Stopping just inside the entrance, Rook kicked the door shut and locked it. He quickly tugged the cord for the blinds, peering outside through the narrow gap between the slats.

A car rolled past, and the chip-stealing asshole, Alfred, was trudging along the opposite sidewalk, but nothing seemed out of place.

"I'm letting her fear get to me," Rook muttered. With Dalia rattled, he needed to be the level-headed one.

Dropping his backpack onto the table, he pulled out his binders, setting aside the ones with homework to bring to Henry's. His forgotten lunch bag still sat on the counter, reeking of a spoiled tuna sandwich. He wrinkled his nose.

Despite the horrendous odour, his stomach gave its loudest complaint yet.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

Abandoning the bag, he yanked open the pantry. He ignored the fridge; it'd been empty since the beginning of the month. One shelf held the remains of his food supply: a few cans of vegetables and a couple of soups. He shoved them aside until he spotted the last can of tuna tucked against the back wall.

Using the can opener, he ripped the lid free and ate with his fingers, shovelling the fish into his mouth so quickly he barely tasted it.

Appeased for now, his stomach settled.

After rising his hands, Rook lifted the lid from the porcelain cookie jar resting on the counter. A few coins glinted at the bottom.

He'd been stretching his grocery allowance for months. Now he'd finally reached the end.

I'll have to stop by the bank tomorrow and dip into my savings. Which means polishing my resumé and finding another part-time job.

He sighed.

School alone exhausted him most days. And technically, he could stretch the remaining food another week or two. But, just looking at the canned green beans made him want to gag.

His food intolerance had grown dramatically over the last few years. Whenever his parents were home, he hid it from them, which almost always ended with a late-night sprint to the bathroom to throw up. He didn’t think it was psychological. He wanted to eat everything. His body just...

Maybe he should see the family doctor. But the doctor would send him to a specialist, and specialists costed money he didn't have. Besides, he didn't want to draw attention or burden his parents by asking.

Rook gathered his toiletries for the overnight stay and stuffed them into his backpack. Tearing a sheet from his notebook, he scribbled a quick note explaining where he'd gone and left it on the table. He doubted his parents would notice, if they even came home, but at least it'd cover his ass.

Setting the pen down, he frowned. The hairs on his arms were still standing up.

His eyes drifted to the dark corners of the room.

Empty.

Not that anyone could sneak in here without me noticing!

As far back as he could remember, he'd been able to see in dim light better than anyone else he knew. It was just the loneliness—

Time to go!

He slung his backpack over one shoulder and stepped outside, locking the door behind him. Henry's bungalow was only two blocks away, but Rook's heart kept a marching rhythm all the way to the front door.

The moment he rang the bell, Henry's mother opened it.

"Hello, Rook," she said warmly. Henry's and Dalia's shoes were neatly lined up against the wall. Rook slipped off his own and set them beside the others. "They're in Henry's room."

"Thanks, Mrs. Jones."

She gently touched his arm to stop him.

Rook blinked in surprise.

“Have you been eating lately?” she asked.

He tensed. He wasn't sure how much she knew about his home life, but he'd begun to suspect that the extra kindness she'd always shown him wasn't accidental.

Not that I’m neglected, he reminded himself. My classmates would kill for this much freedom. And Henry’s parents are kind to everyone… I’m overthinking it.

Mrs. Jones hurried to clarify.

"I only ask because Henry mentioned you forgot your lunch today. I need to know whether I should make supper early."

Rook drew a quiet, slow breath. The smell of thawing ham drifted from the kitchen. His mouth watered, and he swallowed before answering.

"I had some tuna before I came over, so whenever it's convenient."

Now. Now! Please let me eat the whole thing!

“Tuna?” Mrs. Jones asked. Her smiled tightened. “From a can? That’s all?”

"Henry promised snacks." Rook forced a grin as he edged past her towards the hallway. "Besides, nothing compares to your cooking. Didn't want to spoil my appetite."

“You flatterer.”

Mrs. Jones’ smile widened, but the small line between her brows remained.

Rook barely managed to avoid being hit as Henry's door swung open with gusto. His friend greeted him with a grin, then yelled, “Mom! We’re going to hang out in the basement.”

“Come up for supper in an hour.”

“I thought it was three hours?”

“In. One. Hour,” Mrs. Jones articulated each word before disappearing into the kitchen to turn on the oven. "Your father and I will be watching TV afterwards if you need us."

"I wish they were more consistent," Henry muttered as he ushered everyone downstairs.

Their usual setup came together quickly. Henry booted up the console. Rook grabbed the second controller. Dalia settled onto the couch with her laptop and started scrolling through social media.

Supper came and went. By midnight, Rook felt wonderfully full.

Stuffing another handful of popcorn into his mouth, Henry mumbled, "We should do this all weekend."

"If there's food, I'm in," Rook said. Leaning back on the couch, he looked upside down at Dalia. She’d finally started to relax. “You up for it?”

"There's a party at Broc's tomorrow..." Dalia said without looking up from her screen. "Or today, I guess."

“Alright! Going,” Henry said.

Rook groaned.

Henry patted his friend. “Yeah, yeah, we know you hate parties.”

"It's not parties I hate." Rook frowned. "It's the people at them. Too many idiots gathered in one place."

"Not ideal for a hothead like you."

“Not a good thing for a hot head like you.”

"Oh!" Dalia perked up. "Fanny's online. She's usually never awake this late."

"Ask if I can still buy those notes off her," Henry said.

“Hold on, she’s typing.”

"Does she still type at a snail's pace?" Rook scoffed.

"You're one to talk," Dalia shot back, tapping the touchpad impatiently.

"I'm still faster than she is," Rook muttered.

Henry nudged him quiet.

Dalia read each word aloud as it appeared.

"'You... need... to...'"

She stopped.

"You need to what?" Henry asked.

"She stopped typing."

“Must’ve changed her mind.” Henry shrugged and went back to demolishing Rook’s character.

“What if…” Dalia whispered.

Rook met her worried gaze.

Fanny was obsessively methodical. Once she started something, she finished it, no matter how trivial. Rook occasionally exploited that habit just to annoy her.

Henry whooped as his character flattened Rook’s. The score—

Click.

The screen went black.

“Oh, come on!” Henry cried.

A heavy darkness swallowed the basement, defeating even Rook's unusually sharp night vision.

"Power outage," Rook said, forcing calm into his voice.

“Oh,” a man’s voice said, dripping with condescension. “You know it isn’t.”