could have split myself in two.

It was staying with my sister. Making sure she stayed alive. Making sure her shadow didn't finish what it started.

That's what family does.

That's what love looks like when you can't lie about it anymore.

My shadow stands near Maya even now. Three weeks later. Still watching. Still waiting.

Still protecting her from the part of herself that wanted both of us dead.

And I walk through the world shadowless. Marked. Judged.

But not alone.

Never alone.

Because part of me is exactly where it needs to be.