I got home at 1:34 p.m., backpack slung over one shoulder, shoes already halfway unlaced. School normally let out at 3:00, and if Mom was neck-deep in another homicide case—which she usually was—she wouldn't be back until 8:00. That gave me six and a half hours to kill.
Normally, I'd throw myself on the couch, find the most random Korean drama possible, and let the over-the-top melodrama drown out the buzzing in my brain. But after today's bombshell? That wasn't gonna cut it. I needed something stronger. Something numbing.
So, like any emotionally repressed teenager on the brink, I cleaned.
The dishes from last night's takeout were still in the sink. Clothes carpeted the floor. The beds? Untouched since morning. Whether it was laziness or exhaustion didn't matter—we'd just let it all slide. So, I rolled up my sleeves and dove in.
Dishes took twenty-five minutes. The last plate gleamed in the drying rack like some hollow badge of honor. Too quick. Too easy. I needed more. Clothes gathered in ten minutes and went straight into the wash—one hour on the cycle, another for drying. Time to face the dragon's den: my room.
It was a war zone. Folded clothes were a concept from another dimension. My cabinet was an archaeological dig site. Dust? Let's just say it had squatters. I spent thirty-five minutes restoring the place to something halfway human. Then I hit Mom's room—barely a ten-minute job. She was always weirdly put-together, even with everything she dealt with.
And she dealt with a lot.
Even with the nightmares she saw in her line of work—body bags, crime scenes, families falling apart—she'd come home and try to smile. Try to make things normal. Movie nights. Awful puns. Takeout on the nights she couldn't cook, which was most of them lately. She tried to pull me out of my funks. Take me places. Remind me that life was still moving, even if I wasn't. I usually turned her down. She deserved better than dragging a sad sack like me through a day off.
Anyway.
By the time I ran out of things to clean, I dropped onto the couch like a lifeless body being gently returned to the Earth. Arms at my sides. Eyes unfocused. My brain finally gave me the space to realize how completely unmoored I felt.
Tommasino Bertelli.
The man from five years ago—who saw the absolute worst moment between me and his son—now appearing out of nowhere with an offer to change my life. Voltaire Academy. In Athena City. A place so rich, the bathrooms probably had a personal violinist. Most people would be foaming at the mouth to go.
But all I felt was dread.
It wasn't just leaving Mom, though that was part of it. It was... everything. Athena City was a pressure cooker dressed like a palace. I always joked about liking chaos, but that place looked like it ate chaos for breakfast and called it brunch. Five minutes there and I'd be quoting Karl Marx and trying to unionize the student body.
And the names.
Martino. Adrik. Gianna. Nikolai. Katya.
I hadn't seen them in five years. Tommasino said they missed me. That they still talked about me. But what if they didn't? What if it was all nostalgia and politeness? What if I went and ruined everything all over again?
Maybe staying was better.
At 7:30, I finally remembered the clothes. They were still damp, but passable. I dumped them in the dryer and shut the door with a hollow thunk.
Right then, the front door creaked open.
Mom walked in, already peeling off her belt, badge, and shoulder holster. In one hand, she held a takeout bag.
"Hey, sweetie," she said, voice tired but warm. "You're home early."
"You're early too."
She smiled, toeing off her boots. "We closed a case today. The Roderick family. Took seven months."
I perked up. "No way. You made the arrest?"
She raised the takeout bag like a trophy. "And I brought dinner."
She glanced around, blinking at the clean floors and empty sink. "You cleaned up?"
"Yeah. I had time to kill."
She set the bag down and pulled me into a one-armed hug. "You didn't have to."
"But I did."
"Set the table."
Ten minutes later, we sat surrounded by plastic containers and the smell of cheap soy sauce. The clink of chopsticks was the only sound for a while. Fifteen minutes in, she spoke.
"You're quiet. Something happen today?"
The words got stuck halfway up my throat. I opened my mouth to explain... and closed it again. "Nah. Nothing big."
She raised an eyebrow. That knowing mom-look that saw through walls.
I gave a shrug and forced a few more bites. Then I pushed my plate back. "I'm done."
She frowned. "Not hungry?"
"Full. Cleaning burns calories."
I stood. "I'm gonna lie down."
"I'll clean up," she said.
"Sure you will."
"Smartass."
I gave her a ghost of a smile and headed to my room. Flopped on the bed. Closed my eyes.
I should've told her. But telling her meant talking about it. And if I talked about it... then it was real.
An hour later, I heard my bedroom door creak open. The mattress dipped under her weight.
"You awake?"
"No."
She chuckled softly. Silence.
Then: "Had a meeting today?"
She didn't ask like someone fishing. She asked like someone who already knew the whole story.
I sighed. "Tommasino talked to you."
"Nikolai called. Said Tommasino visited. Also, he was extremely proud of himself for remembering to call you 'Young Finn.'"
"God help us. He's evolving."
We both laughed.
"He said Adrik and Martino would be thrilled if you came. He sounded so happy, Finn."
"Yeah. Maybe."
She nodded. "Voltaire Academy. In Athena City. Sounds insane."
"I'm pretty sure if I spend five minutes there, I'll start a revolution."
She didn't disagree.
"You think I should go," I said.
She corrected me gently. "I know you should."
"Right. Because I totally belong there."
"No," she said. "You don't. That's why you have to go. To show them someone like you can."
I looked at her. My voice was low. "What if I don't? What if I screw it up?"
She smiled and cupped my face. "Then screw it up. But don't back out before you try."
I let out a breath. "Since when did you start giving TED Talks?"
"Been sneaking them on lunch breaks."
"God help us all."
She grinned. "Seriously. You're going to be okay. I trust the Bertellis and the Volkovs. They'll look out for you. But more than that, I trust you."
"I don't know."
"I do." She kissed my forehead. "We'll talk more tomorrow."
As she left, I stared at the ceiling.
Guess I'm headed to Socialite City, I thought, equal parts terrified and numb.