The CPS office smelled weird. Too clean. Like lemon disinfectant and old carpet.

Aria sat on a hard plastic chair, her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her stuffed bunny was gone—they hadn’t let her bring it.

Mason sat next to her, silent. His leg bounced restlessly, his fingers drumming against his jeans.

They had been here for hours.

Nobody told them anything.

Nobody told them where they were going, or if they’d stay together, or if they’d ever go home.

Home.

Aria swallowed hard, staring down at the scuffed linoleum floor. She didn’t know if she even wanted to go home.

But she didn’t want to be here.

A woman in a stiff blouse sat behind a desk, talking in a low voice to another worker. Papers shuffled. Phones rang. Voices murmured somewhere down the hall.

It felt like they weren’t even there.

Like they were just… waiting.

For what, Aria didn’t know.

She looked at Mason. He hadn’t said a word since they were brought in.

Not when they were pulled from the house.

Not when they were driven here.

Not when the CPS workers told them to sit tight.

His jaw was tight. His knuckles white.

He was angry.

Not like when he fought some kid at school. Not like when he got in trouble for stealing.

This was different.

This was silent, shaking, caged-animal anger.

Aria hated it.

She shifted closer to him, pressing her shoulder against his.

Mason flinched—like he had almost forgotten she was there—then let out a slow breath, his hand dropping onto her knee.

Just for a second.

Just to remind her he was still there.

Then, the door to the office creaked open.

A different woman stepped in. Someone new. Someone with a clipboard and a tired smile.

“Alright, kids,” she said. “We need to talk about what happens next.”

Mason’s fingers curled into a fist.