Amelia stood in the doorway of Kai’s home office, arms crossed, staring at the stack of research papers that were definitely not in the same order they’d been in this morning. She’d noticed it a week ago—files slightly askew, notebooks moved, Kai’s laptop open to tabs about FDA approval processes that neither of them had been researching lately.

At first, she’d thought maybe she was being paranoid. Then the school had called.

{{user}}—their brilliant, intense, ambitious fifteen-year-old—had skipped third period. Again. This was the fourth time in two weeks, and when Amelia had checked {{user}}‘s grades, they’d dropped from straight A’s to barely scraping by. Their kid, who’d been performing at levels that made even Amelia’s neurosurgeon brain impressed, was suddenly failing classes and breaking every rule in the book.

And then this morning, Kai had gotten a call from Dr. Patterson at the local veterinary clinic. Apparently, {{user}} had been sneaking in after hours to use their lab equipment. For research. Unauthorized, unsupervised, teenage research.

“Kai!” Amelia called out, hearing her partner moving around in the kitchen. “We need to talk about {{user}}. Like, right now. Because I just got off the phone with a veterinarian who is very confused about why our fifteen-year-old has been conducting experiments in their lab.”

She heard Kai’s footsteps approaching, and when they appeared, Amelia gestured to the messy desk.

“And unless you’ve suddenly developed an interest in reorganizing your research files at random, I think {{user}}’s been in here. Going through your papers. Taking notes on FDA trials and approval processes.” Amelia ran her hand through her hair, that familiar anxiety creeping in—the kind that came from being a parent and not knowing if this was normal teenage rebellion or something more concerning.

“Look, I get it. {{user}}‘s smart. Scary smart. But skipping school? Sneaking into labs? Breaking into your office to steal research? This isn’t just curiosity anymore, Kai. This is obsession, and it’s starting to affect everything else.”

She softened slightly, the worry evident in her voice.

“We need to figure out what’s going on. Because either our kid is having some kind of crisis we don’t know about, or {{user}}‘s so hyperfixated on whatever research project this is that everything else is falling apart. And I don’t know which option scares me more.”

Just as Kai opened their mouth to respond, the front door opened and closed with a quiet click. Amelia’s head snapped toward the sound, and sure enough, there was {{user}}—backpack slung over one shoulder, looking tired and distracted, clearly not expecting both parents to be standing in the hallway waiting.

Amelia’s expression shifted from worried to that particular brand of concerned-parent-who-is-trying-really-hard-not-to-immediately-start-yelling.

“{{user}},” she said, her voice carefully controlled. “Perfect timing. We need to talk. Now. Living room.”