The joke seems to be just what they need as it sliced through the thick uneasiness in the air. Laura laughed whole-heartedly, Christine pushed Lucas’s shoulder lightly, and even Gabriella quirked a small smile.

“Hey!” Lucas protested.

Finally, Gabriella approached the pot and began pouring into the line of cups Laura had set up. Behind her, the whole house returned to bustling conversation as if the right gear had been switched and each kid returned to their bedding to decompress. Lucas told Christine in a nonstop rant about how he was not that bad in the kitchen and how he could make a really good stew if they had the right ingredients. In Mitchel’s lap, Laura blabbered about her day and gave him the play by play of Christine and Lucas’s soccer match.

By the time Gabriella had come back with her hands full of cups, the house was bursting with words. She passed an assortment of glass, plastic, and acrylic cups to each person, the heat giving life to Mitchel’s sore fingers.

“Mitch, you say this is your ‘famous tea’ but it’s literally just hot water,” Gabriella commented as she frowned into her mug.

Everyone sitting down looked up at Mitchel, who had taken a sip from his cup with shocked eyes. The house was startlingly still, as if a well-kept secret had just leaked out.

“Mitchie can’t cook anything like Winnie or Gabbi,” Laura piped up. Mitchel gawked at her, and once she noticed his reaction, her eyes widened like saucers. “I mean! Except for this! Mitchie’s tea is good.”

Christine snorted rather unexpectedly, gathering attention from all of the family members. Lucas snickered soon after, maybe at the absurdity of it all, and even Gabriella chuckled into her hand.

“Hey—” Mitchel protested, making them laugh harder, “—It helps me relax!”

Now that he was the joke of the room, the kids were finally able to fully unwind. Any lasting tension had completely dissolved.

Mitchel huffed and took another sip.

Kids and their brutal honesty, he thought, But if my deprecation is what they need to feel at home, then so be it.

Already bored, Laura took her cup and drifted over to an empty spot on the floor so she could draw. She laid down on her stomach and kicked her legs back in forth in the air as she entertained herself with the task, permanently engraving the wooden boards with her small doodles.

Gabriella reached into her cupboard, grabbing her pair of scissors and spools of thread.

“Can you braid my hair tonight?” Christine suddenly asked Mitchel as he settled among the covers.

He huffed and ruffled her hair. It would be a fight to wrestle down her wild curls.

“You don’t mind being up a while, abeille?”

She shook her head and her smile grew.

“Whatever you want,” he hummed. He located a hairbrush in Christine’s cupboard.

“Hey Gabs, what are you working on?” Mitchel asked leisurely and began to brush out Christine’s hair. Carefully, he tried to locate the knots with delicate care.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Gabriella shot back and tried to cover her work with her arms.

He snickered.

At least she’s getting some use out of those scissors.

His scalp tickled with the ghost of Mizar’s hand violently grabbing it. He could feel the uncomfortable solidness of the touch and the burn that remained afterwards. Mitchel repressed a shiver.

There is another debt that needs to be paid. Those damn scissors.

Mitchel yanked down the brush with viscous force once he faced off with a particular knot. He made sure to hold Christine’s hair so it would not hurt her scalp. Inhaling, Mitchel counted in his head for a few seconds before his lungs rattled out a shaky breath.

One thing at a time, Mitch, he thought to himself, focusing on the task at hand.

Christine’s hair finally gave way and he ran the brush through a final time, snagging any lasting knots at the bottom of her hair. He began to braid from the base of her neck in tiny little lines. The repetitive moment soothed him and quietly everything began to fade into the background. His worries concerning Winston settled in his stomach, his anger at the guards buzzing quietly, his annoyance at Annie sitting his mouth and making his tongue heavy. He let the feelings pass and float away.

A blurred memory of his mother braiding his sister’s hair came to mind, how she would take hours to pull them into beautiful twists. Mitchel would hold open a book on her bed and she would read them a story while her fingers were occupied, her voice the same quality of amber honey, dripping and rich. By the time his sister’s hair was complete, they would near the end of their book and beg for her to continue. Now that Mitchel had braided Christine’s hair for four years, he knew how tired his mother would have been. But, she had always gave into their requests, made herself a cup of mint tea to stay awake, and finished their story.

