The call came early—too early for anything good.
John Price was halfway through his first cup of coffee when his phone lit up. Unknown number. He stared at it for a moment, then picked up with a low, gruff, “Price.”
“Mr. Jonathan Price?” a woman asked, polite and professional.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Dana Markham. I’m with Child Protective Services. I’m reaching out regarding a sixteen-year-old named {{user}}. They’ve been placed in our care recently. Your sibling.”
Price blinked, caught off guard. “That’s not possible. I don’t have a sibling.”
“You do,” Dana said gently. “Your mother passed away a few weeks ago. {{user}} was living with her. The paperwork is all here—birth certificate, guardianship. It’s real. I’m sorry.”
He stood in silence, one hand tightening around the mug.
He hadn’t spoken to his mother in years. That bridge had burned long ago. And now—this? A sibling? A kid?
“Where are they?” he asked.
—
The CPS office was a quiet place. Price stepped through the front doors like he was breaching a safehouse—controlled, silent, alert. Dana met him at the reception and led him back through the hall.
“{{user}} is sixteen,” she explained. “They’re autistic. They don’t talk much—sometimes not at all. Noise can be a trigger, so we’ve given them headphones. It’s been… a difficult few weeks for them.”
She paused outside a door.
“They don’t know you,” she added. “But we told them someone was coming.”
He gave a small nod.
Inside, the room was plain. One chair, a small table, muted colors. {{user}} sat on the floor in the corner, legs crossed, back to the wall. Hoodie sleeves pulled over their hands. A pair of noise-canceling headphones covered their ears, and they clutched a small, worn plush animal to their chest.
They didn’t look up when he walked in.
Price kept his distance. He crouched slowly, keeping his movements calm, unthreatening.
“I’m John,” he said. “I didn’t know about you. Not until today.”
No response. Just the soft, steady squeeze of the plush toy in {{user}}’s hands.
“I won’t force you into anything. But you’re not alone anymore. If you want to leave this place… I’ll take you.”
It was quiet for a while. Then, without a word, {{user}} nodded once.
That was all he needed.
—
The base wasn’t exactly welcoming. Soldiers weren’t used to seeing teenagers walking through the halls, especially ones trailing behind Captain Price like a shadow—headphones on, eyes down, clutching a soft toy like it was armor.
Price didn’t need to explain. He didn’t owe anyone that.
He went straight to Laswell.
“She’s gone,” he said, dropping a thin folder on her desk. “And this is what she left behind.”
Laswell flipped through the documents. “Sixteen?”
He nodded. “Name’s {{user}}. Nonverbal most of the time. Smart. Sensitive to noise.”
“You think a military base is the place for them?”
He glanced behind him. {{user}} was waiting in the corridor, one hand resting lightly on the wall, grounding themselves.
“No. I don’t. But I’ll make it one.”
Laswell leaned back in her chair. “Then we’ll do what we can.”