Phoenix tilted her head with a grin. “So, little brother, how old are you?”

  Atticus didn’t answer. He reached for the book on the coffee table and flipped it open without a word.

  Phoenix raised an eyebrow, amused. Well, aren’t you a cold one.

  She glanced down at the book’s cover—A Brief History of Time.

  Her brow arched even higher. Really? That’s what you’re reading? This late? What a pretentious little thing.

  There were two other books on the table—one on economics, the other on psychology.

  Phoenix’s brow arched. She gave Atticus a look, half-curious, half-incredulous. “Att... Atticus, right? You actually understand all this?”

  Atticus didn’t even glance up, just turned another page of A Brief History of Time, cool as ever.

  “Hey! I’m talking to you.” Her voice cut through the quiet, sharp with irritation, but still—nothing. No reaction.

  Phoenix narrowed her eyes slightly. If she hadn’t just heard him speak with Clarissa, she would’ve thought the kid was mute.

  Then, her lips curved in a slow smile. She leaned back on the couch, one long leg crossing over the other, her leather boots catching the light. “Didn’t Clarissa teach you basic manners? You know—like how to treat a guest?”

  Atticus’s hand paused ever so slightly over the page, but he didn’t respond.

  Phoenix smirked to herself. She let her voice drop, teasing and just a little threatening. “If you won’t talk, maybe I should go tell Clarissa.”

  That finally got a reaction. Atticus stopped turning pages. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked her dead in the eye. “What do you want to ask?”

  “Oh, so you can talk.” Phoenix grinned, pleased with herself.

  Atticus frowned, a shadow passing through his gaze.

  Definitely not your average teenager, Phoenix thought. And definitely not just a little weird.

  The air between them started to shift, an odd tension curling at the edges—until Clarissa stepped into the room, carrying a small tray with bowls of steaming soup.

  “My mom made this. You should have some before you go.” She sat down beside Phoenix naturally, squatting slightly as she set the bowls on the table.

  Phoenix picked one up and took a sip. “Mmm, damn. This is amazing. Your mom’s got skills.”

  Phoenix’s presence made her visibly uneasy. Clementine mumbled something about being tired and quickly retreated to her room.

  Clarissa smiled faintly and handed the other bowl to Atticus. “Here, drink this. Then off to bed, okay? You’ve got school the day after tomorrow.”

  Atticus accepted the bowl without a word, gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, and began to drink. He didn’t care for the taste—too sweet for his liking—but he didn’t complain.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Halfway through her bowl, Phoenix glanced at him again. “Clarissa, this kid you picked up is something else. Who reads Hawking before puberty?”

  Clarissa didn’t even blink. “Atticus has always had strong grades. He even skipped three grades. If his family hadn’t gone through… what it did… he’d be doing even more now.”

  Phoenix blinked, then let out a low whistle. “No wonder he’s all mysterious and moody. A little genius with a superiority complex. Makes sense.”

  Clarissa gave an awkward chuckle. “He’s not trying to be rude. He just had a rough past. Doesn’t like getting too close to strangers.”

  “It’s fine.” Phoenix waved it off.

  Clarissa suddenly realized she hadn’t made introductions. “Atticus, this is Phoenix. She’s my childhood friend. You can call her Sister Phoenix.”

  Phoenix made a face. “Please don’t. No one’s called me that in years.”

  Atticus finally looked up at her again, this time with a flicker of something fluctuation.. in his eyes. “You’re a woman?”

  Phoenix raised a brow, leaned back, and crossed her legs again. “Yeah. What, you couldn’t tell?”

  Atticus stared at her a beat longer. “It’s… not obvious.”

  “Atticus!”

  But Phoenix burst out laughing. “Relax. He’s not wrong. Most people can’t tell. That’s why Dorian used to call me a tomboy constantly.”

  She set her empty bowl down with a soft clink. “Anyway, I won’t stay longer.”

  Clarissa stood. “Let me walk you—”

  But Phoenix lightly pushed her back down. “No need. It’s late, and there are too many damn bugs out there. Stay inside.”

  She gave Clarissa a wink, grabbed her jacket, and strolled toward the door without a second glance.

  And just like that, Clarissa was left in the warm stillness of the living room—with a half-full bowl of soup in her hand and Atticus quietly turning the next page of his book beside her.

  Clarissa thought for a moment, then moved closer and sat beside him. Her voice was soft, coaxing. “Atticus, put the book down for now. You can finish it later.”

  She glanced at the bowl still half-full in his hands. “You don’t like the soup?”

  Atticus kept his eyes low, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. “It’s fine. Maybe... girls like this kind of sweet stuff more.”

  Clarissa chuckled. “That’s true. But,” she paused, her voice dropping into something gentler, “Atticus... you can’t always be like this. You need to learn how to talk to people. How to connect.”

  “Connect?” His tone was flat, unreadable.

  “Make friends. People who share your interests. At school, in life... one day, when you’re older and out in the world, you’ll need that.”

  He said nothing.

  Clarissa shifted a little closer. “You’re smart, but you’re always alone. That’s not a good thing, Atticus. It’s okay to need people. To want warmth. When boys your age are with their friends—playing ball, gaming, joking around... doesn’t that sound fun?”

  Atticus finally looked at her then.

  She was smiling—warm and serene, her voice carrying the kind of maternal tenderness that could soften steel. Her presence was so gentle, so natural... like spring sunlight filtering through a dusty window.

  “So,” he said slowly, “you want me to be like that?”

  Clarissa nodded without a second thought. “Of course. I hope you can let go of whatever happened in the past. Laugh more. Be happy. Be... free, like other boys your age.”

  Atticus stared at her for a long second.

  Then, slowly, his lips curved into a smile. It wasn’t cold or sarcastic. Not the hollow smirk he wore like armor. This smile was genuine—soft, almost sweet. The red teardrop mole beneath his eye caught the light, gleaming like a drop of wine under moonlight.

  Clarissa blinked, momentarily dazed. She had never seen him smile like that. Not once.

  “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll try.” I’ll try to make friends. Try to be the kind of boy you like.

  But from the angle where Clarissa sat, she couldn’t see the flicker in his eyes. A glint of something dark..

  “Good.” Clarissa beamed, oblivious to the shadow. “But don’t push yourself too hard, alright? When you’re making friends, remember to look closely at who they are. Don’t follow people who’ll lead you the wrong way. Choose wisely.”

  She kept talking, letting her heart spill out in warm, affectionate threads. It wasn’t until the clock quietly clicked past one in the morning that she finally realized how late it had gotten.

  She jumped up in a light flurry of concern. “Look at the time! Atticus, go to bed now. You need to sleep, especially at your age. You haven’t finished growing yet!”

  The moment those words left her lips, Atticus’s brow twitched. Again with that. Not growing tall.