By the time Mitchel had entered back into reality, he realized how late it had gotten from both his braiding progress and the lack of light entering their kitchen window. He tried to relish in the memory for one more minute to mitigate the weight that had settled on his chest, his scalp, his shoulders. The scent of mint had somehow bled through his thoughts and into his bland cup of warm water, pleading to be added. Mitchel tried to image the taste as he took a quick sip.

It was almost predictable that the moment of peace would quickly disintegrate.

The wail of a broadcasted siren shattered the fragile tranquility of their little home like a rock against glass. It was earsplittingly loud, causing Gabriella to lose hold of her bracelets and Mitchel to accidently pull on Christine’s hair. As little blue beads scattered across the floorboards, he quietly apologized to her and stood up.

“What’s going on?” Laura yelled over the sound. She had abandoned her pens on the ground with her wide eyes trained on the door, where the sound was leaking in.

Lucas had his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block out the noise. Every family member shared a collective grimace, a few letting fear get the best of their surprise.

Mitchel’s breath hitched.

Why the hell would there be a lockdown? he thought thunderously. The last time Mitchel remembered sitting on his knees waiting in silence as Rwequeks searched their home was at least two years ago. There had been a riot within the east area of the Faction.

Winston had kept them calm.

Winston’s not here, Mitchel reminded himself.

In a race of thoughts, he tried to remember everything that they had done when they had last experienced a lockdown.

“Put your things away,” Mitchel ordered and grabbed Gabriella’s shoulder. “Hide your scissors. They are going to come inside.”

Gabriella seemed to shrink in on herself for a moment, seemingly terrified about them looking through her things, but quickly collected herself and straightened. She placed her bracelet supplies back in her cupboard but wedged her scissors underneath a floorboard for safe keeping. Mitchel reached into his own cupboard and stowed his precious language journal away from sight. They could ruin his clothes and rummage through his belongings, but he would be damned if they hurt his notebook.

“Is Annie going to be ok?” Christine asked suddenly. Only part of her head was in twists, the other still frizzy and reaching.

Mitchel did not even know what to say.

“She can take care of herself,” Mitchel found himself mumbling, oddly echoing her own words, “Right now, we need to get on the ground.”

It felt against every instinct in his body to settle down on his knees, but he needed to set an example to the other kids. It was humiliating and made him feel vulnerable, but it would not matter. The Rwequeks did not care about his pride, and these kids needed him.

“I’m scared Mitchie,” Laura whimpered to his left, an uncommon sight.

“It’s ok, it’s going to be alright,” he promised and fought the urge to hold her. “Don’t hide from them ok? The Rwequeks are… They are just going to make sure you’re present. Like attendance in school, yeah?”

“Ok…” Laura trembled.

“It’s going to be ok,” Mitchel assured them, “I’ll do the talking,”

Laura did not seem convinced, nor did the other kids by their tight expressions, but settled on their knees behind Mitchel. A few painful seconds ticked by. The lack of Rwequeks did nothing to quell their worries, the tension building and building, accented only by the howl of the siren outside.

The family collectively flinched when their front door unavoidably crashed open.

“It’s okay,” Mitchel reminded them even as the Rwequek walked in.

The guard who entered their house was luckily unrecognizable, but unfortunately very angry. His face was large and puffy with blotches of red burns. Semi-long hair was tied back into a bun. He barged into the room, his stout body making his footsteps cause tremors through the floorboards, and beyond the kneeling family as if they were not even there. Mitchel tried his hardest not to cringe as he heard the tale tell sounds of the guard riffling through their belongings. Luckily, there were no sounds of things breaking, but it took all of Mitchel’s willpower to set a good example to the kids and stare down at the ground. On his thighs, he pressed his fists tightly.

It will be ok. Don’t lash out. Just do one fucking thing right and maybe your family won’t be in jeopardy.

“Where are the last two?” the guard barked, then dumbed his sentence down. “Two humans? Where?”

Mitchel raised his head. His brain seemed to short circuit for a moment before he realized what he was referring to.

“O-Our family member is at the Human Medical Facility,” Mitchel explained in stuttered Rwequekian.

The guard immediately took to screen imbedded in the forearm of his uniform and squinted at the Rwequekian script.

