THE HENDERSON HOUSEHOLD - LIVING ROOM
Margaret and Tom Henderson sat together on the couch, the same positions they'd held hours ago when the TDI episode started. They were now watching it sister series TDR. Margaret's earlier anxiety had eased somewhat—Katie was doing well, seemed happy, was making friends.
But she was still watching carefully. Still cataloging every moment her daughter appeared on screen.
The episode had moved to a cooking scene. That Noah boy and his friends had foraged food, and now the whole camp was working together to cook it. Katie was front and center, working alongside Noah, organizing the logistics of cooking multiple things in one pot.
"She looks so confident," Margaret said softly. "Look at her—she's problem-solving, leading. That's not the Katie who left home."
"That's the Katie who was always there," Tom replied. "Just buried under Sadie's shadow."
On screen, Katie was explaining heat distribution, timing, structural integrity. Her hands moved with purpose, her voice carried enthusiasm Margaret recognized but rarely heard.
"She's talking about it like engineering," Margaret breathed. "Tom, she's describing engineering principles."
"I hear it."
They watched Katie work, watched her whole face light up when Noah observed she was in her element. Watched her explain with genuine passion about loving to create things, to solve problems, to find elegant solutions.
"Sorry. I'm getting carried away," Katie said on screen, looking embarrassed.
"You're not," Noah replied gently. "You're showing your passion."
Margaret's hand found Tom's, squeezing. "He sees it too. He sees what she loves."
Noah continued, telling Katie she should study engineering. That she'd be incredible at it.
"You think so?" Katie's voice was uncertain. "But Sadie..."
"Sadie has her path. You have yours."
Margaret felt tears prick her eyes. "Oh, Katie."
Katie was talking now, explaining how she'd thought about engineering before but always talked herself out of it. Always put Sadie's dream first. Always sacrificed what she wanted to preserve their friendship.
"And you'd talk yourself out of what you wanted to make her dream easier," Noah finished for her.
"Yeah." Katie's smile was sad. "Kind of pathetic, huh?"
"Not pathetic. Human. But also not fair to you."
Tom's hand tightened around Margaret's. "I didn't realize it was that bad. That she was giving up engineering for Sadie."
"Neither did I," Margaret whispered. "We knew they were close, but I didn't know Katie was sacrificing her dreams."
On screen, Noah was telling Katie she had a calling. That the way she lit up when creating something wasn't casual interest—it was purpose. That she'd be wasting her potential doing anything else.
Katie's smile was radiant. "Thanks. That... that means a lot. Coming from you."
"Why from me specifically?"
"Because you're honest. You don't say things just to be nice. If you think something, you mean it. So if you say I'd be good at it, I believe you."
Margaret wiped at her eyes. "She needs to hear that. She needs someone who isn't us, who isn't biased, to tell her she's capable."
"And he's doing it," Tom said. "That kid is giving our daughter permission to want something for herself."
They watched Katie and Noah work in comfortable silence, something warm and gentle growing between them on screen.
Then Katie asked Noah about his own dreams.
And everything shifted.
Noah's hands stilled. The silence stretched uncomfortable. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a weight that made Margaret lean forward.
"I had this whole path mapped out. What I'd study, what I'd do, where I'd go. It all made sense. It was logical, practical, safe. And then I woke up one day and realized I didn't want any of it."
"Oh," Margaret breathed. "Oh, that poor boy."
"What did you want?" Katie asked gently.
"That's the problem. I don't know."
They watched Noah explain his fear—of not knowing what he wanted, of feeling lost, of wondering if he was broken while everyone else had everything figured out.
"He's sixteen," Tom said quietly. "And he's carrying that much uncertainty."
"And he still took time to help Katie find her path," Margaret added. "Even while he's struggling with his own."
Katie tried to reassure him, using his own words from days ago about being lost before finding where you belong. But Noah clearly didn't believe it. The lost quality in his expression was painful to watch.
Then Sadie called Katie away, and Noah was left alone, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
The confessional played—Katie talking about figuring herself out. What she liked in boys (What she wanted to do. But then her smile faltered.
"But Noah... he looked so lost when I asked about his plans. Like the question hurt him somehow. I hope he's okay. I hope he figures out what he wants. Because he helped me figure out what I want, and I wish I could do the same for him."
Margaret's tears spilled over. "She cares about him. Really cares."
"More than cares," Tom observed, voice tight. "Listen to how she talks about him. Look at her face. She's falling for him, Maggie."
"I know." Margaret smiled through tears. "And he's good for her. He sees her potential, encourages her dreams, treats her like she matters."
"He's also sixteen and clearly struggling with something significant," Tom said carefully, frown deepening. "Identity crisis, maybe. Or something deeper. I don't like that our daughter is getting emotionally invested in someone who doesn't even know what he wants."
"But he's kind," Margaret said firmly. "Despite his own struggles, he's helping others. That says everything about his character."
"Kind doesn't mean stable." Tom crossed his arms, protective instincts clearly warring with what he was seeing on screen. "Kind doesn't mean he won't hurt her when he figures out whatever he's going through. She's sixteen, Maggie. This is her first—" He stopped, jaw tight. "I just don't want to see her get hurt."
They kept watching, seeing glimpses of Noah alone with his thoughts while the camp bustled around him. Seeing the weight he carried that no one else seemed to notice.
Except Katie. Who kept glancing back toward him with concern written across her face.
