The prayer beads snapped.
It sounded like David's last connection to his mother breaking in real time.
David watched in horror as the worn wooden beads scattered across the polished marble floor of Stricton City Hall, bouncing and rolling in every direction with tiny clicks that seemed deafening in the hushed chamber.
It was his very first time inside the building—five months into his life in Stricton, and the place still felt as alien as a cathedral on the moon.
His dad, Jesse Sheffield, was speaking today—something about animal shelters and funding—but David barely heard it over the sound of the beads scattering.
Six months since Mom died. Six months carrying these everywhere. And now—
He scrambled to gather them, cheeks burning as adult eyes turned his way.
They rolled under benches, between expensive shoes, toward the walls. One stopped against Commissioner Ashford's polished oxford. Another came to rest near a woman whose wrist bore a sleek black band that pulsed yellow when she shifted impatiently. Her crimson coat pooled around her like spilled wine.
David froze.
He couldn't crawl over there.
Not in front of everyone.
The people here all seemed to know the unspoken rules; David was still translating every look and hush-tone into English, Korean, and How-Things-Work-in-Stricton.
At the podium, Jesse's voice carried on, though David caught the slight pause when his father noticed his son's distress.
"The Haven Animal Shelter serves over three hundred families annually…" Jesse continued, hands gripping the podium edges.
His voice gained strength despite the distraction. "We're not just housing animals. We're saving families. When the Martinez family lost their home last winter, keeping their dog meant their children had stability through the chaos. When Mrs. Chen's husband passed, her cat became her reason to get up each morning."
His eyes swept the room, landing briefly on David before continuing. "And our youth volunteer program? It gives at-risk teenagers purpose, teaching them that kindness matters more than compliance. That caring for something vulnerable makes you stronger, not weaker."
David sat back on his heels, defeated, several beads still scattered beyond reach. His eyes stung. Everything was broken now. Everything—
And then the chamber doors burst open with enough force to echo—and somehow things broke all over again—in a different way.
Every head turned.
Jesse's speech halted mid-sentence.
An older teenage boy strode in like he owned the place—which, David would realize later, he sort of did. Fifteen or sixteen, golden-haired, wearing a crisp ROTC uniform that somehow looked more like armor than authority. He wasn't hurrying despite being late. If anything, he moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew the world would wait.
"Apologies for the interruption," the boy said, flashing a grin that said he wasn't sorry at all. "Youth leadership training ran long. Pastor Goldrick's new program doesn't believe in short meetings."
A few chuckles.
Someone whispered, "All youth programs go through Giant Faith starting next fall..."
Commissioner Ashford's face transformed—irritation melting into pride so obvious it was almost embarrassing. He actually stood up from his seat.
"Everyone, my son Jonathan," Saul announced, rising to his feet as if this was his meeting now.
"Just made squad leader in the city's Junior ROTC program. Youngest in the program's history." He gripped Johnny's shoulder like a trophy. "Future Command Track material, this one."
A polite scatter of applause. Johnny's smile tightened just slightly at the edges.
"Discipline, leadership, excellence," Saul continued, "That's the Ashford way."
"Thank you, sir," Johnny said, smooth and practiced.
Then his eyes swept the room.
They passed over the commissioners in their expensive suits. The bored citizens in the back rows. The church representatives with their odd wristbands.
Then they landed on David.
Still kneeling on the floor. Still surrounded by scattered prayer beads. The only other person under thirty in the whole place.
Something shifted in Johnny's expression. Not pity—David had seen enough of that since Mom died. This was different. Recognition, maybe. Like Johnny saw past the embarrassment to something else. Something worth crossing a room full of important people for.
"If you'll excuse me," Johnny said, gently extracting himself from his father's grip.
David expected him to head for the front row where the woman in the crimson coat sat with the kind of perfect posture that came from always being watched. Where the empty seat beside her seemed to have Johnny's name on it.
Instead, Johnny walked straight down the center aisle.
Toward David.
David's heart started doing something weird. Fast and stuttering, like it was trying to escape.
