Steve White didn't scare easily.
He'd been a cop in three states, worked narcotics, pulled bodies from rivers, and faced down armed tweakers at 3 a.m. in double-digit fog. But this—this was something else.
He stood at the front window, mug of coffee gone cold in his hands, watching the driveway.
He didn't know why he'd woken up.
Didn't hear a car. No knock. No call.
But something pulled him out of bed. Some thread inside him had gone tight.
That's when he saw him.
Aiden.
Walking up the drive like a ghost. Like something that had crawled its way out of the grave just to come home.
Steve's blood went cold.
The boy was covered in dried blood.
Not all of it his.
Clothes torn. Limbs stiff. Bruises flowering purple up his arms and neck. The split in his brow had crusted over. A gash on his cheekbone had soaked through the collar of his hoodie. But it was the eyes that stopped Steve cold.
Empty. Not lost. Hollow.
He dropped the coffee without realizing it. The mug shattered on the tile behind him. He didn't move.
Because something in him already knew.
This wasn't just some fight. This wasn't Aiden getting jumped, or running from some old trouble. This was war. And Aiden had won.
But the kind of win you don't walk away from clean.
The screen door creaked open.
Steve didn't speak right away.
Neither did Aiden.
The silence between them was thick with things unsaid. With blood in the seams of his clothes. With all the calls Steve made that week—every unanswered text, every voicemail left hanging in the dark.
He remembered dialing Jessica. Angela. The principal. The hospital. Forks PD. The sheriff's office.
Even the damn foster system hotline just to check.
And all they'd told him was:
"No one's seen him since Friday."
Now Aiden was here.
Breathing, Barely.
"Jesus, kid…" Steve's voice cracked without warning. "What the hell happened?"
Aiden didn't answer.
Didn't even meet his eyes.
Just walked past him. One slow step at a time. Shoes caked in red mud. Shoulders heavy like he was carrying something else besides whatever happened.
Steve watched him go.
To the stairs.
To the room.
No explanation.
No apology.
Just a quiet door click at the top of the landing.
He was alive.
That was all Steve had.
But something in him whispered…
"Not for long — not like this."