"They're good for each other," Margaret said softly. "She's finding herself with his help. And maybe—maybe she can help him find himself too."
"Maybe," Tom agreed begrudgingly. "If they both figure out what they're feeling."
The episode continued, but Margaret and Tom sat quietly, processing what they'd just witnessed. Their daughter discovering her passion. A boy helping her see it despite his own lost feeling. Two teenagers navigating identity and dreams and the first tentative feelings of something more.
"Engineering," Margaret said finally. "She wants to study engineering."
"Are you surprised?"
"No," Margaret admitted. "She's always been good with her hands, good at figuring out how things work. I just... I didn't realize she'd given up on it. For Sadie."
"She won't anymore," Tom said. "Not after this. That… boy" He grunted "Gave her permission to want it. And she's going to hold onto that."
"Good," Margaret said firmly. "She should. She should follow her dreams, not someone else's."
They settled back to watch the rest of the episode, but Margaret's mind stayed on that conversation. On her daughter's face lighting up with passion. On Noah's lost expression when asked about his own future.
On the hope that maybe, somehow, these two confused teenagers would help each other find their way.
KIM & ANDERSON TECH SOLUTIONS - CONFERENCE ROOM
The conference room was all glass and steel and modern minimalism—the kind of space designed to impress clients and intimidate competitors. A massive screen dominated one wall, currently displaying Total Drama Island instead of quarterly reports.
Margaret Kim sat at the head of the polished table, forty-two years old with sharp features and perfectly styled black hair. She wore a business suit even though it was evening, even though the office was otherwise empty. Her laptop was open beside her, quarterly projections visible on the screen. She was half-watching the show, half-reviewing numbers.
Beside her sat Richard Anderson, also forty-two, blond and blue-eyed where she was dark. His phone buzzed constantly with emails he answered between glances at the television. Tie loosened but still present, jacket draped over the chair behind him.
They'd met in college, built their company together, married for convenience as much as love. Twenty years of partnership that had made them wealthy and successful and perpetually busy.
"I still can't believe we agreed to this," Richard muttered, responding to another email. "Reality TV. Our daughter on reality TV."
"She insisted," Margaret replied, eyes on her spreadsheet. "And frankly, we didn't have time to argue about it for weeks. Easier to just sign the forms."
"If this damages the company reputation—"
"That's why we're watching," Margaret interrupted. "Damage control. If she does something embarrassing, we need to be prepared with a response strategy."
On screen, the camp had gathered around a fire pit. Some boys had apparently foraged real food, and now everyone was cooking together. Heather was visible working on vegetables alongside a smaller boy.
"She's being bossy," Richard observed. "That tracks."
"She's being efficient," Margaret corrected. "There's a difference."
"To us, maybe. To viewers?" He shrugged. "They'll call her controlling."
Margaret made a note on her laptop. Monitor social media response to leadership style. Prepare statement emphasizing confidence vs. aggression if needed.
On screen, the boy—Cody, according to the earlier introduction—was talking to Heather. Apologizing for something.
"What's he apologizing for?" Margaret asked.
"Probably following her and other girls around yesterday. Like a lost puppy," Richard said, not looking up from his phone. "Did you see that? He was pathetic."
"Boys that age usually are," Margaret replied absently.
Cody asked Heather about her hobbies, and her response was immediate and cutting: "Are you seriously trying to flirt with me right now?! Did you learn NOTHING from this morning?"
Richard snorted. "Well, at least she's not encouraging him. That's good optics. Professional, focused on the game, not distracted by teenage romance drama."
"Agreed," Margaret said, making another note. Heather positioning herself as serious competitor, not reality TV romance participant. Good for brand.
Cody panicked, trying to explain he was just being friendly. Heather shut him down: "I don't need friends. Especially not guy friends who are 'just being friendly' until they decide to be more. I've seen that act before. It doesn't end well."
"That's a bit harsh," Richard observed. "Might come across badly."
"She's protecting herself from manipulation," Margaret countered. "Viewers will respect that she's not falling for obvious tactics. It's strategic."
"If you say so."
They continued watching with divided attention—Margaret updating damage control plans, Richard fielding business calls with his phone on mute. The show played in the background, requiring just enough focus to catch anything potentially damaging.
On screen, Cody changed tactics. Started talking to no one in particular about video games, camping, guitar. Just offering information, expecting nothing.
"That's actually smarter," Richard noted. "He backed off. Shows emotional intelligence."
"Mm-hmm," Margaret replied, not really listening. An email had just come in from their Tokyo office that needed immediate attention.
The scene continued. Heather working in silence while Cody talked. Her posture gradually relaxing, though her expression remained neutral.
"She's not engaging," Richard said with approval. "Good. Keeps her above the drama."
"Has she made any allies yet?" Margaret asked, finally looking up from her laptop. "She'll need strategic partnerships to last long enough to make this worth our time investment."
"Define 'worth our time,'" Richard said dryly. "We're watching reality TV in our conference room at eight PM on a Friday."
"We're monitoring our daughter's public presence to protect our company's reputation," Margaret corrected. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
Margaret ignored him, making more notes. The episode would air publicly soon, and she needed to be ready for any fallout. Have statements prepared. Monitor social media. Ensure that Heather's actions—whatever they were—didn't reflect poorly on Kim & Anderson Tech Solutions.
They'd built this company from nothing. Every decision, every sacrifice, every late night and missed event had been in service of building something that would last. That would provide security and success.
