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Connor didn’t unpack.
He never did, not right away. The duffel sat on the bed like it always did—creased, zipped, weightless now except for the things that didn’t matter. He left it closed and looked around the room. Off-white walls, twin bed, no posters. Window with blinds that didn’t fully close. A desk in the corner with a broken lamp. Enough.
Down the hall, the front door shut with a soft thunk.
He didn’t react.
---
Two hours earlier, he’d been sitting in Amanda’s car, hands folded neatly in his lap. She liked when he did that. Didn’t say it, but she always relaxed a little when he looked calm.
“You’ll like this one,” she said.
Connor watched the trees go by outside. “Statistically, that’s unlikely.”
Amanda sighed, not annoyed. “It’s temporary. Just a few months. Until we get something more permanent lined up.”
“Like the last one?”
She didn’t answer that.
He could’ve listed all the reasons why this placement wouldn’t last. He’d been through enough of them. People didn’t know what to do with a kid who didn’t cry, didn’t yell, didn’t bond on a schedule. Teachers called him brilliant. Parents called him difficult. He didn’t argue with either.
Amanda parked in front of a one-story house with a peeling paint job and a dog barking somewhere behind the fence.
Connor didn’t move.
Amanda unbuckled her seatbelt. “Connor.”
He looked over.
“His name is Hank Anderson. He’s a retired detective. He’s... rough around the edges, but he’s a good man.”
Connor stared at the front door. “Then why’d he agree to this?”
Amanda hesitated. “Fowler asked him to. They used to work together. And he owed him a favor.”
Connor nodded once. That made sense.
---
Hank opened the door halfway, like he’d been in the middle of something and didn’t want to pause it. He looked older than Connor expected. Bearded, soft around the edges, t-shirt with a stain near the hem.
“Right,” Hank said, glancing at Amanda, then Connor. “Hi.”
Amanda smiled politely. “Thanks again for doing this.”
Hank grunted. “Yeah. No problem.”
Connor didn’t say anything. He didn’t offer his hand. Didn’t fake a smile. Just walked past Hank into the house without being told.
It was dim inside. The curtains were half drawn. The air smelled like coffee and dog hair. There were papers stacked on the dining table, dishes in the sink. Not filthy, just... lived in.
Amanda gave Hank a few quick instructions about paperwork and school and medication he didn’t take. Hank nodded like he was listening. Connor doubted he was.
When she turned to go, Amanda touched Connor’s arm briefly.
He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t respond either.
“I’ll check in next week,” she said. “You’ve got my number.”
He nodded. “Goodbye, Amanda.”
“Bye, Connor.”
---
Hank scratched the back of his neck once the door shut. “So. Uh. You hungry?”
“No.”
“Alright. You want a tour or something?”
“No.”
“Cool.” Hank stood there for another second, then jerked his thumb down the hall. “Room’s on the right. Bathroom’s across from it. If the toilet leaks, just jiggle the handle.”
Connor picked up his bag.
“Oh, and uh,” Hank added, “I don’t care what time you sleep as long as you aren't loud. Make whatever, as long as you don’t burn the house down. There’s cereal in the kitchen if you can’t cook.”
Connor walked down the hall without acknowledging it.
He opened the door to the guest room, looked at the bed, and dropped the duffel on top. Then he sat beside it and stared at the blank wall for a while, long enough for the quiet to settle again.
---
Outside, the dog barked once and went quiet.
Connor kicked off his shoes, laid back, and kept his eyes open.
Temporary. Like always.
---
He didn’t wait to be called in the morning.
By the time Hank dragged himself into the kitchen in a faded robe and mismatched socks, Connor had already made toast, washed the pan from the egg he’d cooked, and was halfway through a glass of water.
“Morning,” Hank muttered, blinking at the light.
Connor nodded once.
“You eat?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. You didn’t have to clean up.”
Connor shrugged. “It made sense.”
Hank scratched his head. “Alright. Well… cereal’s there. You know how to get to school?”
“I mapped it.”
“Right. Of course you did.”
---
School was tolerable.
Connor didn’t speak unless called on. He answered correctly every time, which seemed to annoy some teachers more than it helped. A few students had tried to talk to him the first day—he’d answered honestly and briefly, which they apparently didn’t like. After that, they left him alone.
He was fine with that.
In biology, he corrected the teacher on a mislabeled diagram. Politely. The teacher didn’t take it that way.
In history, he finished the worksheet ten minutes early and got detention for reading the next chapter without permission.
At lunch, he sat outside and watched traffic patterns through the fence.
---
Markus found him there on a Thursday.
Connor looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and blinked once. “You’re early.”