Johnny paused by his row, looking down at him with eyes that David now saw were blue with gold flecks, like expensive marble. But there was something else there too—a careful kindness, like someone who knew what it felt like to be on his knees.
"You know, most people try to make an entrance. You went for an explosion." Johnny's voice was warm, teasing. "I respect that."
Before David could answer, Johnny was already crouching, scooping up one of the scattered beads. Then another. Moving through the room collecting them like it was perfectly normal for the commissioner's son to crawl around on the floor.
"I think this one's yours too," Johnny said, returning with a handful.
He pressed them into David's palm. Johnny's fingers stilled, breath hitching audibly—a shared pause neither boy knew how to break. For a heartbeat, neither moved—Johnny's hand warm and steady over his, as if he'd forgotten how to pull away.
The world just tilted.
The moment their skin made contact, something bloomed in his chest like lotus flowers opening in time-lapse—too fast, too much, too beautiful to look at directly. His lungs forgot how to work. Heat rushed from the point of contact straight to his face.
Why does touching his hand make me feel like I swallowed lightning? Like every Buddha statue Mom ever showed me just opened their eyes at once? The thought came in a panicked rush, mixing English with the echoes of his mother's bedtime stories. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not from just a touch. Not from a boy.
"I'm Johnny," the boy said, still crouching close.
"D-David," he managed, clutching the beads. "I usually save my dramatic entrances for Tuesdays."
Johnny's grin widened. "Good thing it's Monday then. I get an exclusive preview."
Johnny glanced at the woman with the wristband—it was pulsing faster now, orange-yellow—and his jaw tightened.
"FaithWatches," he muttered grimly, nodding toward her wrist. "Give it a year and we'll all be wearing them."
David had heard of them—wrist monitors that tracked mood, stress, and spiritual status.
Still optional. For now.
Then Johnny just sat — Right beside David.
Their thighs almost touching.
David's whole body went haywire—skin too hot, breathing too shallow, heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. He could feel Johnny's presence like a physical force, like gravity had shifted to pull him sideways.
He didn't understand why.
Around them, people were still looking. Whispering probably. The commissioner's golden boy choosing to sit with the nobody kid who'd disrupted the meeting.
Johnny studied him for a moment, then his eyes flicked to the podium. "Wait—is that your dad? The shelter guy?"
David straightened, a surge of pride cutting through his embarrassment. "Yeah. That's my dad."
He'd told David he didn't have to come. "It'll be boring, Jisoo-ya. Just a bunch of suits saying no with fancy words." But David had insisted. Someone needed to be in his corner when they all voted no. Someone who understood that every rejection was personal. Dad fought these battles alone too many times.
"Your dad's speech is actually pretty good," Johnny whispered, leaning close enough that his breath tickled David's ear. "Way better than the usual budget crap."
Johnny's voice had a quality David knew from his own piano practice—like the way strings keep humming after you release the keys, that ghost of sound that makes you want to play the next note before you've decided what it should be. It made him want to say yes to whatever came next, even though grief had taught him to hold everything loosely, ready to let go.
There was something about the way Johnny moved—not the military precision of the uniform, but the boy underneath it. Like he was playing a part but kept forgetting his lines. It made David want to know who he was when nobody was watching.
David's brain short-circuited. "You—you think so?"
"My dad thinks the shelter's a waste of money." Johnny's voice dropped even lower, conspiratorial. "Which probably means it's doing something right."
Before David's father could continue, movement in the front row drew every eye—the woman in crimson rising from her seat beside Johnny's empty chair. Hair cascading in waves that belonged in a different kind of establishment. A tiny cross lapel pin sat deliberately low, drawing eyes where they shouldn't go.
She approached the raised platform with predatory grace, crossing the invisible line between audience and authority. Men turned to watch. Women shifted uncomfortably. The church representatives gripped their armrests.
Without introduction, she leaned toward Saul's ear—intimate, inappropriate. Her lips nearly brushed his skin as she whispered.
David watched, fascinated, as Commissioner Ashford's entire body changed. His breathing quickened. A flush crept up his neck. His wedding ring caught the light as his hand twitched toward her.