If Heather's reality TV adventure damaged that in any way, there would be consequences.
But for now, she seemed to be handling herself reasonably well. Competent, focused, not engaging in obvious drama or romance that would make her look foolish.
"She's doing fine," Richard said, returning his attention to his phone. "Let me know if anything actually important happens."
"Agreed," Margaret replied, eyes back on her spreadsheet.
The show continued playing, but neither parent was really watching anymore. Just monitoring for disasters. Just protecting what they'd built.
Just making sure their daughter didn't embarrass them.
THE CHEN RESIDENCE - LIVING ROOM
Alicia sat in the same armchair, same perfect posture, face serene as always. Emma sprawled on the couch to her left, Kitty curled up on the other end with a throw pillow clutched to her chest.
The house was quiet except for the television and Emma's occasional commentary.
Alicia's mother was still asleep upstairs. Her father was still at work—late night at the office, as usual. Just the three girls watching in the dim living room light.
On screen, Owen was telling a story about fifth grade. About eating seventeen hot dogs at a school carnival, becoming "Hot Dog Champion," his mom putting the certificate on the fridge.
Owen's face was pure joy as he told the story. Genuine in happiness of reliving the memory.
"He's so sweet," Kitty said, smiling at the screen. "I love how happy he is."
"Your brother's adorable," Emma added, grinning at Alicia.
"Mm-hmm," Alicia replied, tone perfectly neutral.
"That must've made you popular," Noah said on screen.
"Oh yeah! After that, I was the guy who could eat anything. Kids would dare me to eat stuff at lunch, and I'd do it..."
"See?" Emma gestured at the TV. "He's got such positive energy. That's a good quality in a teammate."
Kitty nodded enthusiastically. "He seems like he'd be really fun at parties!"
Alicia said nothing, watching Owen tell his stories with that same cheerful enthusiasm. Her face remained perfectly smooth, expression blank.
Noah asked what Owen was known for before the hot dog contest.
"Before? I think there was a lot of mean guys before but I don't really remember anymore."
"Aw," Kitty said softly. "That's kind of sad. Sounds like he had a rough time before he found his thing."
"But he got through it," Emma added positively. "That's what matters, right? He found a way to be happy."
"The hot dog contest was when things got fun though! That's when I figured out I was good at making people laugh."
Owen beamed on screen, radiating uncomplicated joy.
"He's definitely good at that," Kitty agreed. "Making people laugh is a gift."
Alicia's expression didn't change. Just that same serene blankness, watching her brother with no visible reaction. But inside she suddenly felt unsure.
The scene continued. Noah asking questions—when Owen ate last, whether he was hungry, whether he worried about food. Owen answering cheerfully, pulling out another snack without seeming to realize he was doing it.
"Wait," Emma said, sitting up slightly. "Didn't he just eat like five minutes ago in the show?"
"Maybe he's just always hungry," Kitty suggested. "Growing boy and all that."
"I like knowing there's food around. Makes me feel better," Owen said on screen.
"Better how?" Noah asked.
"Just... safer, I guess?"
Emma frowned. "Safer? That's kind of a weird way to phrase it."
"Maybe he just really likes food," Kitty offered with a shrug.
"He does love food," Emma agreed, laughing lightly. "Remember when we met him at that party last month? He was so enthusiastic about the snack table."
Alicia said nothing. Her face remained perfectly blank, but her hands—folded in her lap—had gone very still. Not tense. Not clenched. Just... motionless.
On screen, the conversation shifted. Harold started explaining something about preserving fish, his enthusiastic voice carrying over the sound of work continuing.
Then footsteps on the stairs.
Alicia's father appeared in the doorway, loosening his tie. Mr. Chen looked exhausted, briefcase still in hand, but he paused when he saw the television.
"Still watching?" he asked, voice tired but gentle.
"Almost done," Alicia replied, tone unchanged.
He moved into the room, standing behind the couch. "Mind if I catch the end? I'd like to see how Owen's doing."
"Course not, Mr. Chen," Emma said, shifting to make symbolic space even though he was standing.
In that moment scene on the screen cut to confessional.
Noah appeared, sitting very still, expression troubled.
"Owen has a food addiction."
The living room went silent.
Mr. Chen went very still behind the couch.
Emma's mouth fell open. Kitty's hand flew to cover hers.
Alicia sat perfectly motionless. Face blank. Expression serene. Like a beautiful doll, perfect and emotionless.
"He doesn't realize it—doesn't even have the framework to recognize it because he doesn't remember developing it. To him, this is just who he is. Who he's always been."
Noah continued, explaining how Owen's coping mechanism had integrated completely. How the mask had become his actual face. How he was destroying himself without even knowing there was a problem.
"Oh my god," Kitty whispered.
Emma sat frozen, eyes wide and horrified.
"He's sixteen and already showing signs of serious health issues. The constant eating, the anxiety around food scarcity, using food to regulate every emotion—that's not sustainable. Give it five years, maybe ten, and he's looking at diabetes, heart disease, serious complications."
Alicia sat perfectly still. Face blank. Posture flawless. Hands folded in her lap with careful, deliberate stillness.
But inside—
Everything clicked into place.
Food addiction.
That's what it is.
That's why he always has snacks. Why he gets anxious if there's no food nearby. Why he keeps gaining weight even when she forced him to do exercises. Why he eats even when he's not hungry.
It's not just Owen being Owen. It's not just him loving food.
