Hale didn't turn around. He kept looking out the window. "Mommy, I heard. I'll be good and listen." His voice was so soft it seemed to drift in from far away.
That evening, Sophie went to Hale's room to bring him milk and found him sitting at his desk. The book in front of him hadn't had a single page turned in a long time.
The warm yellow glow of the desk lamp fell on the side of his face, making him look incredibly lonely.
Sophie placed the milk on the table, pulled a chair over, and sat down beside him. "What are you thinking about?"
Hale remained silent for a long time—so long that Sophie thought he wouldn't answer. Finally, he spoke. "Mommy, does this mean I can't do those things anymore?"
Sophie knew exactly what he meant: designing micro-weapons, his "fun" activities on the dark web, and those intricate engineering projects that made his eyes light up—things that belonged to his own world.
