Aiko finished tossing cracked corn and shut the coop. The sky was orange and pink over the pasture; the barn looked huge in the glow. Her chest pinched. Liam wasn’t coming back. One stupid tear slipped out. She swiped it with the heel of her hand and kept moving—eggs, water, brushes for the skittish quarter horses. Busy hands, quieter brain.

  By the time she crossed the yard, Chester was already at the kitchen window like always, a long noodle pressed to the glass. She let herself in. He scrambled up her sleeve and tucked into the warm place between her neck and hoodie. He was always cold.

  There was a letter propped by the salt shaker. Uncle Hiroto. Aiko slid a nail under the flap and read.

  Dear Aiko,

  I hope you can understand why I left you with the Hendersons. I said it was for your protection—truthfully, it was for mine. On the other side, the being you call the Lex Aeterna gave me a relic: the amulet. I told you it was a shield. It is—and more. I’m afraid Malcolm can track anything from that plane. Until I know differently, I have to keep my distance.

  Dynamo is powerful but still learning to protect herself and others. I’ve asked her to join me at the penthouse to train. When it’s safe, I want you with us. The truck stop was only the beginning. We must stop Malcolm—and the Shadow Dealers. I’ll explain more when we’re safe.

  Yours,

  Uncle Hiroto

  Aiko folded the letter carefully and stared out the window. The moon was big over the barn. She told herself grief was like seasons—you just get through them. Morning chores were in, morning chores were out. She could do that.

  Chester’s head popped up, whiskers twitching. He went stiff. Aiko followed his stare out toward the fence line. Nothing—just the weathervane spinning. Then a small shape slid from shadow to shadow. Too short for Malcolm. Not a stranger’s walk either.

  Aiko set Chester on the counter, grabbed the metal pipe from the mud boots by the door, and eased it open.

  “Hey, Aiko.” The voice was familiar.

  Her knees almost gave. “Liam?”

  He stepped closer, thinner than she remembered, hair hacked short, a dust mask hiding half his face. Something felt… off.

  “You’re supposed to be—” She couldn’t say it. Dead.

  “I’m not,” he said. “Not yet.”

  “How?” Aiko whispered.

  A plate shattered inside. Mrs. Henderson gasped, “Emma, Annabelle—come quick! Your brother—he’s—”

  Annabelle hit the screen door first, eyes wide. Emma skidded behind her, mouth a little “o.” Aiko stepped aside as they rushed Liam, all arms and crying and questions.

  Mrs. Henderson caught his face in both hands like it might vanish. “You’re real,” she said, voice shaking.

  “Yeah,” Liam said, the mask crumpling when he smiled. “Also starving.”

  Aiko retreated to the kitchen, hands shaking as she pulled bread, cheese, anything easy. Chester made a curious trill and launched to Liam’s shoulder, burrowing under his chin. Liam laughed, surprised.

  He ate like he hadn’t had a meal in days, but his eyes kept rotating… door, window, yard—always tracking. He let the girls talk over him, let Mrs. Henderson hold his hand, but the ring of new darkness under his eyes didn’t leave.

  This isn’t him. Not all the way, Aiko thought.

  After, the house hummed with relieved chatter. Aiko washed plates while Emma showed bruises and Annabelle asked a hundred practical questions. When it finally got quiet, Aiko found Liam outside in the same spot he’d come from, staring at the porch.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  “That’s not how we do things,” Aiko said, coming closer. She wasn’t sure if she meant the farm, or family, or just… them. “If you’re in trouble—”

  He shook his head, and she caught the old twitch at his mouth. Lie.

  “I needed to see you. All of you. One more time.” His eyes lifted to the windows. “They think I’m something I’m not.”

  Aiko reached for his hand. For a second, they stood there, palms together, the yard holding still.

  “What are you, then?” she asked.

  Engines revved down the drive. Gravel sprayed the porch steps. Headlights cut across the windows. Aiko’s stomach dropped.

  “Get down,” she hissed, dragging Liam under the porch rail.

  Trucks braked hard. Doors slammed. The yard filled with dust and light.

  “I know you’re in there, Hendersons!” Malcolm’s voice rolled over the house, smooth and mean. “Come out and let’s make this simple.”

  Aiko’s brain mapped exits—the barn side door (too far), the shed (closer, tools). She tensed to run, but Liam grabbed her wrist. His other hand clenched the pipe.