It's a problem. A real problem.
And I didn't see it.
Noah's face on screen grew more determined.
"I might have a way to make him see it. To crack through that oblivious contentment and force him to recognize what he's doing to himself. It won't be gentle. It'll probably hurt. But sometimes you have to shake someone's foundation hard enough that they can't ignore the cracks anymore."
"Who is this kid?" Emma asked quietly, voice shaking slightly. "And how did he figure that out?"
"I don't know," Kitty whispered. "But he's trying to help. That's... that's good, right?"
Noah continued on screen, explaining his plan—needing Owen to see the problem first, to recognize it emotionally not just intellectually.
"I don't know if it will work but I have to try."
The confessional ended. The episode moved on.
Nobody moved in the living room.
Mr. Chen stood frozen behind the couch, face pale. His hand had come up to cover his mouth, eyes fixed on the screen where Owen was back to being cheerful and enthusiastic and completely, heartbreakingly oblivious.
"I didn't know," he said finally, voice rough. "I didn't... I thought he was just..."
"We all did," Emma said quietly.
"How did we not see it?" Kitty's voice was small, hurt. "How did none of us notice?"
"Because he hides it," Alicia said. Her voice was perfectly flat. Perfectly emotionless. But it cut through the room like a knife. "Under all that happiness and enthusiasm. You can't see the problem when someone's always smiling."
Mr. Chen moved around the couch, crouching beside her chair. His hand found her shoulder—gentle, warm, solid.
"We'll help him," he said firmly. "When he comes home, we'll get him proper help. Therapy. Treatment. Whatever he needs."
"He won't want to go," Alicia replied, still in that flat, emotionless tone.
"Then we'll convince him. He's sixteen years old with a serious problem. We're his family." Mr. Chen's voice was steel underneath the gentleness. "We don't give up on him."
Alicia was quiet for a long moment. Her face remained perfectly blank, perfectly serene. But her hand slowly lifted, settling over her father's hand on her shoulder.
"Okay," she said. Barely audible. Still flat.
But she didn't pull away from the contact.
The episode continued playing. Emma and Kitty sat stunned and quiet on the couch. Mr. Chen stayed crouched beside his daughter's chair, hand on her shoulder. And Alicia sat perfectly still, face blank and beautiful and emotionless as always.
But her hand gripped her father's.
And inside, where no one could see, something desperate and frightened whispered:
Please let it work. Please let Noah's plan work. Please don't let me lose my brother to something he doesn't even know is killing him.
Please.
JULIA'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM
Rachel stretched on the couch, her wine glass catching the light from the TV. "Okay, Truth or Dare. This should be interesting. Nothing says 'bonding experience' like forcing teenagers to embarrass themselves."
"You loved these games in high school," Derek pointed out from the armchair, leg bouncing.
"Exactly. I know how much damage they can do." She grinned. "Let's see how our baby brother handles it."
Julia hit play, settling back into her spot.
The bottle spun on screen, landing on Harold.
"Truth!" Harold said immediately, adjusting his glasses.
"Coward," Leshawna teased.
"Do you have a crush on anyone here?"
Harold froze, face turning progressively redder before finally hiding behind his hands. "Fine! Courtney! Happy now?!"
Rachel snorted into her wine. "That is the most obvious lie I've seen entire episode. Look at the way he glances at Leshawna every five seconds. He's completely into her but deflecting to someone 'safer' to admit.
"You got all that from one look?" Derek asked.
"I work in the music industry. Half my job is reading people who are trying to hide what they actually feel." She gestured at the screen with her glass. "That kid is performing confidence while internally panicking. Trust me, it's Leshawna."
The game continued. Owen balancing a fish. Trent's number nine thing. Lindsay's confession about never finishing a book.
"Noah's going to find her something she can finish," Julia predicted. "He loves sharing books he thinks people will actually enjoy. He'll take it as a personal challenge. Aldo with her dyslexia he will have to read it to her".
"If he lasts long enough," Derek muttered.
"Don't," Julia said sharply. "We're not thinking about—we're past that part. He's fine."
Then the bottle pointed at Noah.
All three of them went still.
"Truth or dare, book boy?" Duncan asked on screen, leaning forward with that predatory grin.
Julia's hands clenched together. "Please pick truth. Please just pick truth."
"Truth," Noah said.
"Oh thank god," Julia breathed.
"Boooring," Duncan drawled on screen.
"No," Derek said. "No no no, don't—"
"Fine. Dare," Noah replied.
"NOAH!" Julia wanted to throw something at the screen. "Why would you—you never back down from a challenge, why are you like this—"
Duncan's grin widened. "I dare you to sing an entire love song. Not just a verse—the whole thing."
Groans erupted on screen. Anticipatory laughter.
"Oh man, this is gonna be good," Geoff said, rubbing his hands together.
"He's going to die of embarrassment," Derek predicted, watching Noah's face.
"He doesn't sing," Julia said, confused and worried. "He's never sung. Not once. Not even in the shower when he thinks no one can hear. I've never even heard him hum along to the radio."
"Maybe that's why Duncan picked it," Rachel observed. "Maximum embarrassment for the quiet kid."
On screen, Noah cleared his throat. The circle went quiet with anticipation, everyone leaning forward to watch him squirm.
Then he started singing.
Julia's apartment fell completely silent.