She slid a folder onto the dais with manicured fingers, letting her touch linger. Saul's eyes followed the curve of her hip as she pulled away, hunger barely masked by his attempt at professional composure.
The woman's pale eyes swept the room once, pausing on David with an expression that made him feel seen in an uncomfortable way. Then she retreated to the wall, folding her arms in a way that was somehow both professional and provocative.
"Who was that?" David whispered, his mind grasping that something adult and dangerous had just happened.
Johnny's jaw was rigid, his voice bitter with the wisdom of someone who'd seen this before. "Someone who knows exactly what she's doing."
A pause.
"And exactly what my father wants."
Commissioner Ashford cleared his throat loudly from the front. "Jesse, please continue."
Jesse found his place, but David caught him glancing at his son with poorly hidden curiosity. "As I was saying, the shelter provides essential services..."
"This is torture," Johnny whispered after about thirty seconds. "I'm considering faking a medical emergency. Think anyone would notice if I just started speaking in tongues?"
David bit back a surprised laugh. "Pretty sure that's encouraged here."
"Good point." Johnny's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Want to escape?"
David glanced at his father, still steadily presenting despite everything. "Won't people notice?"
He'd already broken enough rules today—but something about Johnny's grin told him it might be worth breaking one more.
"Let them," Johnny said, already shifting like he was ready to move. "What are they gonna do, arrest the commissioner's son for showing the new kid around? Besides," he leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you look like you need saving."
"Maybe you're the one who needs saving," David responded.
Johnny's grin turned real then, surprised and delighted.
The words sent shivers down David's spine. He glanced at his father. Jesse's presentation was winding down, hands trembling slightly on his water glass. Some secret weapon David was—all he could do was sit here while strangers decided their fate.
"I can't just leave," David whispered back, even as his whole body leaned toward Johnny.
Johnny's expression softened. "He's fighting for something that matters. I get it." A pause. "But he's got at least ten more minutes, and then they'll ask questions he's already answered, and then they'll vote no anyway because they decided before he even started talking."
David's stomach sank because Johnny was right. He could see it in every bored face.
"Five minutes," Johnny bargained. "That's all. Just enough to remember there's a world outside this room."
David's fingers worried the prayer beads. Mom would have stayed. Would have supported Dad no matter what. But Mom also would have understood that sometimes you had to trust your gut when it sang this loudly.
"If we get caught—"
"We won't," Johnny promised. Then, softer: "I won't let anything happen to you."
There was something in his voice that made David look closer. Past the confidence to something lonelier underneath. Johnny needed to escape, but more than that—he needed someone to escape with.
This is crazy, David thought. I don't even know him.
But his body was already deciding. The warmth where their legs almost touched. The way Johnny had knelt to help with the beads without hesitation. The bitter edge in his voice when he'd mentioned his own father.
They looked at each other, understanding passing between them. Then Johnny stood, smooth and casual. David followed.
The moment they cleared the chamber doors, the oppressive weight lifted. Johnny moved with easy confidence through marble hallways.
"First rule of City Hall escape," Johnny said, moving through the hallways like he'd memorized every turn. "Know where security isn't looking."
"You do this a lot?" David's voice cracked slightly.
"Let's just say I know my way around." Johnny's wicked grin returned.
"Stay close."
He led David up a narrow staircase David hadn't even noticed. "Security does rounds every hour. We've got about—"
Footsteps echoed below them.
"Shit," Johnny whispered. His eyes met David's for a split second—wild, excited, beautiful—before he grabbed David's hand.
"Run."
They bolted up the stairs, fingers interlaced so tightly David couldn't tell where he ended and Johnny began.
"In here," Johnny whispered, tugging him inside. They pressed against the back wall, trying to control their breathing as footsteps approached.
The doorknob rattled.
Johnny's hand covered David's mouth, gentle but firm. They stood frozen, bodies pressed together in the small space that smelled of dust and old paper. David could feel Johnny's heartbeat through his uniform—fast, real, proving he wasn't as fearless as he pretended.