  “We don’t run,” he said. His voice shook. “He’ll find us. He always does.”

  Boots crunched. Malcolm’s shadow stretched up the steps. The screen door creaked—Mrs. Henderson braced against it.

  “Go home,” she said. Her voice was steady, but Aiko heard the tremor.

  Malcolm laughed. “Forget our deal, Helen? This farm’s mine.”

  “You said we could stay—escrow hasn’t even released the money yet!”

  “You can. I’m here for the girl—and the boy.”

  He knows about Liam? How?

  A man in a shiny silver suit stepped up and handed Malcolm something. Malcolm lifted it like a remote. “Come to me, Theta Two-Five-Six.”

  Liam’s body jerked. He stood and walked toward Malcolm, ignoring Mrs. Henderson’s “Liam, no!”

  Malcolm jabbed something into Liam’s neck. Aiko shot up before she could stop herself. “Liam—!”

  Liam stiffened, then turned his head toward the porch rail, eyes glassy. “The target is there,” he said, pointing straight at Aiko.

  Everything blew apart at once. Two men in suits rushed the steps. Aiko ducked the first tackle, rolled, swung the pipe hard into a knee. The man went down with a yell. The second grabbed her hair—she smashed the pipe into his thigh and he folded. Chester launched like a missile, teeth sinking into a throat. The man flailed, cursing, buying Aiko a half-second—

  She bolted for the door—but Malcolm was already there. His arm snapped around her waist. She drove an elbow into his ribs and felt something give. He just laughed in her ear. “Easy, sweetheart.”

  She spat in his face. He wiped it, smiling, and wrenched her arms behind her like it cost him nothing. The silver-suited man hauled Liam by the elbow, eyes blank, a thread of blood on his neck. One goon limped, cuff bloody where Chester had latched on. Chester had vanished—please let him be hiding.

  Mrs. Henderson’s voice shook. “Please, take me instead. Let them go.”

  Malcolm’s charm fell off his face. “That wasn’t our deal. I need them. Debts get paid.”

  Annabelle stood frozen in the doorway, fists tight. “What deal?”

  No answer. Malcolm yanked Aiko off the steps toward the trucks. “No heroics,” he murmured. “You know better.”

  A hiss-thwip. A sting. Aiko blinked at the thin shaft in her shoulder. Not a bullet. A dart. Heat flooded her limbs, heavy and slow. The porch lights streaked. Liam’s face blurred, mouth open like he was trying to say her name.

  ***

  She woke to diesel and hay and the thunk-thunk of bad shocks. Her hands were zip-tied behind her; her tongue felt wrong in her mouth. Liam slumped beside her, eyes open but empty.

  “Liam,” she croaked.

  His eyelids fluttered. For a second, the old Liam was there—worried, off-key whistle stuck in his throat. Then it slipped away and he stared past her at the road unspooling behind them.

  The farm vanished into darkness and dust. Aiko twisted her wrists, searching for an edge on the plastic. Breathe. Tense. Release. Uncle’s steps, over and over.

  The truck slowed. Voices. Boots on gravel. The tailgate dropped; cold moonlight washed the bed. Malcolm and the silver-suited guy peered in.

  “Load ’em up,” Malcolm said.

  A big hand hauled Aiko to her feet. Her legs forgot how to stand and she dropped back to her knees, gravel biting through denim.

  “I’ve got her.” Malcolm slung her under his arm and carried her toward a squat concrete building with one buzzing bulb and no windows. The silver-suited man came back for Liam, lifting him like a mannequin and marching him in.

  Inside smelled like bleach and rubber. Plastic curtains cut the space in half. Machines beeped behind them. Metal shelves held crates with writing she couldn’t read.

  Malcolm dumped Aiko into a plastic chair bolted to the floor and tightened zip ties around her ankles. Another loop tied her hands to the chair back. The silver-suited man did the same to Liam across from her—neat, precise, no emotion.

  Malcolm paced between them, whistling something that used to be sweet and now wasn’t. He crouched and tapped Aiko’s cheek lightly. “Awake? Good. Wouldn’t want you to miss the show.”

  “Why?” Aiko’s words felt thick. “What do you even want?”

  His smile thinned into something colder. “Control,” he said. “All of it.”