Don’t Feed the Art Work after Dark

The school squatted at the end of the block like a concrete bunker.

Brick walls unbroken by anything resembling welcome. Windows narrow and high. A place built to keep things in rather than let them out.

“Think they built the school first,” Courtney asked, easing off the gas, “or the neighborhood?”

Tomas startled despite himself.

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

She glanced at him. Her quick smile didn’t quite land.

“You’ve been quiet the whole way. I figured I’d try conversation.”

Tomas had tried conversation.

He’d asked where the car came from.

He’d asked how old she was.

He’d asked—twice—whether she had a license.

Courtney rolled to the curb and parked beside a fire hydrant. The engine ticked once before she shut it off.

Silence rushed in.

Thick.

Exposed.

“You’re going to get a ticket,” Tomas said.

Courtney was already reaching for the door.

“It’s the middle of the night. Who’s going to know?”

Tomas stepped out and eased his door shut until the latch whispered instead of clicked.

The car smelled new. Clean upholstery. Plastic. Something citrus.

Too clean for something parked crooked at midnight in front of a school they were about to break into.

He glanced down the street.

Dark windows. Drawn curtains. A porch light buzzing above an empty stoop.

No movement.

“You don’t know these people,” he whispered.

Courtney grinned and headed toward the school.

At the far end of the block, something shifted.

A ripple where shadow had pooled too deeply.

As though the darkness itself had taken a breath.

Courtney stopped.

Her hand tightened around the strap of the bag she carried.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Tomas.”

He stared toward the end of the block.

“Just a shadow.”

The darkness settled.

Courtney reached into her bag and produced a ski mask. She dangled it from one finger before offering it to him.

“I’m not putting that on.”

“Why not?”

“Because it turns this into something else.”

He nodded toward the crookedly parked car, the sleeping houses, and the school crouched in front of them.

“Right now, we’re just kids out past curfew. You put that on and suddenly we’re criminals.”

Courtney smiled.

“I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

Tomas headed toward the school.

Gravel snapped beneath his shoes, loud as gunfire in the quiet. Courtney followed, her steps lighter.

“I was kidding,” she said.

“About the mask?”

“Mostly.”

The teacher parking lot yawned open before them. Empty spaces. Faded yellow lines disappearing into darkness.

Courtney looked toward the building.

“You actually know how to get inside?”

“Mr. Griggs has a window that doesn’t lock.”

“And you know this how?”

“Rumor.”

Tomas crouched beside the classroom wall and ran his fingers over damp soil.

“Some kid tried to jump out. Mr. Griggs followed him through—shoulders first. The frame didn’t survive. School never fixed it.”

Courtney’s smile widened.

“That was you, wasn’t it?”

Tomas looked up at her.

“Believe it or not, I’m not the worst kid at this school.”

She lifted both hands.

“Just asking.”

Tomas returned to the dirt.

His fingertips struck something hard.

“There.”

Courtney switched on her phone’s flashlight.

Tomas pulled a screwdriver from the ground. Its black-and-yellow handle had faded beneath months of weather. Grit filled the grooves. Rust spotted the shaft.

Courtney tilted her head.

“So—not the worst kid. Just organized.”

“Experienced.”

He wiped the screwdriver against his jeans and stood.

The houses remained dark.

The shadow at the end of the block was gone.

Tomas slipped the screwdriver beneath the window frame.

Metal whispered in protest.

He stopped.

Listened.

Nothing.

He leaned carefully against the handle. The frame gave a fraction. Enough for him to work his fingers beneath it and lift.

“Go.”

Courtney climbed through first, dropping into the classroom with her knees bent.

Tomas followed and lowered the window behind them.

Courtney glanced around Mr. Griggs’s classroom.

“We should prank him.”

“What?”

“Turn everything backward. Desks. Posters. His chair.”

“We’re rescuing Red.”

“I know.”

“Who you said is terrified.”

“I know.”

“And being hunted by something.”

Courtney sighed.

