I sat beside Erik, twiddling my thumbs, eyes fixed on the front door as snow whispered against the windows. My mind kept drifting — not just to Yuki this time, but to the weight in my gut that hadn’t left since…

Guilt sat like stone. Cold, unmoving, exhausting.

The door creaked open, and Calista's voice lit up the quiet. She skipped inside, giggling, while Agatha stayed back on the porch, stamping snow from her boots.

“Calista, honey! Wipe your feet — don’t bring the snow in!” Agatha called, exasperated.

Calista ignored her and ran straight for Erik, throwing herself into his arms.

“Father! Father! I got a letter from school today — from my teacher!” Her grin was wide, radiant.

I watched from the side, a bitter pang pulling at my chest.

Letters from school are never good.

She clutched that envelope like it was an award, like she’d done something worth celebrating. Maybe she thought she had. Poor thing… I couldn’t bring myself to tell her otherwise.

She really believes she made someone proud today. And maybe that’s the worst part.

“That’s great, kiddo!” Erik said, his voice warm and encouraging — the kind of praise that only a true father could master. But behind that easy smile, I saw the flicker in his eyes. He knew, just like I did.

As the front door creaked shut behind us, the cold evening air greeted me like a slap. I shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets, trying to chase the numbness from my fingers.

“What happened at school?” I asked, watching as Calista skipped ahead, her boots crunching over the thick snow.

She leapt into the crooked old swing that hung from the bare, twisted tree out front. The chains groaned as she rocked back and forth, her breath clouding in the cold.

“Oh, a bunch of stuff!” she chirped, the swing squeaking under her weight.

“Like what?” I stepped behind her and gave the swing a gentle push, the rusted hooks creaking rhythmically.

“Uhhh, we did a test…” she said, scrunching her nose in thought. “And I saw the other kids playing a game in this big, warm room!” Her voice lifted with joy, almost glowing in the cold dusk.

“Sounds like fun,” I murmured, letting the swing rise a little higher.

“Usually you come home grumpy.”

She turned her head slightly over her shoulder. Her tone faltered.

“Well… I thought it was going to be bad today when some men took Felix away…”

My hands slowed. The swing rocked forward with less strength. “Some men took who?”

“Felix,” she said quietly, staring straight ahead now. “He was wearing a coat that wasn’t nice, I think…”

I stepped closer, my breath held tight in my chest. “What kind of coat?”

She hesitated, her feet trailing in the powdery snow beneath her. “It had letters on it. An ‘N’, an ‘L’... and an ‘O’.”

My hands froze mid-air.

The swing continued, drifting under its own momentum. I wasn’t thinking of Yuki anymore. My curiosity pushed my guilt aside.

Something else took root in my chest.

NLO…

What the hell is that?

Maybe I should ask Erik later, he’ll know. As if right on cue, Agatha called out from the house, “Kids! Come inside! Wind is picking up!”

Calista hopped off the swing and we trudged side by side, feet crunching under the snow, wind licking at our faces and running through our hair.

We stepped through the door, kicking snow from our boots. The kitchen smelled faintly of overcooked meat and boiled root—dire crow stew again, no doubt. Bland, cheap, and quick. Dinner for the desperate.

“Dinner’ll be done in a few minutes,” Agatha called over her shoulder. “Calista, do your homework.”

“Wha—no fair! Kam doesn’t have to!” Calista whined.

“He doesn’t go to school. Now get moving.”

Calista groaned like a dying spirit, dragging her feet across the floor as she shuffled toward her school bag. She looked like a ghost in defeat.

Just then, the front door creaked open again, and Erik entered with an armful of firewood. He shook snow from his coat, breath curling in the air.

“Sheesh... gonna be a cold one tonight,” he muttered, nudging the door shut with his boot.

My curiosity snapped. “Hey, Erik... what’s NLO mean?”

Silence.

Erik stopped in place. The logs shifted in his arms, but he didn’t move. Agatha dropped the wooden spoon into the pot—it hit the rim with a sharp clatter.

“Go... to your room,” Erik said, his voice distant.

“What? Why? Is it bad?” I stepped toward him.

“I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM, NOW!”

The yell tore through the room like a thunderclap. I stumbled back, hitting the floor hard, cold creeping up my spine. Without a word, I scrambled to my feet and ran.