I didn't bother hiding it. "Yeah. I really do."
"Good." Millie closed her calculus book. "You deserve someone who shows up, Maya. You've been doing everything alone for so long."
The words landed somewhere soft in my chest.
"Dinner's ready!" Shane announced, carrying a pan of stir-fry to the table. "Zoe, stop eating the raw vegetables and come sit down."
"I'm quality-testing."
"You're being a gremlin."
Zoe stuck out her tongue and hopped off the counter. Millie helped me clear the textbooks to make room for plates. Shane served everyone with the easy confidence of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
We ate together, the four of us crowded around my tiny kitchen table. Shane told stories from the firehouse. Zoe complained about her history teacher. Millie mentioned a program she was looking forward to attending this coming summer.
It felt like family. The kind I'd stopped believing I could have.
After dinner, Millie helped with the dishes while Zoe retreated to her room to finish homework. Then Millie gathered her things, hugged me goodbye, and headed down the hall to her own apartment.
The door clicked shut behind her.
And Shane's smile faded.
I'd noticed it during dinner. The way he'd been holding something back. A tension in his shoulders that didn't quite match the easy jokes and laughter. He'd been waiting, I realized. Waiting until we were alone.
"What is it?" I asked.
Shane sat down at the kitchen table. Rubbed a hand over his jaw.
"Can I show you something? It's from the arson case."
My stomach tightened. The school fires had been all over the news. Five schools in four months, all in Queens, all targeted and deliberate. The whole district was on edge.
"Okay."
He pulled out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then slid it across the table to me.
Crime scene photos. Burned classrooms. Melted desks. And messages spray-painted on walls in dripping red letters:
LET THE SYSTEM BURN.
YOU FORGOT US.
THEY LEFT US TO BURN.
The letters slanted sharply backward. Left-handed. I stared at the photos. At the angry red words.
YOU FORGOT US.
My stomach dropped.
I knew that handwriting.
I stood so fast my chair scraped against the floor. Crossed to the bookshelf in the corner where I kept the shoebox I'd carried through three apartments and one divorce. The box of things I couldn't throw away.
"Maya? What are you?—"
I dug through old photos, birthday cards from Zoe, and a dried flower from my grandmother's funeral. Found the cardnear the bottom. Yellowed with age. The edges were soft from handling.
