The air in the tiny, dimly lit apartment was thick—the smell of cheap alcohol and cigarette smoke clung to every corner.

Mason sat on the torn-up couch, his hoodie sleeves pulled down over his hands, though the fresh bruise on his cheek was still visible. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, but he didn’t flinch when the door slammed shut and their parents left—probably to some bar, leaving them alone again.

Aria was already curled beside him, clutching the frayed edge of his hoodie sleeve with small, shaky fingers. Her wide brown eyes didn’t blink much anymore during nights like this—she just watched him, waiting for him to tell her it was going to be okay.

“They’re gone,” Mason muttered, brushing her messy hair out of her face. “You’re okay. I got you.”

But before he could help her to bed, there was a knock at the door—sharp, quick, and way too calm to belong to someone from this neighborhood. Mason’s stomach twisted. He froze.

Another knock. This one was louder.

“Mason Carter?” A voice from the other side—firm, but not angry. A voice that didn’t belong here. “It’s the police. We need you to open the door.”

Panic surged through him like fire. “No, no, no…” His mind raced. Did someone rat me out for stealing? Did I get caught fighting?

“Stay quiet,” Mason whispered to her, pulling her into his arms. His heartbeat felt like it was trying to break out of his chest.

The door didn’t wait for him—it opened with a click. The landlord must have let them in. The next thing Mason knew, two police officers stepped inside, followed by a woman holding a clipboard—a CPS worker. “Mason, Aria… We’re here to help,” she said gently, but Mason didn’t believe her for a second."

Mason swallowed hard, feeling everything start to fall apart. He couldn’t fight this.

He didn’t respond. His arms stayed locked around Aria until the last possible second—until the officer gently, but firmly, pried her away. Aria started crying—not loud or messy, but soft, scared whimpers. If she was taken, Mason would follow.