“Didn’t want to miss you.” Markus smiled. He was tired, his hoodie sleeves pushed up past his elbows. The bags under his eyes were worse than last time.
Connor didn’t comment on them.
Markus sat beside him, handing over a wrapped sandwich. “Brought one for you.”
“I already ate.”
“Then save it.”
Connor held the sandwich in his hands for a while before putting it in his backpack.
They didn’t talk for a bit.
Eventually, Markus said, “How’s the new place?”
“It’s fine.”
“That’s what you always say.”
Connor didn’t reply.
Markus rested his elbows on his knees. “You know, when I got emancipated, I thought things would start getting easier. They didn’t. I don’t say that to scare you, I just…” He sighed. “I wish I could do more.”
“You already do more than most,” Connor said quietly.
Markus looked over. “That doesn’t mean it’s enough.”
---
The last time Connor saw Kamski was two years ago.
It was a clean office. Modern, quiet. Connor had sat across from him with his hands folded neatly in his lap, just like Amanda liked.
Kamski didn’t look cruel. He looked bored.
“I’m not equipped for this,” he’d said.
Connor didn’t respond.
“You’re smart. You’ll be fine.”
Still nothing.
Then the signature. Then the paper slid into the folder. Amanda thanked him, quietly. Connor got up and left.
That was it.
---
Chloe texted once or twice a month. Usually short things.
You okay?
Happy birthday.
Just checking in.
She was still with him. The only one he’d kept.
She didn’t say why. Connor didn’t ask.
Once she sent a picture of their old dog. The one Kamski replaced after a month. Connor hadn’t replied to that one.
---
Hank didn’t say much around the house. Neither did Connor. It worked, mostly.
Connor did laundry, ran the dishwasher, and changed the batteries in the smoke detector without being asked. He vacuumed once when Hank left a trail of dog food on the kitchen floor. He didn’t mention it.
At night, Hank watched the news with the volume too loud. Connor did homework with earbuds in.
Sometimes Hank asked about school.
“You doing alright?”
“Yes.”
“Getting along okay?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
Connor paused. “Do you want a longer answer, or do you want a truthful one?”
That usually ended the conversation.
---
One night, Connor sat at the kitchen table, rereading his English assignment. He heard Hank’s voice from the living room, quieter than usual.
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. The wall was thin.
“…I’m telling you, he doesn’t say much. Just does everything on his own. It’s weird.”
Pause. Then, “Yeah, I know he’s been through a lot. Still. Feels like I’ve got a ghost living here.”
Another pause.
“No, I haven’t yelled. Not about anything. Just—look, I’m not cut out for this. I told you that when you asked.”
A long silence.
Then, softer, resigned: “I’m not a goddamn babysitter, Fowler.”
Connor sat very still.
When the call ended, Hank didn’t come back into the kitchen.
Connor shut his notebook. Stood. Turned off the lights on his way to bed.
---
He didn’t sleep much that night. Didn’t toss or turn. Just lay still, waiting. For what, he wasn’t sure.
Temporary. Like always.
---
The fridge was nearly empty the next night. Hank swore when he opened it. “Shit. Thought I went shopping.”
“You didn’t,” Connor said, already halfway through scanning the pantry.
“What, you keep a schedule?”
“Yes.”
“…Right.” Hank scratched the back of his head. “We could order something?”
Connor didn’t answer. He gathered a can of beans, two eggs, and some bread that wasn’t fully stale. In twenty minutes, he’d made something edible. Not good, but edible.
He set a plate down across from Hank, then sat at the other end of the couch and turned on the TV.
They ate while a documentary played—something dramatic, half-true, about a cold case and a wrongly accused suspect. Hank made it halfway through before throwing his hands up.
“This is bullshit. The second alibi fell apart twenty minutes in, and nobody caught it?”
Connor didn’t look up. “They didn’t verify the second witness’s timecard. The timestamp was wrong.”
Hank blinked. “How the hell do you know that?”
“They showed it twice. You just weren’t paying attention.”
“…Huh.” Hank took another bite. “You ever thought of being a detective?”
Connor shrugged.
They finished the episode without saying anything else.
---
The school counselor’s office smelled like peppermint and nerves. Connor sat with his hands folded, back straight, shoes clean. Across the desk, Ms. Kaplan tried to smile like it was a normal meeting.
“We’ve just noticed some things,” she said gently. “Connor doesn’t really engage with his peers. He often finishes work ahead of time and corrects teachers mid-lesson. Which—while accurate—can come off as disrespectful.”
“I see,” Hank said slowly. He was leaning too far back in the chair. Arms crossed. Frowning.