“Right. Priorities.”

She reached toward the papers on Mr. Griggs’s desk.

Tomas caught her wrist.

“After.”

Courtney looked at his hand around hers.

Then at him.

“Promise?”

“No.”

He released her and crossed to the classroom door.

A wooden ruler sat on the chalkboard tray. Tomas wedged it into the frame so the door couldn’t latch behind them.

Courtney nodded approvingly.

“Organized.”

Tomas peered into the corridor.

The hallway stretched away beneath the dull red glow of the exit signs.

Empty.

Their footsteps disappeared almost as soon as they entered it.

Tomas was grateful his locker was close.

The far end of the school felt much farther away than it should have.

He kept one hand against the wall, fingers grazing cool paint and old cracks. He moved the way he did when the farm lost power—slowly, quietly, prepared to stop.

Courtney walked near the center of the hall.

She moved as though she could see perfectly.

They passed the art room.

A tight, crawling sensation moved between Tomas’s shoulders.

The certainty of being watched.

He turned.

Masks lined the far wall inside the classroom, papier-mâché faces pressed toward the glass.

Hollow eyes.

Crooked noses.

Half-formed expressions rendered strange by the emergency lights.

“They’re creepy,” Courtney whispered.

“The blue one with the horns has been watching us since we turned the corner.”

Courtney stopped.

“Watching?”

“Yeah.”

“How can a papier-mâché mask watch someone?”

Tomas continued toward his locker.

“We broke into a locked school in the middle of the night to rescue a talking bookbag.”

Courtney glanced back at the masks.

“That’s where you decide reality matters?” Tomas asked.

She snorted and covered her mouth.

“Okay. Fair.”

They left the art room behind.

Neither of them looked back.

You two finished talking French out there?

Red’s voice scraped through the locker.

Dry.

Weak.

Offended.

Tomas ran the last few steps.

“I’m here.”

He spun the dial. His fingers found the numbers without thought.

The tumblers fell into place on the first try.

The door creaked open.

Red slumped inside. His straps were tangled beneath him, his zipper drawn tight.

Tomas pulled him free.

The familiar weight settled into his arms.

“You okay?”

I am extremely angry with you.

“I know.”

Furious.

“I know.”

Possibly inconsolable.

“We need to go.”

Red’s straps tightened around Tomas’s forearm.

Yes. We do.

Something in his voice stopped Tomas.

“What happened?”

Red’s zipper opened slightly.

I tried to stay quiet.

Courtney moved closer.

Red continued.

The dark makes everything louder. Fear. Thought. Memory.

His grip tightened around Tomas.

I got scared.

A sound moved through the hallway behind them.

Slow.

Sticky.

Like tape being peeled from a wall.

Courtney turned.

Red’s voice dropped.

Something heard me.

Inside the art room, the first mask fell.

It struck the floor with a soft, dead thud.

Then another dropped.

A horn cracked.

A cheek folded.

One by one, the masks peeled away from the wall and hit the classroom floor.

Silence followed each impact.

Tomas swallowed.

“You were alone for one afternoon.”

I was alone in the dark.

Courtney grabbed Tomas’s sleeve.

“Tomas.”

The masks began to rise.

Not drifting.

Not swaying.

They lifted with intention, rising from the art-room floor and sliding toward the window.

Empty eyes turned in their direction.

Courtney stared.

Her mouth opened.

No sound came out.

Time to run, Red said.

“Are we really afraid of paper masks?”

The blue mask tilted.

Then it screamed.

The sound tore through the hallway.

Raw.

Animal.

It vibrated through Tomas’s teeth and bones. Courtney covered her ears. Tomas staggered.

Red slipped from his arms and hit the floor.

“No!”

Tomas dove and caught one strap as the masks surged out of the art room.

They came fast, scraping walls and clipping lockers. A swarm of faces, horns, teeth, and sound.

Tomas pulled Red against his chest, grabbed Courtney’s hand, and ran.

“Figures,” he gasped.

“What?”