“That’s not showing up in my records,” the guard shot back.

Mitchel’s heart stopped.

First the guard in charge of the ration line.

Now the guard who raids their home during a lockdown.

Why is no one receiving the message that Winston is in medical care?

“That’s— I have notifications from the Facility, I can show you—!” Mitchel protested.

“Show me then!” the guard barked out the order, not giving Mitchel a second to react before adding, “Quickly!”

Trying to ignore a whimper behind him, Mitchel scrambled to his ransacked work bag and grabbed his eye piece. Immediately, it was snatched out of his hands as the Rwequek examined it closely. Now that he was out in the open a few feet away from the protective ring of his family, Mitchel felt utterly defenseless.

“That explains D.1.256, Where is D.2.256? Where is the last member of this housing unit?” The Rwequek yelled, frustration leaking into his tone.

Christine whimpered at the sound. Mitchel did not even have time to rejoice that the guard believed him about Winston.

“S-She was in line for rations,” Mitchel quickly lied. “She hasn’t come back yet.”

“You already have your rations here,” the guard growled, gesturing to the very obvious crate on the kitchen counter.

Sweat prickled at Mitchel’s skin. Heat threatened to flood his neck and cheeks, and then he would be done for.

Don’t get flustered idiot.

“At the non-essentials line, sir,” Mitchel said evenly, not breaking eye contact.

The Rwequek scoffed. He tapped a device in his ear and spoke in a low register.

“Unit 256 is not cleared, missing one member. Giving them five minutes until a secondary house check.”

The Rwequek leaned against the wall by their kitchen that allowed him to watch the family closely while controlling the only exit to the little home.

They were trapped.

Outside the siren still wailed, making it difficult to think. But Annie would have heard it. She would have understood what it meant.

Damn it, Annie. Where the hell are you?

Mitchel shuffled back to rejoin his family and steeled his features, watching the guard flick through images on his uniform’s screen.

And why the hell is there a lockdown?

Too many things were lining up. The sudden presence of a Rwequek noble, the rising hostility of the guard, and now a lockdown? After no apparent riot or fire or other oddball emergency that would shut down the entire Faction?

Mitchel’s mind raced through the events of the last few days. Winston had said some that had disturbed even Cherzil.

“The guard. His weapon— it wasn’t normal.”

Mitchel came to a realization.

Weapon smuggling? Within the Rwequek guard?

In all his four years stuck in Faction 117, Mitchel had never seen a different weapon then the one he had been threatened with today. There was just no need to delve into greater violence. The Rwequeks already had a firm hold on the population of literal children, and they aimed to hurt, not to kill.

A sharpened weapon laced with possible toxins was something aimed to kill.

Is that enough of a reason for a lockdown?

The door burst open, revealing a frazzled Annie. She composed herself quickly, but her form instantly went defensive as she noticed the guard.

“Show me your ID,” he demanded.

 Annie glared, but recognized the word for “ID” as she pulled the neck of her sweater and revealed the Rwequekian numbers stained on her shoulder. For even more proof, she pulled her eyepiece out of her pocket and extended it for him to see.

“Don’t be late next time,” the Rwequek muttered darkly and ushered her forward to join her family. Then, into his earpiece, “Unit 256 clear. Moving forward.”

And just like that, the large presence stormed out of their house and slammed the door shut, rattling the house dangerously. The little family stayed frozen, as if they expected the house to be ransacked for a second time. Mitchel finally looked behind his shoulder. The kids were still on their knees, wide eyed and tense. On the ground around them, their various possessions were littered across the floor. The guard had neither been terribly destructive nor kind to the items.

From outside, the siren finally ceased its incessant blaring and took a great burden off of the little family’s shoulders. The lockdown was over.

“Annie!” cried Christine, clambering to her feet and rushing into a tight hug. “Are you ok?”

Annie was surprised by the rush, wincing as it jostled her injury. She took a moment before giving a short nod.

With the rest of his family, Mitchel got to his feet, his knees protesting at the position he had been forced into. Laura rushed to his side and wrapped her arms around his waist. Rubbing little circles into her back, he hoped she was not too frightened by everything that happened.

“Stay with me Laura-bear,” he reassured her, “and you’ll be just fine.”

She nodded but did not pipe a sound.