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I first met Zane in a run-down foster home on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t a place you wanted to end up, but we had no choice. Both of us had been bounced from one home to another, never staying long enough to form any real attachments, but something about that place, about each other, clicked.
The walls were a faded yellow, the paint chipping and peeling in large flakes. The floorboards creaked under our feet, and the window frames were cracked and damaged.
We were both thirteen when we met—old enough to know the system’s ins and outs. Zane was the brooding, silent type even then, his anger barely concealed beneath a veneer of indifference. I, on the other hand, tried to keep a level head, focusing on survival and looking out for the younger kids who were more scared and lost than we were.
Our foster parents were more of the drunk kind, preferring to pocket the cash the government so fruitfully handed them while we were left starving.
One night, some of the littles were crying from starvation, and our foster father was at the bar, our supposed mother passed out on the bathroom floor in her own filth.
I recall with vivid clarity how I snuck into that bathroom and rummaged through her wallet. It was one of those kinds that women wear across their bodies. I can even remember how the claw-foot tub was still filling with water, just swirling down the drain.
She must have been drawing herself a bath.
Ever so carefully, I crept toward her and opened the wallet. She never moved.
She also never figured out who stole a hundred bucks from her that night. As soon as I got it, I locked her in and took off down the street toward one of those twenty-four-hour convenience stores.
We ate like royalty that night—or teens starved for sugar. But the real satisfaction came from watching the littles’ faces light up as we shared our bounty. We did feed them chicken nuggets first. Their grateful smiles reminded me why I did this, why I always looked out for those who couldn’t fend for themselves.
Not long after that, a new kid arrived. Quinn was eight, scrawny, and scared out of his wits. The other kids picked on him relentlessly, sensing they could easily break him down. Zane and I stepped in, protecting him from the bullies. It was the first time we fought together, and it forged a bond between us that only grew stronger over time.
“Remember Quinn?” I say, looking at Zane. “How we had to teach him to stand up for himself?”
Zane smirks. “Yeah. He was a scrappy little kid once he got some confidence. Always wanted to be like us.”
“Still does, in a way,” I reply, “and now he’s out here, helping us.”
We fall silent again, lost in our memories. Those days were hard, but they shaped us into who we are today. When we fought to get Dash moved to us years later, we just clicked.
Summers went from hot and boring to full of fun and shenanigans, and if I ask Dash, he’d still say they were fun.
We went through hell so that boy could thrive.
“Do you ever think about what would have happened if we hadn’t met?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“All the time,” Zane admits, “but we did meet, and that’s what matters. I like to think that we would have somehow met, even if that home never brought us together.”
I nod, feeling a surge of gratitude for my friend. “You’re right. It’s a cozy thought.”
Zane’s eyes meet mine, filled with that same unwavering intensity. “Cozy?” he mocks.
“I like the word,” I scoff. “What?”
“Nothing.” He looks out the front windshield. “Nothing at all.”
We wait, the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to break. At least we have snacks bought with our own money.
Just as I’m about to suggest we do a perimeter check, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Cayenne.
Cayenne: Got something. Sending footage now.
I open the video file, and Zane leans in to watch so we are shoulder to shoulder. The quality is grainy, but I can make out a figure in a dark hoodie entering Aria’s building around midnight. They keep their head down, obscuring their face from the camera.
Malachi: Can you enhance it?
As we wait for her response, Zane and I watch the video again, trying to glean any additional details.
“Can’t make out much besides the hoodie,” Zane mutters, squinting at the screen.