David wondered if Johnny could feel his, too—hammering so hard it might give them away.
This close, David noticed things: the small scar on Johnny's jaw, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, how he bit his lower lip when concentrating. The doorknob rattled again, and Johnny's other arm came around David's waist, pulling him impossibly closer.
For a moment, David forgot why they were hiding. Forgot everything except the warm weight of Johnny's palm against his lips and the way the world had narrowed to just this—two boys sharing the same held breath in the dark. He could feel Johnny's warm breath meeting his ear.
David felt alive—for the first time in months.
The footsteps moved on.
They stayed frozen for another heartbeat, neither wanting to break the spell. Then Johnny slowly removed his hand from David's mouth, though his arm stayed around David's waist for a moment longer than necessary.
"That," he whispered, "was too close."
David could only nod.
"Come on," Johnny said, but he didn't move away immediately. His hand found David's again, softer this time. "Let's get further from the main routes."
They slipped out of the closet, both still slightly breathless. The hallway felt colder after the warmth of their shared hiding spot. Johnny led him up another flight of stairs, narrower than the first, dust motes dancing in the afternoon light filtering through a high window.
"The executive floors," Johnny explained quietly. "Most of these offices have been empty since the budget cuts. Security barely checks up here."
They moved more slowly now, the urgency replaced by something careful, exploratory. Johnny tested doorknobs as they went. "Most of these are locked, but sometimes—"
He tried another handle. Locked. Then another. On the third try—click.
"Lucky us," he said, pushing it open.
"You're good at that," David observed.
Johnny's smile was sharp. "I'm good at finding places I'm not supposed to be." He didn't explain further.
They ducked inside. The forgotten office felt like fate—dusty and abandoned, afternoon light streaming through tall windows that overlooked the city. Architectural plans covered one wall. A massive oak desk dominated the center.
Johnny moved toward the window, then stopped short.
There, mounted like a hunting trophy, hung his father's campaign poster: "INTEGRITY. LEADERSHIP. TRADITION."
"Oh," Johnny said, something complicated crossing his face. "This must be the old campaign headquarters. From before he won."
The air between them shifted, charged with something heavier than their escape.
"Welcome to the one place in this building where nobody's watching," Johnny said, but his voice had lost some of its earlier bravado.
David stepped forward, studying the campaign poster. His fingers found a dart on the desk—probably from some long-ago act of rebellion. He tested its weight, then looked at Johnny with a smile that felt dangerous and new.
"Your dad has really punchable campaign promises," David said, and threw.
The dart hit dead center between Saul's eyes.
Johnny's jaw dropped. Then he laughed—real and startled and delighted. "Oh, you're going to be trouble, aren't you?"
"Maybe," David said, surprised by his own boldness.
"Is that a problem?"
"Okay," Johnny said, bouncing on his heels with barely contained energy. "Check this out."
He pulled something from his jacket that made David's eyes widen.
"Is that an Echofire Launcher? The limited edition?" David's voice cracked with excitement, forgetting to play it cool.
Johnny's grin widened. "You know it? Nobody at school gets why these are so sick."
David took it reverently, surprised by the weight. The balance felt like holding his mother's metronome—precise, meant to keep perfect time. "This is the one with extended range, right? My cousin in Seoul had one but my dad said they were too expensive..."
"You actually know your stuff." Johnny looked delighted, bouncing slightly on his heels. "Everyone else just thinks I'm being a kid."
Johnny's expression gentled for a moment. Then the mischief returned. "Want to test it out?"
He pointed to his father's campaign poster. "Twenty points for the tie. Fifty for that fake smile."
David examined the launcher, already calculating angles. "What about the teeth?"
"Hundred points. But impossible from here."
"Is that a challenge?"
Johnny's laugh was bright, surprised. "Maybe it is."
"You're holding it wrong," Johnny said after David's first shot went wide.
Johnny moved behind David, hands covering his. "Here, like this. Feel the weight. Let it balance."
