Dinner at the Woods house usually sounded like this—cutlery tapping, low laughter, the hum of the TV bleeding in from the sitting room. Proof, in small, ordinary ways, that everything the white coats had said about Kacy didn't quite fit.
Tonight, the rhythm slipped.
Anderson noticed it before he named it. Last week it had been a flicker—her attention drifting mid-sentence, her replies a beat too late. Now she sat with her fork poised halfway, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the dining room wall.
"Kacy."
Nothing.
He watched her a second longer, longer than he meant to. The food on his plate cooled. Her fingers didn't move.
Clank.
Metal kissed porcelain—his fork, set down too hard. Still, she didn't blink.
"Kacy."
Sharper this time.
She startled, shoulders jerking, eyes snapping back as if pulled from deep water. "Huh?"
"There you are." His voice softened immediately, the edge gone as if it had never been. "You disappeared on me."
A faint flush crept up her cheeks. "I was just thinking."
"Mm." He studied her, not quite convinced, but he reached for his fork again anyway. "About something nice, I hope."
She nodded quickly. Too quickly. "I'm fine, Daddy."
The word hung between them—familiar, grounding.
He let out a quiet breath, the kind that didn't want to be noticed. "Alright." A small pause. Then, gentler, "But if 'fine' ever changes, you don't keep it to yourself. Not in this house."
Her smile came this time, softer, steadier. "I won't."
He nudged the salt toward her without looking, the way he always did when she forgot to ask. She took it without thinking. The rhythm, slightly off, but still theirs.
---
By eight, they were shoulder to shoulder on the long couch, the glow of the television painting shifting shadows across their faces. A blanket lay across both their laps—neither remembered who pulled it there.
Onscreen, tension climbed. In the room, so did theirs.
Kacy leaned forward first, eyes narrowed. Anderson followed half a second later, chin resting against his knuckles.
"Watch her," Kacy whispered, pointing subtly.
"Too obvious," he murmured back. "Red herring."
"Mm-hm."
Thirty minutes later, the theme song burst through the speakers.
Anderson sat back, stunned. "No way."
Kacy turned to him slowly, lips already twitching.
"No way," he repeated. "Trisha?"
She folded her arms, trying—and failing—to look serious. "I told you."
"You guessed," he corrected.
"I deduced."
"Oh, forgive me, Detective Woods." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Clearly I'm outclassed."
She laughed, bright and unguarded, and it filled the room in a way nothing else could.
He watched her for a moment longer than the joke required.
"Hey, Dad?"
"Mm?"
"How did you and Mom meet?"
The question settled quietly.
He glanced at her, really looked this time—the earlier distance, the sudden curiosity, the way she wouldn't quite meet his eyes now. Something clicked.
A slow smile tugged at his mouth.
"Well," he said, stretching his legs out, "it started a lot like whatever is going on with you."
Her head snapped up. "Dad—!"
"Oh, don't 'Dad' me." He nudged her knee with his. "Same age. Same distracted look. Same pretending you're thinking about anything else."
"I am not—!"
"—and," he continued over her, voice turning sing-song, "definitely the same kind of crush."
"Daaad!"
He broke into quiet laughter, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright."
She buried her face in the cushion for a second, then peeked at him, still smiling despite herself.
He reached over, ruffled her hair once, quick and familiar.
"Your mother," he began, softer now, "was trouble from the moment I saw her."
Kacy shifted closer without thinking, her shoulder pressing into his.
Anderson didn't move away.
---
Tap. Tap.
Kaiden didn't look up immediately. "Door's open."
It swung wider anyway.
Colton walked in like he owned the place—like he owned every place—dropping onto the bed with a satisfied exhale that sounded rehearsed.
Kaiden closed his book with a quiet snap. One brow lifted.
That grin again.
Dangerous.
"Guess," Colton said, hands behind his head.
"No."
"Wow. Supportive."
"What did you do?"
Colton turned his head, eyes gleaming. "I've advanced."
Kaiden stared.
"In life?" he asked flatly.
"In love," Colton corrected, offended. "Keep up."
A pause.
Kaiden blinked once. Then again.
"…You spoke to her."
Colton's smile widened. "I befriended her."
Kaiden set the book aside very carefully. Too carefully. He stood, crossed the short distance, and placed a hand against Colton's forehead.
Colton jerked back. "What are you doing?"
Kaiden pressed his own forehead next, comparing. "Just checking."
"For what?"
"Fever. Delusion. Early signs of tragedy."
Colton slapped his hand away. "I'm serious."
"So am I." Kaiden crossed his arms. "You? 'Befriended'? Voluntarily? Without an ulterior motive?"
Colton hesitated.
Kaiden's stare sharpened.
"…Okay, with a motive," Colton admitted.
"There it is."
"But it's progress!" Colton sat up, animated now. "Step one: proximity. Step two—"
"—disaster," Kaiden cut in.
Colton scoffed. "You're jealous."
"Of your impending embarrassment? Deeply."
Colton lunged, shoving his shoulder. Kaiden barely shifted, but his lips twitched.
"Say what you want," Colton muttered, falling back again. "I'm winning."
Kaiden shook his head, a quiet exhale slipping through. "Just don't forget why we're actually here."
Colton's smile lingered—but something behind it dimmed, just for a second. "I won't."
"Good."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"…What did you even say to her?" Kaiden asked, almost against his will.
Colton grinned at the ceiling. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Kaiden reached for his book again. "I regret asking."
"Liar."
"…Maybe."
The room settled into something easy after that—words thinning out, presence doing the rest.