Daylight slowly spilled through the bus windows.
Riven stirred.
He groaned softly as he woke, stretching his arms before standing and heading toward the back of the bus to relieve himself.
⸻
"What the hell…?" the bus driver muttered.
He glanced up at the rearview mirror and froze when he spotted Riven awake.
"That kid shouldn't be up for another hour. That's how the sleeping toxin works—just enough to knock them out for the whole trip, wake them right as we reach the Walls…"
His eyes flicked to the other seats.
Jordan and Joey were stirring too.
"They're waking early," he thought grimly. "Should I gas them again?"
His hand hovered over the gas mask he'd been wearing to avoid the toxin's effects.
"No," he decided. "Using it on kids more than once a day can mess them up. And there's only an hour and forty minutes left anyway. It'll be fine."
⸻
Riven stepped out of the bathroom after washing his hands.
He stopped in the aisle.
Just stood there.
The bus rumbled forward as his eyes locked onto the windshield, his reflection faintly visible in the glass.
"So it wasn't a dream…" he thought.
He'd always imagined the next time he went home, he'd be smiling.
The Clinton Games would be halfway over. He'd have units—real units—to show his parents. Maybe enough to get them out. Maybe enough to finally give them a better life.
He never thought his next trip home would be like this.
"Dad… you're gone, aren't you?" his thoughts whispered. "Don't worry. We—no, I—will make sure the person who did this to you is sent straight to hell. I promise."
Riven returned to his seat.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Jordan heading toward the bathroom. He didn't stop him. He didn't ask anything.
He knew.
Jordan didn't want to talk. Neither did Joey.
Then a sound cut through the low hum of the engine.
Not someone relieving themselves.
Someone retching.
Someone sobbing.
Riven clenched his fists.
Jordan was breaking down in there.
He didn't blame him.
If anything, Riven felt the same—but unlike his brother, he had something else to cling to. Something sharp enough to keep him upright.
⸻
An hour and thirty-nine minutes later, the bus slowed.
The massive gates of the Wall groaned open.
As they passed through, Riven stared out the window.
Trash lined the streets—broken bottles, scraps of metal, scattered waste everywhere. Smoke choked the sky, darkened by factory exhaust. Guards dragged a man toward the gate, tossing him back outside without mercy.
Wall tax.
Didn't pay, didn't stay.
Riven's jaw tightened.
He hated this place.
He never wanted to come back.
If it weren't for his parents, he would've joined the Clinton Games just for the chance to never see these streets again. But because they were here, he had another reason—
To get them out.
The bus stopped.
A guard stepped on, holding a handheld scanner.
"Passports and credentials," he ordered.
One by one, they raised their wristwatches.
In this world, everything was digital—identity, money, access. Nobody carried raw units anymore. Anyone who did was either a thief… or stupid.
The scanner beeped green.
"All clear."
The guard stepped off, and the bus rolled forward again.
They passed their street.
No one moved.
Riven stared as rubble filled his vision.
Their home—destroyed.
Walls collapsed. Furniture exposed. Nothing left untouched.
It didn't sadden him.
It fueled him.
⸻
The bus finally stopped at Section C—the closest drop-off to the hospital.
"You guys go," Riven said quietly, remaining seated.
Jordan and Joey stepped off—but before the bus could pull away, Jordan slammed his hand against the door and climbed back on.
He grabbed Riven's arm.
"Hey—let me—" Riven started.
He stopped when he saw Jordan's face.
"You're not doing this alone," Jordan said. "We're doing this together. And you're not missing seeing Mom. What if… what if the next time we leave, she's gone?"
Riven swallowed.
He hadn't thought of it that way.
Truthfully, he didn't want to see her.
He didn't want to look her in the eyes and hear her say their father was dead.
But he stood.
⸻
The hospital doors slid open.
Joey had been silent the entire trip—not out of guilt, not out of shame, but because he didn't feel like it was his place to speak.
Kaden wasn't his blood father.
But he'd never treated Joey like an outsider.
Neither had Candace.
Still, Joey stayed back—until Jordan gave him a gentle shove.
"Come on," Jordan said softly. "She'd want to see you too."
Joey forced a weak smile. "Yeah… okay."
They signed in.
"Candace Harlow," the nurse said. "Left wing, then make a right."
They stopped outside the room.
Jordan's hand rested on the doorknob.
He took a deep breath.
Then another.
Then he opened it.
⸻
A woman lay unconscious on the bed.