“I made the blue one.”

Courtney nearly tripped.

“You made that?”

“Extra credit.”

Overachiever, Red muttered.

Doors passed them.

Locked.

Locked.

Locked.

The masks filled the hallway behind them, moving too smoothly, as though invisible strings pulled them through the dark.

Tomas spotted an unlocked classroom and shoved Courtney inside.

He slammed the door.

They turned toward its narrow window.

The masks hovered on the other side.

Motionless.

For one second, nothing happened.

Courtney lowered her voice.

“Think we’re safe?”

A mask struck the glass.

Another followed.

Then another.

The masks adjusted almost immediately. They rotated and spaced themselves, striking in rhythm.

A purple mask with a metal ring through its nose hit hard enough to crack the window.

The others focused on the fracture.

Again.

Again.

Jagged lines spread through the glass.

Tomas pulled Courtney behind a lab table.

The window shattered.

Glass burst inward.

Tomas curled over Courtney, covering her head as shards rained across the floor.

When the sound ended, the masks drifted through the broken window.

“How does paper beat glass?” Tomas asked.

Paper wasn’t supposed to win that round.

Tomas grabbed a textbook and threw it.

The book struck an orange mask and sent it spinning backward.

Courtney threw another.

The masks absorbed both hits.

Then stopped.

They hovered across the room’s entrance, blocking the broken window and the door.

Tomas lowered the next book.

“They aren’t attacking.”

They’re keeping us here.

“For what?”

Red’s straps drew closer to himself.

Have either of you seen shadows?

Courtney looked toward the darkened windows.

“Outside. Then near the art room.”

Tomas stared at her.

“You saw it too?”

Red went still.

For a moment, his presence seemed to withdraw from the bookbag.

Then he spoke.

I don’t remember what it is.

Courtney’s jaw tightened.

But some part of me knows what it means.

The masks moved aside.

Not far.

Enough to create a narrow opening between them.

Darkness filled the hallway beyond.

Not the ordinary absence of light.

Something deeper.

Waiting.

A Collector found me.

Courtney nodded once.

“Then we’re already out of time.”

Tomas turned toward her.

“What’s a Collector?”

She realized what she had said.

It showed in her face.

The masks surged forward.

“Does it matter right now?” Courtney demanded.

“Yes!”

“Then stay alive long enough to ask me later.”

Red’s zipper slid open.

Gold light spilled through the gap.

Tomas felt something pull behind his eyes.

He gasped.

The sensation sharpened, drawing downward through his throat and chest. His knees weakened.

Courtney grabbed his arm.

“He’s pulling power through you.”

“What?”

Sorry, Red said.

The light intensified.

Red’s seams disappeared. The bag became a sphere of gold burning in Tomas’s arms.

Pain split Tomas’s skull.

A beam tore across the room.

The masks recoiled.

Then burst.

Papier-mâché faces shattered into a storm of color. Confetti scattered through the air—bright and weightless, like a celebration gone horribly wrong.

Silence slammed down.

The light vanished.

Tomas dropped to one knee.

Red sagged in his arms, suddenly heavy.

Too still.

Courtney crouched beside them.

“You okay?”

“My head.”

Tomas pressed one hand against his temple.

“What did he do?”

“Used the connection between you.”

“What connection?”

Courtney looked toward the doorway.

“Later.”

At their feet, pieces of paper twitched.

One scrap folded over another.

Then another.

Color dragged itself across the floor.

Pieces joined face to face. Horn to horn. Teeth to teeth.

Courtney stood.

“We need to move.”

The masks began rebuilding themselves.

Red stirred.

Cafeteria.

Tomas forced himself upright.

“Why?”

Water breaks the hold.

“How do you know?”

I don’t.

A blue horn lifted from the floor.

I just do.

They ran.

The hallways were pitch-black, but Tomas’s feet knew the route. Fire drills. Passing periods. Years spent measuring the quickest path between places he didn’t want to be.

Courtney matched him step for step.

