Lucien woke to silence and an empty apartment.
Afternoon light cut through the blinds, striping the ceiling. He lay there for a moment, letting his body remember it didn't have to move yet. No alarm. No shift. Thursday stretched ahead of him, and tomorrow morning they'd be on the road.
He sat up. His back popped twice. Twenty-two years old and his spine sounded like bubble wrap.
The apartment was still. Leo at school for another hour. Lucien padded to the kitchen, opened the fridge. Eggs. Some leftover rice. Vegetables he'd bought for tonight. He grabbed an egg, cracked it into a pan, and checked his phone while it cooked.
Three notifications.
A text from Leo: dont forget to sleep today old man
A weather update for Huntington Beach: sunny, 72 degrees.
And an email from LA Water & Power.
Lucien opened it.
FINAL NOTICE: Past Due Balance.
He stared at the number. $387.42. The email explained it in polite, automated language—a billing error three months ago, an adjustment that never processed, accumulated late fees. They apologized for the inconvenience.
Lucien set the phone down. The egg was burning. He didn't move.
$387.42. He had it. Savings account, the emergency fund he'd built dollar by dollar over two years. He could pay it right now and the problem would disappear.
But that fund was also the beach trip. Gas, food, the motel, spending money so Leo could rent a surfboard and eat somewhere that wasn't fast food. If Lucien paid this bill, they'd still go. They'd just go broke. Watching every dollar, saying no to things, doing the math in his head while Leo tried to have fun.
He scraped the burnt egg onto a plate and ate it anyway.
Options. He needed options.
Anthony picked up on the fourth ring. "Lu? You good?"
"Yeah. Quick question—any chance you could spot me until next Friday? Three hundred, maybe three fifty?"
Silence. Then a long exhale. "Man, I wish I could. Carla's got that thing with her knee, and the insurance is fighting us on coverage. I'm tapped."
"No, I get it. Don't worry about it."
"Everything okay?"
"Just a billing thing. I'll figure it out."
He hung up. Tried two other numbers. One didn't answer. One was in the same situation as Anthony—willing but empty.
Lucien pulled up his boss's contact. Debated for a full minute. Then pressed call.
"Lucien? Thought you were off."
"I am. But something came up. Any chance there's a shift tonight?"
"Tonight's covered. Rivera's on."
"Right." Lucien rubbed his eyes. "Sorry to bother—"
"Hold on." A pause. Papers shuffling. "Look, I wasn't gonna be there tonight anyway. If you want to come in, I'll pay you out of pocket. Cash. Call it a personal favor—I've got some inventory I need logged before the weekend audit."
More than the bill. Enough to cover it and keep the trip budget intact.
"Yeah," Lucien said. "I can do that."
"Good man. Same time as usual."
Lucien hung up. Set the phone on the counter.
One more shift. Then the beach.
The front door banged open at 3:47.
"Lu!"
Lucien was at the stove, stirring rice. "Kitchen."
Leo appeared in the doorway, backpack sliding off one shoulder. Fourteen years old, already taller than he'd been six months ago. Same brown skin as Lucien, same jawline, but fuller in the face. Healthier. That was the point.
"You're cooking actual food."
"Don't sound so shocked."
"I'm not shocked. I'm suspicious." Leo dropped his bag by the table and crossed to the stove, peering into the pan. Chicken, peppers, onions. "What's the occasion?"
"Day off."
"You never cook on your days off. You sleep on your days off."
"Maybe I wanted to do something nice."
Leo squinted at him. "Are you dying?"
"Get the plates."
They ate at the small table by the window. The apartment was a two-bedroom on the fourth floor, old building, older pipes. Leo's room had a desk, a bed that fit him, a laptop Lucien had saved three months for. Lucien's room had a mattress and a milk crate for a nightstand.
Leo talked between bites. School. Some kid named Marcus who kept copying his homework. A test he'd aced in biology. The words tumbled out fast, punctuated by forkfuls of rice.
Lucien listened. He'd learned years ago that Leo processed the world by talking through it. All Lucien had to do was be present, nod at the right moments, ask a question when the stream slowed.
"—anyway, I already packed. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"I'm still deciding on shirts."
"It's the beach. You need one shirt."
"I need options, Lu. What if we go somewhere nice?"
"Where nice? It's Huntington Beach, not Paris."
Leo waved his fork. "You don't know. There could be a fancy restaurant. A club. A—"
"A club."
"I'm mature for my age."
"You're fourteen."
"Mature. For my age." Leo grinned, and for a second he looked eight years old again, gap-toothed and loud. "Fine. Three shirts. Final offer."
"Pack four. You'll spill something on one."
"That's profiling."
"That's experience."
They finished eating. Leo cleared the plates without being asked—a small thing, but Lucien noticed. The kid was growing up. Learning the shape of responsibility. Lucien wondered sometimes if that was a gift or a theft. Fourteen shouldn't feel like a rehearsal for adulthood.
Outside, the sun was dropping. Orange light through the window, catching dust in the air. Leo pulled out his phone, showing Lucien pictures of the beach. Best spots. A seafood place with good reviews. A rental shop for surfboards.
"I'm not surfing," Lucien said.
"You're at least trying."
"I'll watch."
"Coward."
"Supervisor."
Leo laughed. The sound filled the apartment, bounced off the thin walls. Lucien let it sit for a moment. This was what he worked for. This exact thing.
The light outside was fading. Evening settling in.
Lucien looked at the clock. He had to leave in a few hours.
He hadn't told Leo yet.
MODE: EXECUTE — CHUNK 3
The nap was supposed to be an hour. Maybe two.
Lucien opened his eyes to darkness. The apartment was quiet. He reached for his phone on the milk crate, squinting against the screen's glow.
11:47 PM.
He sat up fast. His shift started at midnight.
For a moment, he stayed on the edge of the mattress, feet on cold floor. He could call in. Tell his boss something came up, couldn't make it, sorry for the late notice. The cash would vanish, but they'd survive. Leo would still get his beach trip. Just a thinner version. Tighter math. Fewer extras.
His thumb hovered over the contact.
Then he thought about dinner. Leo talking fast between bites, showing him pictures of the beach, planning which surfboard to rent. The seafood place with good reviews. The way the kid had laughed—loud, filling up the whole apartment.
That was worth one more shift.
Lucien stood. Pulled on his jeans in the dark. Found his jacket draped over the milk crate. His uniform shirt was still in his bag from Wednesday.
He moved quiet through the apartment. The hallway was narrow, walls thin enough to hear the neighbors if they talked too loud. Leo's door was closed. No light underneath. Good. The kid needed rest. They'd be on the road by noon—Lucien would come home at dawn, sleep a few hours, and they'd leave.
In the kitchen, he grabbed a granola bar from the cabinet. Shoved it in his pocket. Checked his keys. Wallet.
At the front door, he stopped. His shoes sat where he'd left them. He crouched, pressed his thumb against the tape on the left sole. Still holding.
He put them on. Stood.
Down the hall, Leo's door stayed closed.
Lucien pulled out his phone. Looked at the screen. Put it back in his pocket.
The door opened without a sound. He stepped into the hallway, pulled it shut behind him, and listened for the lock to catch. It clicked.
Four flights down. Out into the night.
The air was cool, carrying the smell of exhaust and distant rain. Lucien walked toward the bus stop, hands in his jacket pockets. The city murmured around him. Cars on distant streets. A dog barking somewhere blocks away.
Tomorrow, the beach. Leo on a surfboard, probably falling off every thirty seconds. Cheap seafood and sand in their shoes. Two days where the math didn't matter.
One more shift.