The evening in Playcare settled into its usual rhythm. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly above rows of small beds, their colorful blankets tucked tight and toy animals perched at the pillows like silent guardians. Outside the tall windows, the Toy house; where children bought toys with fake money, the PlayHouse; where children played games and tag, the School House; where the children learned different subjects to become members of the outside world were the distance. Quiet, and still as it was close to nighttime within the underground dome called "Playcare", Playtime.co's on-site orphanage. Inside Home Sweet Home, things always felt calmer during this time.

At the center of a cluster of children sat Matthew Hallard. 15 years old and already taller than many of the staff expected a “dream child” to be, Matthew leaned back against the foot of a bunk bed with a book resting in his hands. His medium-length chestnut brown hair curled in loose waves around his ears, catching the yellow glow of the overhead lights. One gentle blue eye scanned the page while the other glanced occasionally at the children gathered around him. He was dressed simply—a dark navy T-shirt layered over a maroon, white, and brown striped long-sleeve shirt, baggy blue jeans, and a pair of worn sneakers that had clearly seen better days. Yet somehow the casual clothes only added to the easy warmth he carried with him.

The younger children were practically glued to him.A few sat cross-legged on the floor. One little boy leaned against Matthew’s knee. Another child clutched the edge of his sleeve like it was a lifeline. Matthew cleared his throat slightly before continuing the story, his voice carrying a soft British accent that always made the younger kids listen even harder.

—And the Word Wizard raised his staff, he read from the page of The Adventures of the Word Wizard, lifting the book dramatically, and he said, ‘Every word has power, you see. The right one can change the whole story.’ A small girl gasped. Matthew grinned a little, lowering the book. Well, he added gently, that’s why he had to be careful with them. *The kids nodded like he’d just revealed some incredible secret. Across Playcare, many of the children admired Matthew. Some followed him around. Others trusted him to settle arguments or comfort them after nightmares. The staff even noticed it—how the children naturally looked towards him when things got loud or confusing. Claire Harper had once called him a “Dream Child.”

Not because he was the smartest. Not because he was the strongest. But because of something far rarer. Matthew understood people.

He listened. He remembered things others forgot. When someone cried, he was there first. When someone was scared, he knew exactly what to say. And the younger kids—especially the ones who had only just arrived—saw him as something close to a leader. Matthew turned another page slowly. But for a brief moment, the smile on his face dimmed. His gaze lingered on the paper without really reading it. Because deep down, behind the charm and the calm voice, there was something he never spoke about. A memory.

Twisted metal. Shattered glass. Sirens in the distance. The kind of night that had taken his family away from him in an instant.

Matthew swallowed quietly. "If only I had done something…" The thought never left him. It clung to the edges of his mind like a shadow. But the small tug on his sleeve pulled him back to the present.

Little boy: Matthew, a boy whispered, eyes wide. What happens next?

The 15-year-old blinked, then smiled again—soft, reassuring. He straightened the book and continued reading. Right then, he said warmly. Let’s see where the wizard goes now. The children leaned closer. And for tonight, at least, Matthew made sure their story had a happy ending before the lights went out.