Behind them, masks rose from the floor and resumed the chase.

The cafeteria doors flew open beneath Tomas’s shoulder.

He and Courtney sprinted past the folded tables and shoved into the kitchen.

“The sinks,” Courtney said.

Tomas eased Red onto a stainless-steel prep table.

Red lay motionless, his straps slack.

“I think he passed out.”

“He can’t.”

“I don’t think he asked permission.”

The screaming approached.

Courtney grabbed a large mixing bowl and filled it.

Tomas seized another.

The blue mask shot through the kitchen doors.

Courtney threw first.

Water struck it.

The scream stopped.

The mask collapsed in midair and struck the floor as a shapeless mass of gray pulp.

“That worked.”

More masks poured into the kitchen.

Tomas filled his bowl and flung the water in a wide arc.

Three masks folded and dropped.

Courtney refilled.

Tomas threw again.

They kept coming.

Some climbed toward the ceiling, avoiding the water. Others spread apart, forcing Tomas and Courtney to divide their attention.

The blue mask re-formed near the doorway.

Its broken horns curled forward.

It wasn’t looking at Tomas.

It was looking at Red.

“Courtney.”

“I see it.”

The masks attacked together.

Several drove Tomas backward.

The rest descended on Red.

“Get away from him!”

Tomas swung the empty bowl. It struck one mask and knocked it aside.

Another hit Tomas in the shoulder.

Paper shouldn’t have felt like concrete.

A second mask struck his ribs.

A third caught his temple.

White light flashed behind his eyes.

Courtney threw more water, but the masks layered themselves over Red, shielding one another.

Tomas lunged through them.

Teeth formed inside their painted mouths.

Blunt.

Jagged.

Wrong.

They bit into Red’s nylon stitching.

Fabric tore.

Red jerked once.

Then screamed.

The sound didn’t come through Tomas’s ears.

It filled his skull.

“Tomas!” Courtney shouted.

The masks ripped one side of Red open.

Something struck the tile.

A small pink stone.

Its color faded before Tomas could reach it.

Pink became gray.

Gray became black.

Another stone fell.

Then another.

All of them darkened together.

Red’s scream ended.

His straps dropped.

The darkness beneath the kitchen door stretched toward the stones.

Not a shadow cast by anything.

A shadow reaching.

Several masks seized the black stones in their teeth and began dragging them toward it.

“No!”

Tomas threw himself forward.

The remaining masks slammed into him, pinning him against the prep table.

Courtney filled her bowl again.

“There are too many!”

Tomas fought against the masks.

“More water!”

“I’m trying!”

His gaze moved wildly across the kitchen.

Sinks.

Counters.

Racks.

The industrial spray nozzle hung beside the dishwashing station.

“Courtney!”

She followed his eyes.

“Oh.”

She dropped the bowl, grabbed the nozzle, and squeezed.

The hose kicked in her hands.

Water roared across the kitchen.

Masks disintegrated on contact.

Courtney swept the stream from floor to ceiling. Papier-mâché shredded and struck the tile in wet pieces.

The shadow beneath the door recoiled.

Masks carrying the stones collapsed.

The smooth black pieces scattered across the flooded floor.

Tomas dropped to his knees.

He crawled through pulp and water, grabbing every black stone he could see.

They felt wrong in his hands.

Cold.

Silent.

Courtney kept the water moving, driving the remaining masks away from him.

“Tomas, hurry!”

He found another stone beneath a table.

Another near the refrigerator.

A mask dove toward it.

Courtney struck the mask with water before it could reach the floor.

Tomas grabbed the stone.

Behind him, Red lay torn open.

Empty.

Ordinary.

Tomas pushed the stones through the ruined lining.

Nothing happened.

“No.”

He searched the floor again, sweeping through wet paper and scattered vegetables from an overturned produce container.

“Come on. There has to be another one.”

Courtney released the nozzle.

The last mask had dissolved.

The shadow beneath the door was gone.

She dropped beside Tomas and searched with both hands.