Noah's voice filled the space on screen—smooth, aching, honest. Not performative. Not trying to impress or show off. Just... beautiful. Genuinely, heartbreakingly beautiful in a way that felt almost too private for an audience.
Rachel's wine glass stopped halfway to her mouth, frozen in midair. Her eyes had gone wide, that professional assessment kicking in automatically.
Derek went completely still for the first time all evening, his perpetual motion ceasing entirely.
Julia felt her throat tighten, pressure building behind her eyes.
The melody was simple but the emotion was real—verses about longing and distance and connection across impossible spaces. Noah's voice never faltered, never cracked, just carried the song with steady confidence that spoke of genuine skill. Not amateur karaoke. Not nervous teenager stumbling through lyrics.
Actual talent.
When he finished, the camp on screen stayed completely silent for a long, suspended moment.
Then Geoff broke it, voice awed: "Holy... dude, are you secretly famous?"
And the circle erupted—Katie staring wide-eyed, Heather looking genuinely shaken, everyone talking at once.
Julia's apartment stayed silent.
"What the actual fuck," Rachel finally said, voice barely above a whisper. She set her wine glass down with careful precision, like she was afraid she might drop it. "What the actual fuck was that?"
"That was our brother," Derek said, sounding stunned. "Our little brother. Who reads constantly and barely talks to people."
"He can SING." Rachel stood abruptly, started pacing. "Derek. Jules. He can actually sing. That wasn't—that wasn't amateur hour at a bar. That wasn't decent for a kid his age. That was professional quality." Her voice rose with each word, that professional excitement overtaking shock. "That was record-label-demo good. That was 'I could sell this' good."
"How did we not know?" Derek demanded. "How did NONE of us know he could do that?"
"Because he never did it," Julia said, voice thick. "Not once. Not at any family gathering, not at school events, never. I've lived with him for years and I had no idea."
On screen, Noah looked genuinely bewildered by the reaction. "Because I didn't know it was a big deal?"
"He really didn't know," Julia breathed. "He has no idea what he just did."
Rachel was still pacing, one hand running through her spiky hair. "Okay. Okay, we're getting him into a studio. The moment he gets off that island. I don't care if I have to drag him kicking and screaming—we're recording something. Even just one song. Just to see what he can do with actual equipment and—"
"Rachel," Derek interrupted gently.
"—maybe some training, not that he needs much, he sing as if he already taken hundreds of lessons, and his natural tone is already—"
"Rachel."
She stopped, turning to look at them. "What?"
"He's sixteen and just sang on reality TV for a dare," Derek said. "Maybe let him process that before you start planning his music career?"
"I'm not planning a career, I'm planning a session. One session. Just to capture—" She gestured helplessly at the screen. "—that. Whatever that was. Before he decides he doesn't want to do it again."
Julia's phone erupted with texts.
Marcus: "TELL ME THAT JUST HAPPENED" Vanessa: "Vocal analysis: professional level tone control, emotional authenticity, technical execution = exceptional" Melissa: Multiple crying emojis, followed by "Our baby brother???" Charles: "HOLY SHIT WHEN DID NOAH LEARN TO SING" Dominic: "I'm in shock. Actual shock. Someone tell me if I'm hallucinating"
"They're all losing it," Derek said, reading over Julia's shoulder.
"Good. They should be." Rachel had pulled out her own phone, already texting someone. "I'm messaging my producer friend. Just to get his read on—"
"You recorded it?!" Julia asked.
"I always record episodes of anything I watch. For archival purposes." Rachel didn't look up. "And now I'm very glad I did."
The game on screen continued. The bottle spinning, landing on Izzy. Noah's turn to ask, his voice casual: "I dare you to pick truth."
"That's not how it works," someone protested.
But Izzy was already bouncing, delighted. "TWIST! I LOVE IT! Okay! TRUTH!"
"What makes you feel safest?" Noah asked.
The question landed soft and unremarkable.
"Dude, that's such a boring question," Duncan groaned.
"Seriously, Noah," Leshawna added, laughing. "You're terrible at this game!"
Rachel leaned forward, professional instincts kicking in. "Wait. That's not a boring question. That's a specific question."
"What do you mean?" Julia asked.
"Watch Izzy's face."
They all focused as Izzy opened her mouth to answer.
For exactly two seconds—maybe three—her manic energy just... stopped.
Her smile disappeared. Her constant motion ceased. Her eyes went distant, lost, like she was staring at something far away that nobody else could see.
She looked tired. Young. Genuinely, devastatingly vulnerable.
Then—so fast that if you blinked you would have missed it—the mask snapped back into place. Perfect. Seamless. Military-precise.
"EXPLOSIONS!" she shouted, throwing her arms up. "And my pet snake Gerald who totally exists! And jumping off really high things!..."
The circle laughed, dismissing it. Just Izzy being weird.
"Holy shit," Derek breathed. "Did you see that?"
"The crack before she answered," Rachel confirmed, rewinding. "Right there. Two seconds where the performance completely dropped."
They watched it again. The question. The crack. The instant recovery.
"That's not random," Rachel said slowly. "Noah asked something that hit her. Something real. And she covered it so fast most people probably didn't even notice."
"But he noticed," Julia said, watching Noah's face on screen. He wasn't laughing with everyone else. His expression was thoughtful, assessing. "He saw exactly what we just saw."
"Why would he ask that?" Derek wondered. "What was he trying to figure out?"
