Roan’s quiet for a beat. Then: “Make it a good one, Kai. Or they’ll make it for you.”
I leave the café with my stomach twisted and my throat raw from biting back all the things I wanted to scream.
The doorto my apartment hisses open and I know something’s wrong before I’ve even crossed the threshold.
Laughter. Shrill. Unfiltered. High-pitched chaos.
I drop my bag and round the corner into the living room—and stop cold.
Ben’s got three of his school friends over, and the place looks like a miniature mob hideout.
One kid’s counting “credits” using my grocery ration cards. Another’s wearing my old sunglasses, barking fake orders like some cartoon lieutenant. And Ben—my sweet, bright Ben—is standing on the coffee table with his arms crossed, a paper badge taped to his chest that saysBOSS.
He’s doing avoice. A low, slow drawl that soundsexactlylike Jav.
“Listen up, crew,” he says, pointing a crayon like it’s a stun baton. “If anyone touches the goldfish stash without clearance, they lose a thumb.”
The kids cackle.
I can’t move.
Ben sees me and freezes. The room goes quiet in that guilty way only kids can manage.
“Hi, Mom,” he says sheepishly.
“What,” I say, and my voice is too soft, too calm, “are you playing?”
Ben steps off the table. “We were pretending. Like Mr. K’s classroom stories. He taught us about... negotiation.”
“And extortion,” one kid pipes up proudly. “We got stickers if we ran a good racket.”
“Out,” I say. “Now.”
The kids glance at each other. One starts to protest, but I don’t raise my voice—I justlookat them. And whatever they see makes them grab their shoes and scramble for the door.
Ben lingers.
“Mom…”
“Go to your room.”
“But—”
“Now, Ben.”
He flinches like I hit him, and guilt claws its way up my spine even before he vanishes down the hallway.
I stand in the silence for a long time, just staring at the living room. At the crumbs. The crayons. The taped-together mob empire of a child who doesn’t know how close to the truth he’s dancing.
And then I call him.
He shows up fast.Too fast.
Like he was waiting.
I barely open the door before he’s stepping inside, all muscle and nervous energy wrapped in a long gray coat. His eyes flick over my face, searching.
“What happened?”