David forgot how to breathe. His whole body felt like it was on fire, and he didn't understand why. This was just Johnny showing him how to aim, right? But his heart was doing that weird racing thing again, like when they'd touched in the chamber.
"Relax your shoulders," Johnny said, and his voice sounded weird too—kind of shaky. "Now... perfect."
The dart flew true, and David heard it like a note hitting exactly right—that satisfying thunk when everything aligned. Like when his fingers finally found the right keys in a difficult passage.
The dart hit dead center on Saul's tie.
"Yes!" Johnny cheered. "Okay, my turn."
But neither of them moved. For a moment they just stood there, Johnny's arms still around David, both of them pretending this was still about the launcher.
Then Johnny stepped back—slowly, like he was fighting himself. His hand trailed down David's arm as he pulled away, fingertips catching at his wrist for just a second.
"I mean," Johnny's voice came out rougher than before, "if you're done hogging my weapon."
David turned to face him, and they were still too close. Close enough to see Johnny's pupils dilate, to catch the hitch in his breath.
David handed it over, face burning. "Show me what you've got, commissioner's son."
Johnny's shot hit the poster's forehead. "That's for making me join ROTC."
They alternated shots, but the game had changed.
Every time they switched, their hands brushed.
Every time Johnny moved behind him to watch his aim, he stood a little closer than necessary.
David found himself leaning back, just slightly, chasing that warmth.
There was a rhythm to it—like a duet where you had to trust your partner's timing. David found himself holding his breath between Johnny's shots, waiting for his turn like waiting for the right measure to come back in.
They alternated shots, each hit loosening something between them. The poster soon looked ridiculous, the commissioner's face looking like a bizarre acupuncture patient.
"You know what pisses me off most?" Johnny said, reloading. "How righteous he acts. Like partnering with the church is some kind of public service."
"Partnering?" David asked.
"That's what they call it when they take over," Johnny's jaw tightened. "I've watched it happen at school. First they're just 'helping,' then suddenly everything's different."
The joy in the room dimmed slightly.
"My dad thinks the shelter's a waste of money," Johnny continued. "Says you should 'embrace the future' and partner up."
David's throat tightened. "We won't do that."
"Hey," Johnny said softly. "You won't have to. Your dad's tougher than mine gives him credit for."
A pause.
"Come on," Johnny said. "Let's shoot his nose. For symmetry."
The dart hit perfectly.
"You owe me," David gloated.
"Better than that," Johnny said, pulling a dart free. "Keep this." He pressed it into David's palm—the one that hit 'Integrity.' "For remembering today."
David pulled a prayer bead from his pocket, one of the scattered ones Johnny had saved. "Trade?"
Johnny's smile was soft as he accepted it. "Deal."
They fell into comfortable silence, both turning their tokens over in their hands. The afternoon light had shifted, painting long shadows across the floor.
"We should probably head back soon," David said reluctantly. "My dad's presentation must be almost over."
Johnny's face clouded. "Right. Back to reality." He glanced at the poster, jaw tightening. "Back to pretending everything's fine while they carve up the city."
"One more shot," he said suddenly, voice different now—harder. "For all the things we can't say out loud."
"You first," Johnny said, but he was already moving behind David again. Not touching this time—just close enough that David could feel the heat of him, the way the air shifted with each breath.
"No pressure," Johnny murmured, and David shivered at how close his voice was. "Just eternal glory on the line."
David had to force himself to focus on the target instead of the way Johnny's shadow fell across his hands.
"What's the target?"
Johnny pointed to the poster, but his playfulness had an edge now. "The teeth. That perfect, lying smile."
David felt the shift in mood, the way Johnny's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. This wasn't about the game anymore.
"You said it was impossible."
"Maybe that's what we need right now," Johnny said quietly. "Something impossible."
"From where we were standing before. But..." Johnny moved to a different angle. "Maybe from here. If you're good enough."
David took the launcher, studying the angle. It was a tough shot—he'd have to arc it just right.
"Just eternal glory on the line," Johnny taunted.
David breathed out slowly, remembering Johnny's hands guiding his. Relaxed his shoulders. Felt the weight.
He fired.