They found one more smooth black stone beneath a shelf.

“Is that all of them?” Courtney asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how many there are?”

“They move around.”

Somewhere inside the school, an alarm began to rise.

Thin at first.

Then urgent.

Courtney shoved handfuls of dark objects and debris into Red while Tomas held the torn lining open.

“Take everything,” he said. “We’ll sort it out later.”

The alarm grew louder.

They ran.

Their shoes squeaked across the wet tile. Tomas held Red against his chest as they raced through the cafeteria and back toward Mr. Griggs’s classroom.

The ruler had fallen from the doorframe.

Courtney hit the locked door without slowing.

“No.”

Tomas grabbed the handle.

Behind them, the darkness at the end of the hallway began to gather again.

“The window,” Courtney said.

They ran for the nearest exit instead.

The alarm had released the exterior doors.

Tomas struck the crash bar.

Cold night air rushed over them.

They burst outside and ran for the car.

Courtney turned onto the dirt road leading to the farm and killed the headlights.

A moment later, she shut off the engine.

The car rolled forward on momentum alone, gravel ticking softly beneath the tires as the farmhouse emerged from the dark.

No lights.

No radio.

No sound except the long glide downhill.

Courtney touched the brake at the bend and guided them toward the house.

The farm slept around them.

The barn stood as a darker shape against the night. Fields breathed quietly beyond it.

When the car stopped, neither of them moved.

“We can’t go inside,” Courtney said.

“I know.”

They crossed the yard on foot.

The porch boards creaked beneath Tomas as he lowered himself onto the swing. Red remained clutched against his chest.

Torn fabric scraped against Tomas’s jacket.

Courtney sat at the far end of the swing, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the road.

Tomas looked down.

“Hey,” he whispered. “We’re home.”

Red didn’t move.

Tomas opened the zipper.

The stones lay inside.

Black.

Lightless.

Dead-looking.

His throat tightened.

“What does black mean?”

Courtney didn’t answer.

He looked at her.

“What does it mean?”

“It means he shut down.”

“So wake him up.”

“I don’t know if he can.”

Tomas pulled Red closer.

“You said shut down. That isn’t dead.”

“Not yet.”

The words broke something loose inside Tomas.

His shoulders shook.

He cried without sound, tears sliding down his face and darkening Red’s torn fabric.

Courtney moved closer.

She didn’t touch him.

She didn’t tell him everything would be okay.

She sat beside him and watched the road while he held Red as though letting go might finish what the masks had started.

The porch swing rocked once.

Then again.

Red remained silent.

Tomas woke with a splitting headache.

Pain throbbed behind his eyes, deep and rhythmic, like something knocking from inside his skull.

He groaned and shifted.

The porch swing creaked.

Something solid rested against his chest.

Red.

Memory slammed back.

Masks.

Water.

The stones turning black.

Tomas jerked upright.

“Red?”

Nothing.

He pulled at the zipper.

Can someone explain why my insides are full of carrots?

Red convulsed.

A wet carrot shot from his zipper and struck the porch boards.

Tomas stared.

Then he laughed.

Sharp.

Breathless.

“You’re alive.”

Barely. And I’d like to file a formal complaint about my internal organization.

Relief hit Tomas hard enough to leave him dizzy.

He pulled Red into a hug.

Easy.

“I thought you were dead.”

I know.

Red’s straps settled around Tomas.

You cried all night.

“I did not.”

Quietly. Like you didn’t want anyone to hear.

At the far end of the swing, Courtney stirred.

“You did,” she said.

Tomas wiped his face with one sleeve.

“My head feels like it got hit by a truck.”

Red went still.

That tracks.

Courtney sat up.

“Power has a cost.”

Tomas pressed his fingers against his temples.

“His power?”

“Both of yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“The connection between you carries energy in both directions. When Red used that much power, he pulled some of it through you.”

“No one mentioned that.”

“I don’t think he knew.”

Red tested one strap.

I did not.