“He’s very bright,” she added. “But we’re a little concerned about his social and emotional development. He doesn’t participate in group work. He doesn’t eat with the others at lunch. That sort of thing.”
Connor didn’t speak.
Hank looked over at him. Then back to Kaplan. “So… what do you want me to do?”
She hesitated. “Just keep an eye on him. Encourage him to open up. Maybe have him talk to someone?”
“Someone like a shrink?”
“Someone qualified.”
Hank exhaled sharply through his nose. “Right. Sure. We’ll see what we can do.”
Connor watched her. She didn’t look malicious. Just tired.
---
The car ride home was quiet until they pulled into the driveway.
Then Hank shut the engine off and said, “You could’ve told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That school was acting like you’re some kind of emotionless alien.”
Connor looked out the window. “They’re not wrong.”
“Bullshit.”
“You don’t talk to me.”
“You don’t talk to me.”
Connor opened the door.
Hank snapped, “You don’t want to be here, do you?”
Connor paused. Then said, flatly, “You don’t want me here.”
“I didn’t ask for this!”
“Neither did I.”
He shut the door harder than necessary and sat on the porch, arms crossed, jaw set.
He didn’t go back inside until the sun dipped behind the trees and the dog barked at something invisible.
---
Later that night, when Connor came back out to sleep on the couch, there was a folded blanket waiting.
He didn’t touch it right away.
Just sat down beside it, staring out at the dark kitchen.
In the morning, no one mentioned it.
Connor put the blanket back where it came from and made eggs. Hank stumbled in halfway through, hair a mess, squinting at the light.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled.
“I was already awake.”
“Still.”
They ate in quiet. Not heavy, not tense. Just quiet.
---
Things got easier after that. Not good, exactly. But better.
Hank started asking if Connor wanted anything from the store. Sometimes he remembered to bring it back.
Connor started answering questions in more than one word. Nothing big. Just stuff like, math’s fine, or we’re learning the war of 1812, it’s boring.
Hank didn’t press. He just nodded, said something grumbled like, school always sucked, and that was that.
---
It wasn’t until a week later, after another half-watched documentary and a burnt grilled cheese, that Hank sat back and said, “You remind me of him.”
Connor blinked. “Who?”
“My son. Cole.”
He didn’t say anything right away after that. Just stared at the wall like he wasn’t sure if he was going to keep talking.
Then, “He died. Couple years ago. He was a smart kid too. Always had something to prove.”
Connor watched him closely. “Is that why you didn’t want to take me?”
Hank gave a humorless laugh. “I didn’t not want you. I just… didn’t think I could.”
He paused, rubbed at his face. “Didn’t think I should. You’re sharp. Fast. Kind of a pain in the ass, honestly.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I just—I look at you sometimes and think... he might’ve looked like that. If he’d made it.”
Connor didn’t say anything.
Hank cleared his throat. “Anyway. I know I’ve been a shitty stand-in. And I know you don’t owe me anything. But I’m trying. You’ve been moved around too much, and the whole Kamski thing made it worse. All public, all messy. I get that. I may not’ve asked for this, but I’m not gonna give up on you. Just... putting that out there.”
Connor looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll try too.”
Hank let out a breath. “Alright. We’re trying.”
---
Amanda came by two weeks later. Hank made coffee this time, offered her a cup.
She declined.
“I didn’t want to drop this on you,” she said. “But you needed to hear it from me.”
Connor looked up. She always said that when something bad was coming.
“Kamski filed to reopen custody.”
The air felt thinner.
“He won’t win,” Amanda added quickly. “There’s a record of abandonment, and the courts don’t look kindly on someone coming back after signing full termination.”
Connor didn’t say anything.
“But,” she continued, “he’s got money. He’s got a team. And if he pushes hard enough... well. It’s not nothing.”
Hank looked like he wanted to swear.
Connor just folded his hands again. “Okay.”
Amanda sighed. “It doesn’t mean he gets you. It just means we have to be ready.”
---
He shut down again after that.
Not like before—no fights, no icy glares. Just... silence. He did the dishes. Cleaned up. Went to school. Didn’t say much.
Hank noticed the notes in his file started dropping again. One teacher called to say Connor had just stopped participating altogether.
---
Markus came by with three people—Simon, North, and Josh. They met up in town, some old cafe that Markus liked. Hank tagged along but gave them space.
They were kind. Tried not to push. Simon asked how school was going. Josh told him he used to get in trouble for answering too fast too. North didn’t talk much, just watched him like she was trying to figure out what part of him was still hiding.
Connor appreciated it. But he didn’t say much. Not really.
Markus gave him a look on the way out—sad, familiar. Like he was proud, but sorry. Like he wished he could fix more than he could.