The dart hit Saul's gleaming smile dead center—and ricocheted with unexpected force, flying wildly across the room.
"Oh my God, you actually—" Johnny started.
The dart struck a half-empty coffee cup perched on the corner of the desk. The cup tipped, wobbled, then fell. Cold coffee spread across the papers like a dark tide.
"Oh shit—" They both lunged for the desk.
At first it was just about the mess—Johnny grabbing tissues, David lifting papers, both of them laughing nervously about getting caught.
"It's okay, it's okay," Johnny muttered, dabbing at the spreading stain. "Most of this is just old budget stuff anyway—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
David followed his gaze. Where the coffee had soaked through boring city reports, darker ink showed underneath. Words bleeding through like secrets refusing to stay buried.
"What is that?" David whispered.
Johnny carefully peeled the wet top sheet away. Then another. Each layer revealed more:
FAITHCOIN INTEGRATION TIMELINE - PHASE 3
Giant Faith Church... Community Uplift Fund... Strategic Acquisitions...
And there, in bold ink now blurring under the spill: Haven Animal Shelter – Priority Target Q3.
Johnny's hands stilled, tissues forgotten. He looked like he might cry, which made David want to do something—touch his shoulder maybe?—but he didn't know if that was allowed.
More text emerged as the coffee spread: Church partnership quotas. Building seizure protocols. A whole secret structure revealing itself in brown stains.
"What's Faith... Coin?" David sounded out the word slowly.
Johnny shrugged, but his face had gone pale. "I don't know, but look—there's your dad's shelter." His finger shook slightly as he pointed. "Why would my dad have secret papers about the shelter?"
David felt his stomach drop like when he'd failed his math test. "Priority target? What does that mean?"
"Nothing good," Johnny said, trying to sound older than his fifteen years. "Nothing good at all."
"This is what she gave him," Johnny breathed. "That woman in red. This must have been in her folder."
They stared at the ruined papers, understanding dawning.
"My dad..." Johnny started, then stopped. There was nothing to say. The papers said everything.
The door slammed open abruptly.
Commissioner Saul Ashford filled the doorway, his frame blocking the light from the hallway. His eyes swept the room—taking in the dart-riddled poster, the coffee spreading across his desk, the shattered portrait glass, two boys frozen mid-scramble.
"Jonathan." The name cracked like ice across the room.
Johnny's face went white. David saw his hands curl into fists, then forcibly relax—a gesture he'd probably learned in ROTC. But his shoulders stayed high and tight, like a kid bracing for a blow.
Without thinking, David stepped slightly forward—not in front of Johnny exactly, but beside him. Close enough that their arms brushed.
He felt Johnny lean into the contact, just barely.
"Dad? How did you—this room is supposed to be—"
"Empty? Forgotten?" Saul stepped inside, each footstep deliberate. "Did you really think I wouldn't know about your little hideaway?"
Johnny's hand went instinctively to his pocket where David's bead sat. "You knew?"
"I know everything that happens in this building." His gaze moved to David like a searchlight finding its target. "Though I didn't expect you to bring guests. And you are?"
David's mouth went dry. He could feel Johnny shift closer—not much, just half a step, but enough that their shoulders almost touched. It helped.
"David Sheffield," David managed, his voice steadier than his hands. "Jesse Sheffield's son."
Something flickered in Saul's eyes—calculation, maybe contempt. "The shelter boy."
"It was my fault," David said before his brain could stop him. "I wanted to see the launcher. Johnny was just being nice."
Saul's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Nice. Is that what we're calling destruction of property?"
His eyes tracked to the coffee-stained desk, the documents bleeding their secrets in brown rivers. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
For just a second, his mask slipped. David saw something flicker across his face—not just anger, but alarm. The kind of look adults got when kids found something they weren't supposed to see.
"Jonathan, clean this up. Now." His voice was dangerously quiet. "We'll discuss your judgment later."
"Actually, leave it. I want to remember this moment of disappointment."
David heard Johnny's sharp intake of breath, saw the way his jaw clenched like he was biting back words. Johnny's hand brushed against David's—quick, desperate, like he needed to know someone was still on his side.
