Rose’s fingers trembled slightly as she held her phone in front of her, because the red emergency lights flashing through the windows had made every second feel heavier than the one before it, and the thought of Little Lily trapped somewhere near the gate was enough to make her heart feel as though it might break beneath the pressure.Her mother and father stood a short distance away, both watching her closely, though neither of them truly understood what Rose intended to do with the phone in her hand. Her father looked worried but hopeful, as though he wanted to believe that she had someone capable of helping them, while her mother’s expression remained hard and skeptical, already prepared to reject whatever Rose said before she had even heard it.Rose did not hesitate any longer.She found Alex’s number and pressed the call button.The phone rang only once before the call connected.For a brief moment, Rose could not speak, because hearing Alex’s voice on the other end brought a str

Rose stared at her mother with open disgust. Not irritation, not fatigue, disgust. It was the kind that settled in the eyes first, then the mouth, then the entire expression of a person who had finally grown tired of pretending that the person before them deserved patience. She had heard enough. She had watched her mother twist fear into bitterness long enough. She had listened to the same pattern repeat itself so many times that it no longer surprised her. Her mother always did this. Whenever Rose trusted someone, her mother questioned it. Whenever something good happened, her mother searched for a way to stain it. Whenever someone proved their worth, her mother tried to reduce them into luck, coincidence, or theft. Rose’s voice came out colder than she expected. “I can tell,” she said, “I can tell already what you have been doing from the very beginning. How you love to look down on people. How you love to look down on someone just because you think they do not fit your idea

Rose’s father had been quiet for far too long. At first, his silence had come from shock. The emergency alert, the gate opening, the fear of losing Little Lily, the television reports, and then Alex returning with the child safely in his arms—everything had happened too quickly for him to process. But now, standing in the middle of the room and listening to his wife continue speaking as though none of those things mattered, his shock had slowly turned into something else. Frustration, then disappointment. And finally, anger. He looked at his wife with a face that had grown tired from carrying too much unspoken thought. The red emergency lights outside were still reflecting faintly against the windows, though the sirens had begun to fade in the distance. Little Lily was safe in Rose’s arms. Alex stood nearby, quiet and composed. The news continued playing in the background, repeating the same astonishing report about the massive gate that had been shut down in less than a minute

Rose’s mother stood beside the bed with the phone pressed tightly to her ear.For a few seconds, she said nothing.The room was dark except for the thin strip of light beneath the door and the pale glow of the phone screen reflecting against her face. From somewhere farther down the hall, she could faintly hear Rose speaking softly to Little Lily. The sound should have brought her comfort. Her granddaughter was home. The danger had passed. The gate had been closed.But comfort was the last thing Rose’s mother felt.Every sound from the living room only reminded her of what had happened.Her husband had defended Alex.Rose had defended Alex.Even Little Lily had spoken about Alex as though he were some kind of hero.And Alex himself had stood in the middle of it all with that same unbearable calmness—as though he had expected every insult, every accusation, every doubt, and had simply decided none of it was worth answering.Rose’s mother hated that calmness.It made her feel as though

Rose’s mother did not want to accept any of it. She did not want to believe that Alex was connected to something far greater than she understood. She did not want to believe that the man she had insulted repeatedly might possess the kind of power that could frighten Jefferson into hiding. But refusing to believe something did not make it untrue. She was still trying to understand what she should think first. Zachariah came to her mind, then Jefferson. Then Alex, her thoughts moved from one name to another, and with each name came another unanswered question. What did Zachariah know? Why had Jefferson suddenly changed? How could Alex have become so powerful without anyone noticing? What had he done? And why was everybody acting as though there was a part of the truth they were afraid to reveal? Rose’s mother stood up again. “This is not right,” she muttered. “This is not right at all.” She walked toward the door, but before she could open it, the sound of the television from