Brown hair. Burn marks scattered across her body. Tubes ran from her arms to machines that beeped steadily beside her.
The sight broke them.
"Mom!" Jordan cried, rushing to her side.
Riven collapsed to his knees.
Seeing the tubes connected to his mother shattered something inside him. Tears streamed freely as Joey cried beside him.
"Mom," Jordan said again, voice shaking.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.
"Am I… in heaven?" Candace whispered weakly. "Why are my three boys standing in front of me?"
She chuckled softly.
Through tears, they laughed too.
"No, Mom," Jordan said, wiping his face. "You're in the hospital. You're going to be okay. I promise."
"Why aren't you at the academy?" she asked, her voice dry, like she hadn't had water in days.
"We got permission to visit because of your condition," Joey explained gently.
"Hm," she murmured. "Good… that gives me something else to fight for."
She tried to smile wider—but it faltered. Her strength faded fast.
Just before sleep claimed her again, she asked one question.
"When you see your father… tell him I love him."
The words sank like knives.
"Mom—repeat what you just said," Riven said quickly.
"Mom? Mom!"
He stepped closer—but stopped as a man entered the room, clearing his throat.
"I'm going to have to ask you boys to please step outside," the doctor said calmly. "I need to do my routine checkup to make sure everything is stable."
Riven's jaw tightened.
He was ready to snap back—ready to tell the man exactly where he could shove his routine—but he stopped himself. As much as it burned, he knew this wasn't the time.
Without a word, the three boys exited the room.
The moment the door shut—
BANG.
Riven kicked a chair down the hallway.
It flew across the corridor and slammed into the wall, skidding to a halt as nurses and caretakers froze, staring wide-eyed.
No one expected that much force from a boy his age.
Riven stood there, chest heaving.
"After he's done," he said quietly, voice shaking with barely contained rage, "I'm going back in there. And I'm healing her."
Jordan and Joey sat down nearby, stunned.
"Riven," Joey said carefully, trying to keep his voice steady, "we need to sit down and be patient."
The words went in one ear and out the other.
"Riven," Jordan added, standing up. "Joey's right. We don't have anywhere else to be. Nowhere else to go. We just need to wait, okay?"
Riven didn't answer.
Instead, something else surfaced in his mind—something he had promised himself he would do the moment he got back.
Confirmation.
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the front desk, anger still rolling off him in waves.
"Excuse me," Riven said.
The nurse looked up—and immediately stiffened.
The look on his face made her instinctively step back, reading the wrong kind of danger in his eyes.
"Y-Yes?" she asked cautiously. "What can I do for you?"
"Do you have a morgue?"
The question changed everything.
Her fear softened into understanding.
Someone asking that question never meant anything good.
"And so young too…" she thought, glancing at him again.
"Yes," she said gently. "We do."
She gave him directions and explained what he would need when he got there.
"Thank you," Riven said flatly, already turning away.
"No problem," she replied softly. "And… I'm sorry for your loss."
Riven didn't respond.
He walked back to Jordan and Joey, eyes cold and focused.
"Come on," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"We need to confirm if it's really him."
After making their way down several flights of stairs, the air growing colder with every step, they finally reached the morgue.
The moment the doors opened, the temperature dropped sharply.
Two men stood inside, both dressed in pure white suits—fully sealed, no openings exposed. Face masks covered their expressions, gloves hiding their hands. One stood inside a cold room lined with metal chambers, while the other waited just outside, as if expecting someone to arrive.
"How can I help you?" the man asked calmly.
"I'm looking for someone," Riven replied.
"What's the name of the body?" the man asked, turning toward a console.
Riven didn't hesitate.
"The person's name is Kaden Harlow."
The moment the name was spoken, the man began typing. A soft mechanical hum filled the room as the chambers shifted. One slid forward, stopping directly in front of them.
The cover lifted.
A man with black hair and pale skin lay motionless inside.
By facial features alone, it was unmistakable.
Their father.
The sight felt like a blade driven straight into their chests.
Jordan's breath hitched. Joey felt his legs weaken. Riven stood frozen—but he forced himself to keep looking.
He needed confirmation.
Then he remembered.
Their father had once laughed and said he wanted something permanent—something that would always remind him of his family. He'd gotten a tattoo on his back, their initials inside a heart.
And he'd promised to add Joey's someday.
"Lift him," Jordan said quietly. "Show his back."
The man nodded and carefully shifted the body.
There it was.
A large heart etched into skin.
Inside it—
K + C = J and R
There was no denying it anymore.
This was their father.