"Yeah." I stab a piece of chicken. Don't eat it.
"Good field. Practical.” He takes a bite of lo mein. Chews. Swallows. “What's your focus?"
My throat tightens.
Creative writing.
"General business. Haven't specialized."
"Smart. Keep your options open." Richard leans forward slightly. Interested. Engaged. Trying so hard to connect. "You know, Atlas handles most of the business operations for Graves Industries. If you ever want to shadow him, learn the ropes, I'm sure he'd be happy to show you around."
Atlas nods. Once. Sharp. Professional. "Of course."
"That's generous." I force the words out. They sound wrong. Stilted.
"You don't sound very interested," Richard observes. His smile is starting to strain at the edges.
I meet his eyes. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't say much of anything." The smile fades. Just slightly. But there's something else there now. Curiosity. Maybe frustration. "I'm just trying to get to know you, Max. We're going to be living under the same roof. It would be nice to understand who you are."
"There's not much to understand." My knuckles are white around my fork.
"Everyone has a story." He sets down his own fork. Gives me his full attention.
Oh god.
My jaw tightens. Teeth grinding. The muscle jumps in my cheek. "Not everyone wants to tell it."
The table goes quiet. Complete silence. Even the sounds of eating stop. Everyone frozen.
Richard sits back, clearly taken aback. His eyebrows rise. His mouth opens slightly. "I'm not trying to pry. I'm just—"
He swallows before continuing.
"What about before Margot?" he tries again, voice careful. "Where were you living?"
"Foster care."
"Right, of course. Margot mentioned that." He doesn't push, but I can see he wants to. His fingers drum once on the table. His jaw works. "That must've been difficult. How many homes were you in?"
"I don't remember." A lie. I remember every single one. Every address. Every face. Every reason I was sent away.
"You don't remember?"
"No." Flat. Cold. Shutting down.
"Come on, Max," Richard says, voice softer now. "You can talk to us. We're family now. I'd like to understand what you've been through—"
"There's nothing to understand." My voice comes out flat. Cold. Each word like a nail. Like a wall. Like a barrier I'm building brick by brick. "It was a long time ago."
Margot shoots me a look. Worried. Knowing. Her eyes are sad. Her mouth is tight. She knows what I'm doing. She knows why. And she hates it.
Richard opens his mouth to say something else, but Bane cuts him off. His voice sharp. Sudden. Cutting through the tension like a knife.
"Just drop it, Dad."
"I'm only trying to—" Richard turns to his son, surprise on his face.