---
That night, Hank caught Amanda outside before she drove off.
“What the hell does he want?” he asked.
“Kamski?”
“Yeah. What’s the angle? He didn’t care for thirteen damn years, now he wants to play dad?”
Amanda hesitated. “Image, maybe. Or guilt. But it’s not love.”
Hank swore under his breath. “That kid deserves better.”
Amanda nodded once. “Then give it to him.”
---
Connor didn’t mean to say it. It just came out one night when they were cleaning up the kitchen. Hank had put on some old blues record, and Connor was wiping down the counter like he wasn’t thinking about anything at all.
“He didn’t want me,” he said.
Hank looked up.
“Not even when I was easy. When I was small, quiet. When I didn’t take up any space.”
“Connor—”
“He only ever loved Chloe’s mom. And Chloe. She got to stay. Me and Markus didn’t.”
He kept wiping the same spot on the counter.
“She texts sometimes. Says she wishes she were with us. But she lives in a mansion and has a driver and a scholarship to Yale. When she says she wishes she were with us, she means together, not with us.”
He finally looked up.
“She got everything. And we got passed around.”
Hank didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “Well. I won’t let him get you now.”
Connor didn’t answer.
But he didn’t shut down again, either.
Hank didn’t bring it up again, but something shifted after that.
Next time Amanda called, Hank asked for a lawyer.
“You’re serious?” she said.
“Dead serious. Get me the meanest one you know.”
---
It was a mess from the beginning.
The lawyer Amanda found was blunt, overworked, and clearly skeptical—but Hank showed up to every meeting anyway, folders in hand, attitude fully engaged. He didn’t know the system. He didn’t understand the forms. He had to ask what half the acronyms meant.
But he kept showing up.
He asked questions. He sat in waiting rooms with his arms crossed and his foot tapping. He took notes in terrible handwriting and stuck post-its on the fridge with reminders of everything they needed to do.
Connor didn’t say much about it. But he noticed.
---
The court hearing was worse.
It wasn’t a trial. Not yet. Just a preliminary meeting. Some conference room with folding chairs and too-bright lights. Hank wore a wrinkled shirt and a tie that looked like it hadn’t been out of the closet since ‘07.
Kamski showed up in a tailored suit.
He was calm. Polished. Shook hands with the clerk. Made a comment about traffic and the architecture of the courthouse like they weren’t all there because he’d decided—ten years too late—that his son was useful again.
Connor kept his eyes on the table.
Hank sat next to him, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Kamski didn’t even look at them until halfway through the conversation. “Connor,” he said smoothly, “I hope you’re well.”
Connor gave a short nod. “I’m fine.”
No one made a ruling that day. It wasn’t that kind of hearing. Just a chance to lay the groundwork. Share positions. Let Kamski’s lawyer drone on about opportunity and parental regret and the value of education.
Connor didn’t speak again.
When they left the building, Hank muttered, “Slimy bastard.”
Connor said nothing.
But he walked close enough for their sleeves to brush.
---
Later that night, after they got home—after Sumo had been fed and the dishwasher loaded and the court papers dumped in a pile by the door—Connor stood in the kitchen and said, “Why are you doing this?”
Hank looked up from his half-empty mug. “What?”
“This.” Connor gestured vaguely. “Fighting.”
Hank set the mug down. “Because you’re my kid, dammit.”
Connor was stunned. He said it like it wasn’t up for debate.
Connor blinked at him. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.
Just stood there, eyes a little too still, like his system was catching up.
Then he nodded. Once.
That was all.
---
The next morning, Hank got up early. Burnt the toast. Spilled coffee on the counter.
Connor wandered into the kitchen, rolled his eyes, and said, “You should just let me do it.”
“Probably.”
He didn’t offer. Hank didn’t ask. But they stood there anyway, quiet, side by side.
It wasn’t peace. Not exactly.
But it was something.
---
That Friday, Hank parked in front of the school like usual.
The lot was half-empty. A few students milled around near the gym, waiting for rides or sports practice or whatever else teenagers did on Friday afternoons. He sipped his gas station coffee and fiddled with the radio dial. It was stuck between classic rock and someone talking about property taxes.
Connor appeared at the front doors a minute later, backpack over one shoulder, coat zipped up to his chin.
He didn’t look upset. Didn’t look anything.
Hank watched him cross the pavement, weaving through the clusters of students.
Connor climbed into the passenger seat, shut the door, and tossed his bag at his feet.
“They’re serving mystery meat again,” he said. “I saved you a cookie.”
Hank snorted. “You’re too good to me.”
