In Ashe’s mind, he’d already rehearsed a story he hoped was believable. Now he just had to pray his acting didn’t fail him.

  The front door creaked as he pushed it open.

  His fears were confirmed immediately—his mom’s voice shot out from the kitchen, footsteps rushing toward him.

  “Where have you been?”

  The question died as soon as they saw him. The state of his clothes. The way he was standing.

  “What happened?” his father asked, arms wrapping around him. The familiar smell of his cologne filled Ashe’s nose, and for a moment his resolve wavered.

  Then he steadied himself.

  “Someone jumped me,” he said, letting the words drag, letting sadness roughen his voice.

  His mother’s arms wrapped around him from the other side. Her soft grip pressed into his bruised shoulder, and pain ballooned under his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned into the embrace as whatever anger she’d had about him sneaking out melted away, leaving only worry. Guilt pinched at his chest. Lying to them felt wrong, but the truth would only make them panic more.

  “Buddy,” his dad said gently, “why don’t you go change, and then we’ll talk about it when you come back down?”

  Ashe nodded and slipped away. As the stairs met his feet and their voices faded, he let out a long breath. His shoulders loosened; the panic drifted away with them.

  First part of the plan: successful. One more, he told himself.

  He changed and then paused at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing. He took a few slow breaths to steady himself and headed down.

  Their voices drifted up from the kitchen in low, worried tones.

  “What should we do? He’s too isolated…always alone.”

  Bingo, he thought. He needed to jump on that while the worry was still fresh.

  They didn’t notice him in the doorway until he rapped his knuckles against the frame. The conversation cut off.

  Before they could say anything, before they could steer things somewhere else, he blurted, “I think I need to start judo.”

  On the bus, he’d mapped it out. The Melbourne Guildhall was right next door to a judo academy. Perfect cover. Built-in excuses for bruises and exhaustion.

  As silence fell, he could feel the conversation shift into exchanged looks and hand gestures between his parents. His heart picked up, anticipation thickening the air.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I can tell you need to discuss something,” he said lightly.

  It was deliberate. He stepped away, just far enough that they couldn’t see him anymore, but still close enough to hear.

  He trudged out of the kitchen and turned left, stopping just before the stairs. A moment later, the voices started up again. He hoped the idea would work. Judo was one of the few sports that actually made sense for him; it supported his story about being jumped, and unlike striking martial arts, it didn’t rely as much on vision once you made contact.

  His mother went first, protective and fierce. If she had her way, he’d be wrapped in bubble wrap and only allowed out of his room on birthdays and Christmas.

  Then his father spoke, his voice harder than usual. When he sounded like that, he almost always got what he wanted.

  “The boy’s in more danger if he doesn’t know how to defend himself,” his dad said. “People are going to see he’s different and pick on him unless he learns to be more independent. We’ve tried your way for the last two years, and look where it’s gotten him.”

  The words hit Ashe like a truck. Guilt twisted in his chest; he hated hearing his mom take the blame for choices he had made.

  But this was the outcome he’d wanted.

  Silence settled over the hallway. Ashe flinched when his father’s voice cut through it.

  “We know you’re there. Come on out.”

  So much for subtle.

  Ashe leaned around the corner, trying to hide the sly smile tugging at his mouth. He ducked his head instead, chin down the way he’d learned people read as guilt. As he stepped into the kitchen, his heartbeat kicked up a notch and his palms went damp. He stood there fidgeting, feeling like he was about to sit an exam.

  His mother spoke first. “Your father was adamant, and we tried my way. So now…it’s your turn to do what you want. Are you sure this is what you want?”

  He was nodding before she even finished. “Yes. When can we go?”

  “I’ve got work tomorrow, so we’d have to wait until Friday.”

  He didn’t need his dad to drive him, and he definitely didn’t want them there when he “signed up.” The plan was to sneak out to the Guild, not the dojo.

  “I think you can sign up online,” he said quickly. “Let me go check.”

  He left the room at a normal, non-suspicious pace, then headed straight for his bedroom. He waited a couple of minutes for realism’s sake before calling down the stairs, “Yep, you can sign up online!”

  Footsteps started up the staircase.

  Shit. He scrambled out of his chair and met his dad halfway. His father sounded mildly surprised to find him in the hall.

  “How much is it?”

  “It’s free for the first three lessons,” Ashe said, keeping his voice steady. “Trial period. I signed up for that. If I like it after, membership is fifty bucks a month.”

  His dad grumbled something under his breath, then sighed. “Okay.”

  Ashe didn’t hear his father’s footsteps retreat. Just the long, steady sound of his breathing.

  He was going to ask something else.

  Ashe waited.

  “I think we’re going to order something for dinner,” his dad said at last. “What do you want?”

  Ashe honestly didn’t care. “Don’t know.”

  His father hesitated. “Okay, we’ll figure it out. Just no fish or tomatoes, right?”

  Ashe nodded. “Or salads. I’m not a rabbit.”

  His dad chuckled and headed back downstairs. Ashe turned on his heel and went back into his room. On his screen, WarFronts was still paused. No judo website in sight.

  He sat, slipped his headphones on with one ear free, and hit play. As he leaned back, his shoulder shrieked in protest, a sharp reminder of the portal. It only really hurt when he put direct pressure on it.

  Noted.

  As the podcast rolled on, one segment grabbed his attention. DragonSpire’s success in Melbourne had apparently kicked off a new idea in the Guild, pairing top Jumpers into permanent teams. If it worked with the top ten, they’d expand it to everyone. Teams built purely for maximum performance.

  If that was what the future looked like, it only hardened something in his chest.

  He needed to be part of it.