"Commissioner Ashford?" Jesse Sheffield's voice from the doorway was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Is everything—David?"
David's father took in the scene—the vandalized poster, the spilled coffee, his son standing next to the commissioner's boy like they'd been caught mid-crime. Which they had.
"Your son," Saul said, voice dripping with disdain, "was destroying government property with mine."
Jesse moved past Saul without the deference everyone else showed. His eyes found David's, checking for injury first, explanations second. "Are you hurt?"
"No, Dad. We were just—"
David's voice cracked on the last word. He was thirteen, for God's sake, and suddenly felt every minute of it. His eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall.
"Playing," Jesse finished, his tone mild but his posture protective. "Boys being boys. No real harm done."
David risked a glance at Johnny then. His friend's eyes were wide, scared in a way that made David's chest hurt. I'm okay, David tried to say with just a look. We're okay.
"No harm?" Saul gestured to his desk. "Look at this mess."
David felt Johnny shifting beside him.
"Dad," Johnny said carefully, "we didn't mean—"
"Silence." Saul didn't raise his voice, but Johnny flinched as if he'd shouted. "You've done enough."
Johnny went rigid beside him. David could see his friend's chest rising and falling too fast, like he couldn't get enough air. Without thinking, David shifted closer, letting their arms touch. Johnny pressed back, just slightly—a silent thank you.
"Actually," a new voice cut through the tension, silk over steel. "I think the boys showed remarkable initiative."
The woman in red stood in the doorway, having appeared as suddenly as she had in the chamber. Up close, David could see she was younger than he'd first thought, maybe early thirties, with eyes that missed nothing.
"Ms. Hawkins," Saul said, and David caught the way his voice changed.
"Commissioner." She glided into the room, her heels silent on the thick carpet. "I heard raised voices. Is there a problem?"
Her gaze swept over the scene with what looked like amusement. The dart-riddled poster, the spilled coffee, two nervous boys.
Two nervous boys standing closer than they needed to, David realized. Sometime during the confrontation, they'd gravitated together like magnets. He should probably step away.
He didn't.
"My goodness. Looks like someone's been having fun."
"The boys broke into my office," Saul began, but his tone had lost its edge.
"Your office?" Jez tilted her head, studying the dusty surfaces, the outdated furniture. "I thought this room was decommissioned years ago. Part of the east wing renovation that never happened."
She moved to the desk, one manicured finger trailing near—but not touching—the coffee stain. "In fact, I believe facilities marked this space as 'awaiting demolition.' Can't really break into a room that technically doesn't exist, can you?"
David felt Johnny's whole body relax incrementally, like someone had loosened a guitar string that was about to snap. He was pretty sure his own relief was just as obvious—his knees felt wobbly, like after a really hard piano recital.
Saul's jaw worked. "That's not—"
"Unless you've been using non-existent space for... personal storage?" Her smile was sharp as winter.
Her words hung delicately, wrapped in silk.
Johnny stared at her, clearly trying to figure out if she was helping or setting another trap.
"The documents," Saul said tightly.
"Old budget proposals?" Jez interrupted smoothly, but David caught the way her eyes sharpened as she scanned the coffee-stained text. She saw everything—FaithCoin, acquisition timelines, the shelter's name—in one quick sweep. "Draft presentations that were never approved? I see a lot of paper that should have been shredded years ago."
She turned to the boys, and David felt like a mouse being studied by a very elegant cat. "You didn't take anything, did you?"
The question hung heavy. David felt Johnny tense beside him, both of them acutely aware of what they'd seen. Haven Animal Shelter – Priority Target Q3.
"No, ma'am," Johnny managed.
"Good boys." Her smile was almost too bright. "Then I'd say no harm done. Just two kids exploring an abandoned room. It happens."
But her fingers drummed once against her thigh—a tiny tell that made David think she was already calculating damage control.
Jesse stepped forward slightly. "Ms. Hawkins, I presume?"