"Whether she's actually chaotic or if it's a performance," Rachel said with certainty. "And she just confirmed it's the latter. The chaos is deliberate. An act."
"And now she knows he knows," Julia added quietly. "Look at her eyes when she glances at him. She's calculating. Trying to figure out if he understood what he saw."
The game moved on, but there was new tension in Izzy's movements whenever the camera caught her looking at Noah.
Then suddenly: "My turn to dare someone! I dare Noah to get a kiss!"
Izzy bounded across the circle before anyone could stop her.
"Wait—" Noah started.
She grabbed his face and kissed him full on the lips—quick, aggressive, performative.
"YES!" Derek shouted, jumping up. "Oh that's perfect! That's—"
"Derek!" Julia protested, but she was fighting a smile.
"What? Come on, it's hilarious! Look at his face!"
Rachel was laughing so hard she had to put down her wine. "Oh my god, the chaos. Someone finally introducing actual chaos into Noah's carefully controlled world. This is amazing."
The camp on screen exploded—laughter, whistles, catcalls.
But then the camera caught Katie's face.
The laughter in Julia's apartment died immediately.
Katie's expression had frozen—hurt and anger and confusion all mixed together, raw and visible for just a moment before she stood abruptly.
"I need air," she muttered on screen, walking away toward the lake.
"Oh," Rachel said softly, smile fading. "Oh no."
"She likes him," Derek said, sobering. "That's not just annoyance. That's actual hurt."
Julia's hand went to her mouth. "And we were laughing."
"We forgot," Rachel said quietly.
"That does not change facts- she's hurt." Julia gestured at the screen where Katie was disappearing into darkness. "She's feeling it right now. And we were—god, we were laughing about someone kissing him."
"It's not your fault," Derek said.
"Doesn't matter. She's sixteen and hurting and—" Julia's throat tightened. "And Noah has no idea. Look at his face. He's completely bewildered. He doesn't understand why she left."
Katie's confessional played—her trying to convince herself it didn't mean anything, that it was just a dare.
"I know it was just a dare. Just a stupid game. It doesn't mean anything," Katie said on screen. "But Izzy didn't have to DO that. She could've... I don't know. Done something else. Anything else."
"Oh honey," Julia whispered.
Melissa's text came through: "Is that girl okay? She looks so hurt."
Charles: "Did Noah do something? Why did she leave?"
"He didn't do anything," Rachel texted back to the group chat. "He's just oblivious."
The scene on screen transitioned. The campfire continuing without Katie. Noah looking confused, watching the direction she'd gone with something complicated in his expression.
Then later—the pier. Noah walking through darkness, finding Katie alone on the dock.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked quietly, staying back enough to give her the option to say no.
She didn't look at him. "It's a free dock." Girl replied quietly.
"He's giving her space," Derek observed. "Not pushing."
Noah sat down beside her, leaving respectful distance between them. Neither spoke for a long moment.
The silence on screen stretched. Full of slowly fading tension.
Katie was the one who finally spoke, voice small. "That was stupid, right? Getting upset over a dare?"
"I don't think feelings are ever stupid," Noah replied. "They just are."
Julia felt her chest tighten. "When did he learn to say things like that?"
"Maybe he always could," Rachel said softly. "He just never had anyone to say them to."
On screen, they talked—careful, honest conversation about the kiss, about feelings, about things neither of them quite knew how to name. Katie gradually relaxing, the hurt easing from her expression.
Then she shifted closer. Not dramatically, just a small adjustment that brought their shoulders into contact.
Noah didn't pull away. Didn't make it awkward. Just let the touch exist, simple and warm.
"That's sweet," Derek said quietly.
"Can you sing me something?" Katie asked suddenly. "Not for everyone else. Just... for me."
Julia's breath caught.
"Right now?" Noah sounded surprised.
"Yes. Please."
The vulnerability in that request—the trust it took to ask—hung heavy in the air.
Noah thought for a moment, then started singing. Sound of Silence—low and gentle, intimate in a way the earlier performance hadn't been. This wasn't for an audience. This was for her. Just the two of them in the darkness, torchlight reflecting off water, the world reduced to this one quiet moment.
Katie leaned into him completely, relaxing against his shoulder.
Rachel had tears in her eyes. "That's—that's really beautiful."
"He's good for her," Derek added. "Look how calm she is now. How safe she feels."
Julia watched her little brother sing softly for this girl who was falling for him, watched him be gentle and present and emotionally available in ways she'd never seen from him before.
When the song ended, Katie thanked him quietly. They sat together for a while longer, just existing in that comfortable silence, shoulders touching.
"Thank you," Katie said finally. "That was perfect."
"You're welcome."
Eventually they stood, walking back toward camp together. Not holding hands, but close. Comfortable. Something tentative and new growing between them.
"She's good for him too," Julia said softly. "Look at his face. He's more... there when she's around. More present. Less in his head."
"But he still has no idea she has feelings for him," Rachel observed. "This is going to get so complicated."
"He's sixteen," Derek said. "Everything's complicated at sixteen."
Julia's phone buzzed again. The group chat exploding with her siblings processing what they'd just seen.
Vanessa: "Interpersonal dynamic analysis: Katie exhibiting clear romantic interest. Noah oblivious but responsive to emotional cues."
Marcus: "That girl's falling for him. He doesn't see it yet."
Melissa: "They're so sweet together though! I hope it works out!"