The movement exposed thick, uneven stitching along his torn side.

Red traced the seam.

Who did this?

“I did,” Courtney said. “Around four.”

She nodded toward the house.

“There’s a sewing kit in the mudroom. Heavy thread. The kind used for feed sacks and tarps.”

Red shifted carefully.

You broke into the house?

“I entered quietly.”

Huh.

He examined the stitching again.

That’s actually nice.

Another cautious shift.

Do I look more expensive?

Courtney didn’t answer.

Tomas looked from Red to her.

“Enough.”

Courtney’s posture changed.

“Enough what?”

“Enough secrets. Enough telling me later.”

He pulled Red closer.

“I’m done being the only one who doesn’t know what’s happening.”

Red’s zipper tightened.

We can’t tell you everything.

“Start with what you can.”

Red remained silent for several seconds.

Then his zipper opened.

When you found the stones, they were pink.

“I remember.”

Pink meant I was hurt. Confused. Hiding.

Tomas looked down at him.

“You said the stones.”

Red’s straps tightened.

There are several stones. There is only one me.

Courtney watched him carefully.

Red continued.

I was trying not to be noticed. Being overlooked is useful when you’re weak.

“You weren’t doing a great job. You started talking.”

You noticing me wasn’t the problem.

Red leaned into Tomas’s chest.

You were simply the one who found me first.

The words hurt more than Tomas expected.

Courtney saw it.

“There are worse things than being found,” she said.

Red’s voice lowered.

Much worse.

Tomas looked at the zipper.

“What about black?”

Courtney answered.

“Black is a critical shutdown. The stones withdraw so deeply that Red can’t speak, move, or protect himself.”

“He looked dead.”

“He almost was.”

“What brought him back?”

Courtney looked at Tomas’s arms around Red.

“You returned the stones to the bag. You kept them together. And the bond between you didn’t break.”

Tomas frowned.

“So I brought him back?”

“You kept him anchored long enough to restart.”

Red shifted.

You didn’t leave.

The words settled between them.

Tomas remembered the locker.

“I did leave.”

You came back.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

No.

Red’s answer was quiet.

It doesn’t.

Tomas swallowed.

“Are the stones still black?”

Courtney reached toward Red.

Tomas’s hand immediately covered the zipper.

“Don’t.”

“I need to see them.”

“Ask him.”

Courtney looked at Red.

Red hesitated.

Then his zipper opened.

Tomas turned him enough for the morning light to reach inside.

The stones were no longer black.

They weren’t pink either.

They had become a clouded rose, threaded with thin veins of violet. The violet light flickered and dimmed like it was trying to remember how to exist.

“What does that mean?”

“He’s unstable,” Courtney said. “But recovering.”

Red sagged against Tomas.

I can’t go home like this.

Tomas stared at him.

“You’re not really a talking bookbag.”

No.

“Then what are you?”

Red’s straps drew inward.

I don’t remember.

“Where is home?”

I don’t remember that either.

Tomas looked at Courtney.

“You do.”

She hesitated.

Only for a moment.

“It isn’t mine to tell.”

“Why?”

“Because the answer belongs to him. He needs to remember it instead of accepting someone else’s version.”

Tomas studied her.

“That sounded practiced.”

Courtney looked past the porch and across the fields.

Toward the road.

“It should.”

The sky had begun to lighten. Darkness loosened its hold as the first gray of morning spread across the farm.

Tomas looked into Red again.

“What color are they supposed to be?”

Red was quiet.

Then—

Purple.

“Why purple?”

It means I’m whole.

“Whole enough to remember?”

Maybe.

Courtney spoke.

“Whole enough to choose.”

Tomas turned toward her.

“Choose what?”

A rooster crowed beyond the barn.

Sharp.

Sudden.

Too loud in the quiet.

Courtney held Tomas’s gaze.

“Whether he stays or goes home.”

The house shifted behind them.

Floorboards creaked. Boots crossed the kitchen.

Morning was coming whether they were ready or not.