"Jezelyn Hawkins. Community Relations." She extended a hand that Jesse shook briefly. "You must be Mr. Sheffield. Your presentation was quite moving."
David saw his father's eyes flick to the desk—just once, quick—and knew he'd caught the shelter's name too. Jesse's face didn't change, but his hand found David's shoulder, grip just a little tighter than usual.
"Not moving enough, apparently."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure. These things take time. Seeds need planting before gardens grow." Her eyes flicked to David, then back. "You have a curious son. That's not a flaw."
"Dad," Johnny said suddenly, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to show David something cool. I didn't think—"
"No," Saul cut him off. "You didn't think. That's becoming a pattern."
Jez touched Saul's arm—light, but it stopped him cold. "Commissioner, perhaps this conversation would be better held privately? The walls in these old buildings... they echo."
David watched Saul struggle between his anger and his obvious desire to please this woman. Desire won.
"Fine," he said curtly. "Jonathan, we'll discuss this at home."
"Actually," Jez said, "I need to borrow Jonathan for a moment. Youth program follow-up from this morning's meeting. Won't take long."
Johnny blinked in confusion, but didn't argue.
"David, let's go," Jesse said quietly.
David looked at Johnny—really looked at him. His friend's face was pale, his hands still trembling slightly.
He wanted to say something, do something, but all he managed was to catch Johnny's eyes and hold them. I'm sorry, he tried to say. This isn't over.
Johnny's lips moved, just barely.
David thought it might have been "tomorrow?"
As they left, Jez called out cheerfully, "Mr. Sheffield? The church's faith-based partnership program has done wonders for other shelters. I'd be happy to arrange an introduction."
Jesse paused, turning with a polite smile. "That's kind of you to offer, Ms. Hawkins. We've found our current model already serves our community's needs very well."
"Of course," she said, matching his diplomatic tone. "Independent operations are so important. But everyone needs friends."
In the parking lot, Jesse's hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. He didn't start the car.
"David," he said quietly. "What exactly did you and Johnny do in there?"
"We were just... playing. With this foam dart gun. Then coffee spilled and there were these papers..." David trailed off, unsure how to explain what he didn't understand.
Jesse's jaw tightened. "What kind of papers?"
"Something about FaithCoin? And our shelter was circled in red." David fidgeted with the dart in his pocket. "I don't really get what it meant."
Jesse stared straight ahead. "You saw our shelter on city documents?"
"Yeah. Johnny said something about partnerships and places not being themselves anymore."
"Hmm." Jesse's expression darkened. "Stay away from City Hall for a while, okay?"
"Is Johnny going to be in trouble?"
"Probably." Jesse's voice softened. "His father... well, Saul Ashford doesn't like being embarrassed."
David slumped in his seat. "I got him in trouble."
His eyes burned suddenly. He blinked hard, remembering Johnny's pale face, the way his hands had shaken. What was Saul doing to him right now?
"No." Jesse turned to face him fully. "That boy knew exactly what he was doing when he brought you to that room. Sometimes getting in trouble is worth it."
"Why would he—"
"Jisso-ya." Jesse's voice was gentle. "That boy needs a friend. A real one. I think... maybe you both do. Places like this are quick to decide who fits and who doesn't.""
They drove in silence until they reached the first stoplight. David turned in his seat, looking back at City Hall. The building loomed against the afternoon sky, all marble and glass and power.
The strangest thought floated through his mind: One day, that office could be mine.
It came from nowhere—ridiculous, impossible. He was thirteen, skinny, half-Korean in a mostly white city. His dad ran an animal shelter.
Commissioner David Sheffield.
The thought should have been funny. Instead, it lodged in his chest next to the memory of Johnny's fingers brushing his wrist, the way they'd stood together against the adults.
Maybe impossible was just another word for not yet.
As they drove home, David held onto the dart in his pocket—the one Johnny had pressed into his palm like a promise.
It pricked his finger, sharp and real. The tiny pain made him think of Johnny's scared eyes, their silent "tomorrow?"
The sting felt like a beginning.
Or a warning—that some connections, once made, always leave a mark.