Julia looked at the screen where the episode was transitioning to the next scene. Her little brother who never sang, who barely talked, who lived in books and avoided emotional vulnerability—out there finding his voice. Finding connection. Finding maybe the first stirrings of something more.
"He's growing up," she said quietly.
"Too fast," Rachel agreed.
"Not fast enough," Derek countered. "Look how well he's handling all this. The challenges, the people, the emotions. He's figuring himself out."
"I just hope he doesn't get hurt," Julia said.
"He will," Rachel said gently. "That's part of growing up. The question is whether he learns from it."
They settled back to watch the rest of the episode, but Julia's mind stayed on that moment by the pier. On Noah singing softly for someone who needed it. On him being present and gentle and exactly what Katie needed, even if he didn't fully understand why she needed it.
Her petit génie, finding his way in the world.
She just hoped the world was kind to him while he figured it out.
KIM & ANDERSON TECH SOLUTIONS - CONFERENCE ROOM
The episode had moved into late evening now. Most of the camp asleep, the energy winding down after the chaos of Truth or Dare and its aftermath.
Margaret was still working through emails on her laptop, only half-watching. Richard had his phone out, scrolling through reports.
This was how they'd been watching all evening—present but distracted, monitoring for disasters while maintaining their actual work.
On screen, the boys' cabin appeared. Noah emerged, moving quietly onto the porch. He sat on the steps, looking up at the stars.
"Still up," Richard observed absently. "Kid doesn't sleep much."
"Probably overthinking," Margaret replied without looking up. "He seems the type."
They continued their work, the show playing in the background. Just another quiet moment, nothing notable—
Then the girls' cabin door opened.
Margaret glanced up reflexively.
Heather emerged, wrapped in a blanket, arms crossed protectively over her chest.
Margaret's hands stilled on her keyboard.
Heather saw Noah and stopped. For a long moment, she just stood there, clearly debating whether to go back inside. Then, with visible reluctance, she walked over—but stayed standing, maintaining distance.
"What's she doing?" Richard asked, finally looking up from his phone.
"Talking to that Noah boy," Margaret said, attention now fully on the screen. "The strategic one."
On screen, Noah's voice was quiet, neutral: "Can't sleep?"
"Something like that." Heather's tone was guarded, defensive.
Silence stretched between them on screen, uncomfortable and heavy. Heather shifted her weight, blanket pulled tight despite the warm night.
Finally, barely audible: "Thank you. For earlier."
Margaret sat up straighter. "What's she thanking him for?"
Noah on screen: "You don't have to thank me."
"I do, actually." Heather's voice was stiff, formal. "Most people would've asked questions. Made it into... something."
"Would've been pointless. Didn't need to know why to help."
Richard frowned. "Help with what? What happened earlier?"
Margaret was already scrolling back through her notes from the episode. "I don't remember anything significant happening with her during episode. Was something cut?"
On screen, Heather was studying Noah with sharp, calculating eyes. "So what do you want? Information? Leverage? Alliance?"
"Nothing."
"Everyone wants something."
"Not from you. I helped because you needed help. That's it."
Margaret leaned forward, laptop forgotten. "Why does she think everyone wants something from her?"
"She's strategic," Richard said. "Probably learned early that help comes with strings attached."
"Maybe." But Margaret's attention was fixed on their daughter's face—the suspicion, the walls, the careful way she held herself. "Or maybe someone taught her that lesson specifically."
Heather on screen pulled the blanket tighter, and something about the movement caught Margaret's attention. The way she held her left arm. Careful. Protective.
"That's not how it works," Heather said, voice hard. "People don't just help for no reason. There's always a cost. Always an expectation."
"Not from me."
"So you say. But everyone says that at first. Then later comes the 'remember when I helped you?' Then comes the bill."
Margaret's hand had gone to her mouth. "Richard. Listen to her. That's not— that's not normal sixteen-year-old cynicism. That's specific."
"What do you mean?"
"She's not talking hypothetically. She's talking from experience." Margaret's voice was tight now. "Someone did that to her. Offered help, then used it as leverage later."
They watched as Noah simply said, quietly: "I'm not looking for leverage, Heather. I'm just trying to be decent."
Heather laughed—sharp, bitter. "Decent. Right." A crack in her armor. "I don't know if I believe that."
"Fair enough."
Tense silence on screen. Heather remained standing, poised to leave, but she didn't leave. Testing something.
Noah didn't push. Didn't probe. Just sat there, present and quiet.
Finally, so quietly they almost missed it: "He won't stay gone."
Margaret's blood ran cold.
"What?" Richard leaned forward. "What did she say?"
"He won't stay gone," Margaret repeated, voice shaking slightly. "Richard, she said 'he won't stay gone.'"
On screen, Noah looked up but didn't speak. Waiting.
Heather's jaw tightened, clearly regretting the words. Her hand moved unconsciously toward her left arm, then stopped when she realized what she was doing. "Nothing. Forget it."
"Okay."
She blinked, surprised. "That's it? You're not going to ask?"
"You said to forget it. So I'm forgetting it."
"Just like that."
"Just like that."
Margaret was on her feet now, moving closer to the screen. "Who won't stay gone? Who is she talking about?"
"Margaret—"
"No." Her voice was sharp. "No, this is— Richard, our daughter just said that someone 'won't stay gone.' Someone she's trying to get away from. Someone who won't leave her alone."
They watched as Heather stared at Noah for a long moment, something complicated in her eyes—confusion, suspicion, and maybe the faintest hint of relief.