Red leaned closer to Tomas.

His voice became careful.

I didn’t choose you.

The words landed harder than anything else that night.

Red’s straps tightened around Tomas’s arm.

I was hurt. I felt safe with you.

Tomas looked down.

“I won’t leave you again.”

Courtney closed her eyes.

Only for half a second.

When she opened them, something like apology waited there.

And something like warning.

“That,” she said softly, “is exactly what we need to talk about.”

The screen door opened.

Kay stepped onto the porch, pulling a flannel shirt tighter against the morning chill. A Carhartt jacket hung from one shoulder as though she had grabbed it on the way outside.

Her eyes were already moving.

The unfamiliar car.

Courtney.

Tomas’s wet clothes.

The damaged bookbag in his arms.

She saw everything.

She believed only what the world permitted her to believe.

“Mom,” Tomas said. “Good morning.”

Kay closed the screen door with deliberate care.

“Don’t.”

She planted her boots shoulder-width apart and crossed her arms.

“Don’t good-morning me.”

Tomas looked at the porch boards.

“Guess who I just got off the phone with.”

He didn’t answer.

Kay’s eyes flicked toward Courtney.

Then returned to Tomas.

“Don’t look at her. She isn’t answering for you.”

“The principal.”

Kay nodded once.

“That’s right.”

Her mouth tightened.

“School alarm went off after midnight. Security camera caught you plain as day because apparently breaking into the building wasn’t enough. You needed to show your face while doing it.”

Tomas opened his mouth.

Kay raised one hand.

“Don’t.”

He closed it.

“They’re calling it vandalism. Broken window. Water damage. An art room torn apart when they already don’t have money to fix what’s broken.”

“It wasn’t us.”

“Were you in the school?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have permission?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t get to decide what counts.”

Her voice dropped.

Quieter.

Sharper.

“You don’t make problems and hand them to me like I have time to clean them up.”

Tomas stared at the floorboards.

“I work too hard to have my name passed around town like this. I keep things running smoothly for a reason.”

She leaned closer.

“You start making noise, people start looking.”

Kay straightened.

“Good thing I was already planning to visit the school today.”

Tomas didn’t ask what that meant.

“Are we clear?” Kay asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re clear.”

Only then did Kay turn toward Courtney.

“And you.”

Courtney straightened.

“I don’t know who you are,” Kay said. “I don’t know where you came from. And I don’t know what story you told yourself that put you on my porch.”

Courtney didn’t speak.

“But you slept here. That is as far as this goes.”

Kay stepped aside, leaving a path toward the stairs.

“You leave now. You don’t come back. You don’t wave from the road. You don’t find another excuse to follow my son home.”

Courtney rose.

For a moment, Tomas thought she might argue.

She didn’t.

She nodded once and moved toward the steps.

As she passed, Kay shifted her shoulder and blocked the way.

They faced each other.

Neither woman spoke.

Courtney was fifteen.

Kay didn’t look at her like a child.

Courtney didn’t look at Kay like an adult.

Something passed between them.

Recognition of strength, if nothing else.

Then Kay stepped aside.

Courtney walked down the steps and crossed the yard.

She disappeared into the morning without returning to the unfamiliar car.

Kay noticed that too.

She didn’t watch Courtney go.

“You have fifteen minutes to wash,” she told Tomas. “Then we’re going to discuss how close you came to losing something you don’t even know you have.”

Kay descended the steps.

Gravel crunched beneath her boots.

Before reaching the barn, she was already calling instructions to Sagen and Eljen. Her voice carried across the yard until a barn door slammed.

Silence settled over the porch.

Red shifted in Tomas’s arms.

Think she’s mad?

Tomas huffed.

“What gave it away?”

He leaned against the porch rail.

His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Without realizing it, he began to hum.

Low.

Steady.

Something old and half-remembered.

This little light of mine…

Red leaned into him.

Tomas kept humming as the sun rose and the farm came awake around them.

Counting.

Weighing.

Noticing.