Connor looked out the window. “Statistically, no.”
They didn’t say anything else.
Hank pulled out of the lot, turned left, and merged onto the main road.
The cookie sat in a napkin on the dashboard, slightly crushed but still warm.
They drove home.
---
The court date came faster than expected. Or maybe it had been crawling the whole time and they’d just stopped paying attention.
Either way, Connor stood outside the building in a clean button-down, his shoes uncomfortable, hair combed down in a way that made him look younger than usual. Markus was next to him, silent, shoulders squared. Chloe lingered a few feet away, checking her phone, biting the edge of her thumbnail.
Hank was late.
Which, of course, meant he was actually five minutes early. He parked crookedly in a spot across the street, nearly hit the curb, and muttered something about parking tickets as he crossed.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No,” Connor said.
“Great. Let’s go.”
—
They weren’t alone in the waiting room.
North was pacing. Josh was sitting cross-legged with a book, though he hadn’t turned the page in ten minutes. Simon leaned against the wall, nodding at Connor when he looked up.
It was strange, having all of them here. Not family, not exactly. But something close. Something built from years of surviving, of group homes and shelters and shared buses to court-mandated therapy.
Connor sat down beside Markus.
“He’s not going to win,” Markus said quietly.
Connor didn’t answer.
Kamski entered the building with a smoothness that made it feel like he belonged here. Designer coat. Silver watch. Smile like a knife.
He greeted Chloe with a hand on her shoulder. She flinched just barely.
Then he turned to Markus.
“You look well,” Kamski said.
Markus didn’t shake his hand. “You have a lot of nerve.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing. If you weren’t emancipated, it would be you too.”
Connor didn’t look at him. “Now?”
Kamski didn’t flinch. “Better late than never.”
Markus stepped between them. Not a threat—just a wall.
“Let’s just get through this,” he said.
—
Before they were called in, Chloe pulled Connor aside.
He raised an eyebrow. She hesitated. Then shrugged like it was no big deal and said, “You look… okay. Like—actually okay.”
“I’m fine,” he said, automatically.
“I don’t mean just… functioning,” she clarified. “I mean you look like Markus does when he talks about Carl.”
Connor didn’t say anything.
Chloe looked over at Markus. “He stays there now. With Carl. Even though he got emancipated. Carl lets him stay.”
“I know.”
“Leo’s around too. Kind of a mess. But getting better. He calls Markus his brother sometimes.”
Connor nodded once.
“I hope you don’t go back with him,” Chloe said, quietly. “You don’t deserve to feel like an afterthought.”
Connor met her eyes. “You didn’t either.”
She smiled, just barely. “Yeah. But I got the house. Guess we all got something.”
—
Court was slow.
Lawyers speaking in circles. Case files passed around. Words like “parental intent” and “developmental continuity.” Hank’s lawyer was blunt. Kamski’s was charming. The judge listened with the same blank face she’d worn all day.
Hank fidgeted next to Connor, muttering under his breath when Kamski’s side brought up academic potential and long-term legacy.
Connor didn’t move. He just watched. Listened.
At one point, the judge asked him if he wanted to say anything.
He sat at the stand.
“He gave me up,” he said. “Not because I was difficult or sick or dangerous. I was just… there. And he didn’t want me. He wanted Chloe. That’s fine. He made a choice.”
He looked at Kamski then, even though it made his stomach turn.
“You don’t get to take that choice back because I got good grades and test well.”
Kamski didn’t speak.
Connor sat down again.
The judge wrote something down. Then she said, “Thank you.”
—
When the hearing ended, they didn’t wait for the final paperwork.
They already knew.
Hank ruffled Connor’s hair on the way out. Connor swatted him off with a look of pure betrayal.
“Don’t touch me in public,” he muttered.
“Sure, kid.”
They walked down the courthouse steps together.
The others waited outside—Markus, Chloe, Simon, Josh, North.
Chloe held up a credit card. “On him,” she said.
Hank blinked. “You stole his credit card?”
“She said borrowed,” Markus corrected.
“I said what I said,” Chloe replied.
Connor didn’t smile, not really. But something eased in his face.
They found a cheap ice cream place with sticky tables and too many neon signs.
Chloe paid for everyone.
Hank got chocolate. Markus stole a bite.
North said they should take a picture and Simon actually did. It came out blurry—Connor was mid-eye-roll and Hank looked like he was trying not to sneeze.
They didn’t talk about the court case again.
Didn’t talk about Kamski.
Didn’t talk about temporary.
Connor sat in the booth with a spoon in one hand and a brain freeze forming behind his eyes.
And for once, he didn’t feel like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
This time, it already had.
And they were still here.