"You're weird," she said finally, less bite in her voice now.
"So I've heard."
Another silence, slightly less hostile. Heather's shoulders loosened just slightly.
"I should go. Before someone sees and starts making assumptions."
"Probably smart."
She started toward the cabin, then paused at the door. Didn't turn around, just stood there.
"Noah?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you think you saw today..." Her voice was hard again, walls back up. "It's none of your business."
Margaret's hand clenched. "What did he see? What happened?"
On screen, Noah said simply: "I know."
Silence. Then: "Good."
The door closed. Noah sat alone, processing.
The scene faded to his confessional.
"Heather's got walls ten feet thick and barbed wire on top. I can see the cracks now, but getting through them? That's going to take time. And trust. And I'm not sure she knows how to give either."
The episode ended shortly afterwards, but Margaret and Richard stayed frozen.
Margaret slowly sat back down, face pale. "Something happened to her. Something bad enough that she came to this island expecting everyone to use help as leverage. Bad enough that even here, in the middle of nowhere, she's worried about someone who 'won't stay gone.'"
"You don't know that—" Richard started.
"Yes, I do." Margaret's voice was steel now. "I know my daughter. I know what she looks like when she's performing versus when she's genuinely afraid. And Richard—she was afraid just then. Not of Noah. Of whoever she was talking about."
Richard's jaw tightened. "The bruises."
"What?"
"During the hot tub scene." He remembered. "Noah helped her with something. The way she held her arm—" He stood abruptly, moving to his laptop. "We need to watch that part again."
They rewound, finding the hot tub construction scene. Watched carefully this time, not for strategy or reputation management, but for signs of something wrong.
There—Heather wincing when she lifted something. The careful way she moved her left arm. Noah noticing, stepping in to help without making it obvious. Heather's surprise at the casual assist.
"Someone hurt her," Margaret said, voice barely above a whisper. "And she's been hiding it. From us. From everyone."
"We don't know that for certain—"
"DON'T." Margaret rounded on him. "Don't minimize this. Don't tell me I'm overreacting. Our daughter just said that someone 'won't stay gone' and moved like she's injured and thanked someone for helping without asking questions because she's so used to help coming with conditions that basic kindness surprises her."
Silence in the conference room.
Richard ran a hand over his face. "What do we do?"
"We investigate." Margaret was already pulling out her phone. "Every second of footage we can access. Every interaction she's had in the past year. School records, social media, everything."
"And if we find something?"
"Then we deal with it." Her voice was ice. "And whoever hurt our daughter will wish they'd never been born."
She started typing furiously—emails to private investigators, to lawyers, to anyone who could help them piece together what had happened to their daughter while they'd been too busy working to notice.
Richard watched his wife work, watched the guilt and fury play across her face, and felt his own guilt rise like bile.
They'd been so focused on the company. On success. On building something that would last.
And they'd missed their daughter being hurt badly enough that she came to this island still carrying the fear of it.
"Margaret," he said quietly.
She didn't look up, still typing. "What."
"When she comes home—"
"When she comes home, we're going to be there. Actually there. Not just physically present while working. Actually paying attention." She finally looked at him, eyes fierce. "We're going to figure out what happened. And we're going to make sure it never happens again."
"Agreed."
They turned back to the screen where the episode was continuing, but neither was really watching anymore.
Their daughter was hurting. Had been hurting. Was still hurting.
And they'd been too busy to notice.
That ended now.
UNKNOWN LOCATION
The room was dark.
Expensive furniture sat in shadows—the kind of pieces that spoke of wealth and taste, all clean lines and designer aesthetics. A massive window overlooked city lights far below, but the blinds were drawn, blocking out the world.
The only light came from a large screen mounted on the wall.
Total Drama Rebels had just ended. The credits rolled.
The screen went dark.
Silence filled the room, heavy and waiting.
Then—a small flame.
A lighter sparked to life in the darkness, briefly illuminating strong hands, expensive watch, the edge of a designer suit. The flame touched the tip of a cigar, drawing in, glowing red in the blackness.
The lighter clicked shut.
Darkness again, except for the faint ember of the cigar, pulsing gently with each breath.
A figure sat on the leather couch—nothing but a silhouette, a suggestion of presence in the shadows. Watching where the screen had been. Patient. Calculating.
He took a long pull from the cigar. The ember flared brighter, casting brief shadows across sharp features before fading back to dim red.
Smoke curled upward, visible only where it passed through the faint city light bleeding around the edges of the blinds.
Then he spoke.
The voice was smooth. Educated. The kind of voice that had learned early how to charm, how to persuade, how to take what it wanted and make it seem like a gift.
"Oh, Heather."
Another pull. Another glow. The ember reflecting in eyes that watched the blank screen like it might come back to life.
"You just changed the rules."
A pause. The cigar smoke drifted lazily through the darkness.
"But don't worry."
The voice dropped lower. Intimate. Almost affectionate in a way that made it somehow worse.
"I know how to win this new game."
He leaned back into the shadows, the ember the only point of light in the room. A single red eye in the darkness, patient and predatory.
"After all..."
The smile was audible in his voice. Confident. Possessive. Absolutely certain.
"You'll always be mine."
The cigar glowed one more time, illuminating nothing but smoke and shadow and the faint suggestion of a smile that never reached the eyes.
Then darkness.
Complete and total.
The episode was over.
But something else was just beginning.