“Jake… Jake… Jake!”

  A thunderous bang tore through the house like a gunshot. Jake, a boy of about twelve with tousled hair and sleepy eyes, jolted upright, nearly knocking over his chair.

  “Huh? W-what’s going on?!” he gasped, his eyes darting from wall to wall. His heart pounded against his ribs, and a cold sweat clung to his forehead. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

  “See, Mom? He wasn’t listening—again,” Tom, his slightly older brother, said with a shrug, reclining in his chair like nothing had happened.

  “Huh? What’s—"

  “That’s enough, Tom.”

  A voice, calm but commanding, cut through the room like a bde. Jake turned to see a woman in a flowing green dress stepping into the dining area, her expression a perfect blend of maternal warmth and strict authority. She carried two rge ceramic ptes, steam rising from them, rich with savoury scents.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to shout at the table?” she said, narrowing her eyes as she walked past Jake and seized Tom’s ear between her fingers.

  “Ow, ow, ow! Mom, come on! I was just messing around!” Tom winced, squirming.

  “I don’t care if you were reciting a poem. No yelling at the table,” Sophia said firmly, finally letting go. She crossed to the far end of the table, sat down gracefully, and set about preparing their breakfast.

  Her hands moved with fluid precision, scooping meat, vegetables, and fruit with effortless elegance. The pte she handed to Tom was piled high with meat, as always—sausages, strips of roast, and fried bacon—but barely a vegetable in sight.

  Then came Jake’s pte. This one was more banced: grilled chicken, bright orange carrots, crisp lettuce, slices of tomato, and a few seasoned pieces of broccoli nestled at the side. The care with which she pced each item revealed her intent—it wasn’t just a meal; it was an act of love.

  “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said, smiling warmly as she pced the pte in front of him.

  But Jake didn’t react.

  He just… stared. His face was unreadable. His fingers twitched slightly near the edge of the table.

  “Jake?” Sophia asked, her smile fading slightly. “Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Jake blinked and sat a little straighter. “N-no, I’m fine.”

  Tom leaned back with a smug look on his face. “He’s just thinking about that girl we met yesterday.”

  Sophia’s eyebrows rose. “Girl?”

  “Tom!” Jake blurted, smming the table with both palms, his face reddening rapidly.

  Tom grinned wickedly. “He’s got a crush, Mom. A big one. He was up st night, tossing and turning like he was in a romance drama.”

  “Shut up!” Jake lunged at him, trying to muffle his mouth, but Tom was faster. He ducked and twisted, ughing all the while.

  Sophia covered her mouth, chuckling. “Is that why you’ve been so quiet tely? Because you fell for someone?”

  “I did not!” Jake’s voice cracked as he turned redder by the second.

  “You did too,” Tom taunted, sidestepping another grab.

  “I said shut it!”

  “Haha! Don’t worry, Jake. Love’s a beautiful thing,” Tom said, grinning like a devil. “Just wait ‘til Mom gives you the talk.”

  “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Sophia said, shaking her head with a smile. “We’ll talk more about this ter. Eat your food while it’s warm.”

  Reluctantly, the two boys stopped wrestling and settled back into their seats, now with flushed cheeks and crooked grins.

  Elsewhere…

  The air in the underground prison was heavy. It wasn’t just the dampness clinging to the stone walls or the mold crawling across the ceiling like rot in a festering wound—it was the weight of the pce.

  Adin sat in the corner, arms crossed, his nose wrinkling at the stale, metallic scent of old blood and mildew. Beside him, Cale kept silent, eyes locked on the scene unfolding before them.

  Thorn—or rather, the person who now called himself Youthful Guest—was kneeling in the middle of the room. His body was slightly thin and wiry, with bones almost visible beneath dark, sickly skin. His fingernails were reddened and broken, and the sound of crunching echoed in the cell. Not food. Not bone. But stone.

  He was chewing on rocks.

  Hard, jagged stones that he'd dug from the crumbling floor with his bare hands. Blood streamed from his lips where the sharp edges tore into his gums. His teeth—some broken, others chipped—had turned a stained red, and small fragments of enamel flicked out with every bite.

  “Okay, Mom,” he muttered between chews, his voice disturbingly soft and melodic. “I’ll finish everything on my pte.”

  He looked out into the distance, his gaze unfocused, gssy. He stared straight ahead, as if a figure only he could see stood before him.

  “Mom, can I have more meat and carrots?” he continued, pushing another rock into his mouth. He said, “Thank you.”

  Cale flinched as the boy bit down hard enough that one of his mors cracked with a nauseating snap.

  Adin leaned closer, whispering, “What is he doing?”

  “I don’t…” Cale whispered back. “I think he’s talking to someone.”

  “But there’s no one there,” Adin replied.

  They fell silent as the boy began humming. A soft rhythm.

  He began rocking back and forth, faster now. His face twitched—lips moving soundlessly between chews.

  “Good…”

  “Hey Mom, the meat you made today tastes really good." He shoved another piece in and chewed.

  Adin didn’t answer or speak, and neither did Cale. The two just watched the scene in silence,

  while the other prisoners at the front shuffled back, as if they were wary of something happening.