“What are you doing in my house?” he snapped.
“My mother invited me,” I said.
My mother flinched at that, not because it was false, but because it was true in a room where truth had always made things worse.
Tyler smiled from beside the fridge.
“Look at her,” he said. “Still playing soldier.”
There are people who laugh because something is funny.
Then there are people who laugh because cruelty feels safer when it has an audience.
Tyler had learned that from Michael.
He had learned where to aim by watching who adults refused to defend.
Michael’s eyes moved from my face to the phone in my hand.
“Who are you talking to?”
“It’s a secure line,” I said.
I should have known that would land wrong.
To a reasonable person, it was a warning.
To Michael, it was a challenge.
His jaw tightened.
Then his eyes narrowed.
