The ride home was cloaked in a heavy silence. Streetlights strobed across the car’s interior, illuminating faces fixed in private worry. It was nearly 7 PM.

  Mr. Cologna got into the driver’s seat, holding a small white pharmacy bag. He passed it to Loria in the passenger seat. “The doctor said this will help keep him stable,” he murmured, his voice low. “He needs to start tonight. After dinner.”

  Loria took the bag, its crinkling sound abnormally loud. “I’ll make sure he takes it.”

  From the backseat, Martin leaned forward, his voice attempting its old lightness. “Please tell me it’s all liquid. Syrups. Maybe different fun flavors.”

  “Of course not,” Loria said, glancing back. “There are tablets too.”

  Martin slumped back with a theatrical sigh, a faint smile on his lips. “Well, then you’ll have to fight me. Tablets don’t go down my throat. They stage rebellions.”

  “Martin,” Loria said, her tone losing its edge, softening into pure concern. “It’s for your own good. You have to get better.”

  “Alright, alright,” he conceded. The smile vanished as he turned to look out the window. He propped his elbow on the door rest, hand against his jaw, watching the familiar streets of Woodblock blur past—a world that now felt separate, observed through glass.

  In the seat beside him, Sadie had curled against Andella, her exhaustion evident. Her fingers absently traced the embroidered thread on her mother’s sleeve. Andella stared out her own window, her profile a still-life of quiet distress.

  Mr. Cologna’s eyes found hers in the rearview mirror. “We’re coming up on Milao Street,” he said gently.

  Andella didn’t turn. “So?”

  “That’s… where you live.”

  Now she looked at him, her gaze sharp. “I’m staying with my son tonight. I need to see how he is. The only way I’m not staying at your house is if you let Martin come stay with me.” Her words came in a low, persistent stream, a mix of demand and maternal anxiety.

  Mr. Cologna sighed, a sound of weary familiarity. “I know, I know. Jeez, Andella. Just… come on, then.”

  The house offered no real comfort. As they filed in, Loria moved on autopilot toward the kitchen. “Everyone, just hold on. Dinner will be ready in a bit.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Sadie lingered by the front door, bending to pick up the rolled newspaper from the porch. “Seriously?” she announced to the hallway. “If I don’t bring in the news, does it just live outside forever?”

  “You’re the only one who reads it, kiddo,” her father said, hanging up his jacket.

  Martin passed her on his way to the stairs. “She’s old,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  “I am not old!” Sadie retorted, clutching the paper to her chest.

  “Martin,” Loria called from the kitchen doorway. “Don’t disappear. Come down for dinner.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, already halfway up.

  In his room, the normalcy of a shower felt like an act. The hot water couldn’t scour away the hospital smell or the hollow feeling in his chest. Afterward, towel around his waist, he picked up his phone. His thumb hovered over Jennifer’s name. A text felt too casual, too dismissive of the day’s drama. He hit the call button.

  It rang twice. “Marty?” Her voice was tight with concern. “How are you? Are you okay now?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” The lie was becoming a habit. “What happened with you and K today? You guys vanished.”

  “Miss Andella said we should head home before our mum started to worry.” A pause, then the question he’d been waiting for, the one he couldn’t answer. “So… did you find out? What’s wrong?”

  Silence stretched on his end. He could see the doctor’s hesitant face, Loria pinching the bridge of her nose, the three adults walking away together.

  “Marty? Marty? Marty?”

  He snapped back. “Yeah. It seems my parents aren’t in a sharing mood. But it’s whatever. I don’t even want to know. I just want… nothing to bother me.”

  The line was quiet for a beat. “Okay,” Jennifer finally said, her voice small. “Just… take care, Marty.” The call ended.

  In the Briggs’ living room, Jennifer lowered the phone, her expression blank.

  “Well?” Caleb asked from the couch, not looking up from a game on his phone.

  “Honestly?” Jennifer whispered. “I’m not even sure.”

  Just then, her mother, Camilla, walked in, carrying a laundry basket. “Everything alright, Jenny? You look pale.”

  The dam broke. The words tumbled out. “Mum, can you please call Mrs. Cologna? It’s about Martin. He… he collapsed today. At the community centre. I’m not sure he’s okay.”

  Camilla Briggs froze, the basket tilting in her arms. “He collapsed? Jennifer, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” She dropped the laundry onto a chair and was already reaching for her own phone.

  Back at the Cologna house, dinner was a silent, mechanical affair. Loria had just finished clearing the plates and was wiping down the kitchen counters when her phone vibrated on the countertop. Camilla Briggs.

  Loria’s shoulders sagged. She knew. Wiping her hands on a towel, she picked up the phone and slipped out into the hallway for privacy.

  Martin, slouching at the dining table, watched her go. The deliberate exit, the lowered voice he could barely hear—it was fuel on the fire of his anxiety.

  His father, attempting to bridge the quiet, gestured to the newspaper Sadie had brought in, its headline about the growing protests. “They really don’t want the government to turn this place into a derelict city, huh?”

  Martin blinked, dragged from his thoughts. “Hmm?”

  “I said,” his dad tried again, smiling weakly, “were you able to keep your promise to Sadie? See her triumph?”

  “What promi— oh.” Martin’s memory supplied the image of Sadie on stage, then the searing pain in his chest. “Yeah, no. Unfortunately, she didn’t even give me a chance. Came in dead last.”

  “We are not talking about this!” Sadie declared, throwing her napkin on the table, though the sting was lessened by her father’s soft, rumbling laugh.

  In the hallway, Loria’s voice was a strained murmur. “...they’re calling it Blood Wax Disease, Camilla… Yes, that’s what the doctor said… No, there’s no cure. They’re just… managing it.”

  Unseen, Jennifer and Caleb in their own hallway, having followed their mother, stood frozen, eavesdropping. Jennifer’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Caleb’s perpetual frown deepened into something grim and terrible.

  “Listen to me,” Loria’s voice continued, firmer now. “Martin and Sadie cannot know. Not yet. We’ll tell him when the time is right. And if Jenny and Caleb know… you have to make them promise. They can’t tell Martin. Or Sadie. Do you understand?”

  A pause. Then, “Thank you, Camilla. I… I have to go.”

  The call ended. In the Cologna hallway, Loria braced both hands against the wall, her head bowed. She took one long, shuddering breath, holding onto her composure. Then, she straightened, plastered on a calm face, and raised her voice toward the dining room.

  “Martin? Are you finished? It’s time for your medication.”

  The words were normal. Routine. But they now hung in the air of the quiet house, a sentence loaded with everything that had just been whispered, and everything that was being desperately, fearfully hidden.