Foss jolted awake as something shattered with a violent crash. Disoriented, he glanced around. He was on his bed, and judging by the crick in his neck, he'd been using Nash's shoulder as a pillow. The fact that his friend was rubbing his jaw and looking at him with a mix of irritation and disbelief confirmed it.

The flatscreen on the wall showed a scene from The Lord of the Rings, where Frodo was wandering through the marshes filled with corpses. Ah. It gradually sank in that he'd promised a heartbroken Nash they'd watch the entire marathon. Two of Nash's bandmates had quit last night, and his big dream of making it with Sleep Forever had crumbled. Again.

Foss almost sank back into the pillows before realizing that none of this explained the sound of breaking glass. Had it been part of his dream? Running a hand through his messy hair, he turned to Nash. "Didn't you hear that glass breaking?"

"Huh? I was into the movie, man. At least, until you jumped up like a crazy person. I don't get how you can fall asleep during a movie this good."

"I've been working six days straight. I'm dead tired." He'd recently finished his master's in Software Engineering. While he wanted to start freelancing, getting clients took time, and the moving company he'd worked for as a side job for years had been short-staffed.

He'd turned twenty-five a few weeks ago, and it really felt like the right time to strike out on his own. But rent in this crappy town was insanely high, and he wasn't keen on living in a dump like Nash. And even though he felt like it was time to move out, something kept holding him back. His mom. They'd been on their own for so long... He knew she'd struggle if he left, and honestly, he wasn't thrilled about it either. Ever since she'd confessed that she hunted down and killed rapists, he'd had to step in a few time. Once, a guy had overpowered her and locked her in a basement. Another time, her car had been stolen right when she needed it to transport a body. And just recently, some creep she'd been after broke into their house, trying to get rid of her.

He worried about her. This whole... obsession with playing executioner wasn't exactly healthy. Therapy would probably be a better solution. But the one time he suggested it, she'd laughed him off. "Therapy is for people with cash to burn."

The darkness in her eyes had sent a chill down his spine then, and it still did whenever he thought about it. Eventually, he'd come to terms with it. They were rapists, after all. The night after she'd told him the truth, she'd shown him all the evidence. The accusations—and the fact that they'd been acquitted.

"Just because they're rich, because they've got influence. Because they're men," she'd spat. He'd almost felt ashamed for being a man himself.

Foss shook off the memories. The broken glass. "I'm gonna check it out anyway. Maybe one of those bastards slipped in again."

He swung himself out of bed. On his way to the door, he noticed it was half past eleven. His mom was probably still awake.

Nash waved a hand vaguely, gesturing for him to go ahead, and turned back to the TV. Foss padded down the dark hallway in his socks. Should he grab a weapon? Or was the fact that he even thought about it a sign he was getting paranoid? Maybe it really was time to go his own way.

There was light coming from under his mom's office door. And the faint sound of shuffling.

He knocked on the wall. "Mom? You okay?"

Some mumbling. He could just make out an affirmative answer, though her voice didn't sound steady. He pushed the door open.

A wine glass lay shattered on the floor, red liquid spreading into a large stain on the light wallpaper behind it. His mom stood behind her desk, hands braced on the wood. Her reddish hair hung messily in front of her face, clearly having fallen victim to her frustration too. The bluish glow of her laptop highlighted a few tears on her cheeks.

A tightness settled in his stomach. "Mom?" The last time he'd seen any trace of sadness in her was when she'd admitted she'd been raped once. It was something he'd never dared to ask more about, too scared that he might be the product of something so vile. He preferred clinging to the story she'd told him: that she'd been pretty promiscuous in her youth and had no idea who his father was.

She quickly wiped the tears away. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Come on. You don't just throw a wine glass for no reason." Usually, when she was behind her laptop, she was working on book cover designs she sold online. It was something that let her get her creativity out. One of the reasons Nash practically worshipped her—even after the whole murder thing.

She was good at it, though, and it had never led to an outburst like this. He resisted the urge to move closer and check the laptop screen. If the source of her frustration was there, she wouldn't show it anyway.

Naomi pressed her lips together and took a few controlled breaths through her nose. "It's nothing, Foss."

"Nothing you want to talk about," he muttered.

"Exactly."

His gaze flicked back to the shards on the floor. What kind of son would he be if he just walked away now? It wasn't like she had any other outlet. She had no family besides him, no friends... Every time he remembered that, it made his heart ache. But he got it, considering her... nocturnal activities. Looking back over the years, though, he wasn't sure if that mission of hers was really worth the loneliness that came with it.

"Mom..." He took a few steps toward the desk but stopped just short. "I'm not a kid anymore. If something shitty happened, you can tell me."

She looked up at him. Her eyes shone with tears.

For a second, he thought she might open up. Then she shook her head. "I saw something, and it just brought back some old memories."

Old memories. That couldn't be more vague. Considering her mind was always on rapists, it must've taken a lot to get her this upset. But the firm line of her mouth told him there was no point in pushing. She didn't want to talk about the past, just like she didn't want to talk about anything that mattered.

Not too long ago, they'd been thick as thieves. Inseparable. He'd thought they knew everything about each other—but ever since that night at Nash's, it had hit him that there was so much he didn't know about her. That everything before his tenth birthday was just a... blank space, as if an entire life had been sucked into a void.

The distance between them was growing so quickly that it was like one of them had hopped on a train.

"Okay," he said finally, because what else could he do? He couldn't exactly force her to be open.

Her expression remained firm. Foss admitted defeat and headed back to his bedroom. Nash actually looked up from the screen when he walked in.

"It was nothing," Foss mumbled, sinking back against the wall. The words felt hollow.

He tried to focus on the movie, but all he could see were her tears and her iron will to keep whatever had upset her from him.