Back at the Cologna house, the atmosphere was thick with dread. Jennifer had returned, breathless and empty-handed, to find Loria, Mr. Cologna, and a silent, shell-shocked Sadie waiting in a grim vigil. As the minutes stretched into an hour, Jennifer couldn’t sit still. She went out to the front porch, pacing in the cool night air, her eyes scanning the dark street.

  Then she saw him. Martin was walking up the path, moving with a strange, deliberate calm. His clothes were rumpled, his face was clean but bore fresh bruises, and a quiet, unsettling smile played on his lips.

  “Martin!” She rushed down the steps. “What happened? Where were you? Are you hurt?”

  He looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. “Oh, these?” He gestured vaguely at his face. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine now.” His tone was light, dismissive.

  “Did Jeremy do this? Did he and his friends—”

  Martin reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch was gentle, but his eyes held a glassy, distant quality. He smiled wider. “Jennifer. Forget it. Okay?” He gave her shoulder a soft squeeze, then walked past her toward the front door.

  Before he could reach it, the door flew open. Loria stood there, her face etched with relief and fresh worry. “Martin!” She pulled him into a fierce, trembling hug. “What happened? Where have you been?”

  He hugged her back, his chin resting on her shoulder, the serene smile still in place. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

  Jennifer watched, waiting for the apology, for the guilt, for the storm of emotion that should have followed his earlier outburst. There was nothing. Just this eerie, placid acceptance. He wasn’t sorry. He seemed… untroubled. The shift was more frightening than his rage had been. Something happened out there, she thought, a chill settling in her bones.

  As Martin gently disengaged from Loria, he saw Jennifer turning to leave. He gave her a cheerful, casual wave. “Night, Jen!”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She didn’t wave back. She just looked at him one last time with an expressionless face, then walked away into the night.

  Inside, Loria guided Martin to the living room where his father waited. “Martin, your face… what happened?”

  “Just got pushed into a little fight. It’s nothing. Doesn’t even hurt.” His voice was smooth, convincing. “You know what? I’m going to go shower off this grime, and then you can patch me up. Deal?”

  Loria could only nod, bewildered. “Okay… I guess.”

  They sat him down. Mr. Cologna leaned forward, his expression grave. “Son, we need to talk about what you said earlier. We… we should have told you. It’s like that time with the goldfish, when you—”

  Martin held up a hand, cutting him off. “Dad. Don’t worry about it.”

  Mr. Cologna blinked. “What?”

  “I said, don’t worry. I’ve had time to think. I understand why you did it. It’s not your fault.” He said it with such finality, such serene absolution, that it left no room for argument. He looked at Loria. “Where’s Sadie?”

  “In her room,” Loria said slowly, watching him as if he were a stranger.

  “Okay.” He stood and headed for the stairs. As he left, his parents exchanged a look of utter confusion.

  Upstairs, Martin paused outside Sadie’s door. He was filthy, covered in the night’s violence and grime. He went to his own room, showered methodically, and changed into clean clothes. The act felt ceremonial.

  Then, he went to Sadie’s room. He didn’t knock. He pushed the door open.

  Sadie was lying on her side on the bed, facing the wall, her small form curled in on itself. Martin’s smile softened into something more genuine, more tender. He walked over and sat on the edge of her mattress.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “Did you lose another ballet competition?”

  She turned her head slightly. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Came to complain,” he said, shrugging.

  She sat up, sniffling. “Complain about what?”

  “Oh, I haven’t thought of anything yet.” He nudged her with his elbow. “You go first. What’s making you look so down?”

  She looked at her hands, her voice barely a whisper. “Martin… are you really going to die?”

  He didn’t flinch. “Of course. Everyone’s going to die someday, Sadie.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  He leaned closer. “You know, even though you’re sad I’m sick… do you know why I’m not sad? Why I’m smiling?”

  “Why?”

  He looked at her, his eyes clear and calm. “Because for someone like me, tomorrow is the only thing that’s not guaranteed. There’s only one ‘tomorrow’ for everyone, no matter where you are in your life. So I believe… if I can just make it past tomorrow, then I’ll be able to live my whole life. All of it.”

  Sadie searched his face, looking for the lie, the crack in the facade. She found only his gentle, convincing smile. “Really?”

  He reached out and ruffled her hair. “Yes.”

  He had given her a thread of hope to hold onto, a reason to believe he’d be okay. He just didn’t specify which tomorrow he was talking about, or what ‘making it past’ truly meant. For him, tomorrow was a deadline, and his plan for meeting it was already settled, a quiet secret behind his peaceful eyes.