Peter went straight out the back door.
He didn't wait for anything—just grabbed the handle, stepped through, and let the screen slam shut behind him. His jaw was clenched tight. His face still burned.
The wind had picked up a little. Dry leaves scraped across the patchy grass in the side yard. He kept walking, fast, not caring if his dad followed.
Being a kid was the worst.
He could be smart, he could be right, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he wasn't in charge. Adults always acted like they knew better. Like being older meant their anger counted more.
They hadn't even talked about the earthquake. It had come and gone like a warning shot from the earth itself, but instead of reacting to it, they'd just yelled at each other. Like that was more important.
He crossed a cracked side street, feet hitting the pavement harder than necessary, then cut through a gap between two chain-link fences. He wasn't sure where he was going—just away.
A block later, he came across a little overgrown yard with a dried-up pond shoved into the corner. It wasn't much. Maybe six feet across. The liner showed through in spots where the water had receded, and the surface was a film of green and brown, thick with drowned leaves.
The house beside it had its windows boarded up. The front porch looked like it might collapse under the weight of a cat. Definitely abandoned.
Peter stepped into the yard, found a squat boulder near the edge of the pond, and sat down. It wasn't big—maybe two feet tall, just wide enough to plant himself on without slipping.
He stared down into the water.
It didn't reflect much. Just a dull shape of him and some of the sky above. The surface twitched when the wind moved, sending the floating junk drifting toward one side.
Peter sat still, breathing hard through his nose, jaw set tight.
His cheek still stung. His heart hadn't slowed down.
Peter didn't speak.
He sat on the stone—smooth on top, weather-worn at the edges—his elbows resting on his knees, fingers curled loose. A breeze moved the grass around him in soft waves. Dry blades scratched lightly at his ankles.
Tears slid down his face, steady and unhurried.
No effort to stop them. No effort to hide them. They came like something breaking loose inside, one drop at a time, warm against the cooling air. His cheek still burned faintly from the slap, heat clinging just beneath the skin.
He looked into the pond. The surface held his reflection—a pale outline of his face, hair fallen uneven over his forehead, jaw set tight. His eyes were glassy, lined red, but he didn't blink much.
He missed her.
The way she said his name when she was teasing. The look she'd give from across a room—half a smile, all understanding. The small things. The sound of her voice from the next room over. The rhythm of her presence in the house.
She made things feel steady.
The thought of her voice—how it softened when she wasn't trying—settled behind his ribs and stayed there, thick as stone.
Peter stared into the water.
The tears kept coming.
And he let them.
Peter didn't hear footsteps.
Just the soft press of an arm around his shoulders.
He flinched at first, but only slightly—then he felt the shape of his father's frame beside him. The old thermal sleeve pulled tight over his arm. The smell of sawdust and sweat still faint on his clothes.
Peter leaned into him.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice catching. "I… I miss her. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"
"It's okay," his dad said, quiet, steady, hushing gently as he held Peter closer, the side of his chin resting against Peter's hair. "I'm sorry too."
Peter's body shook once, then settled.
"I miss her so much," he whispered, the words thin and raw, barely making it out of his throat.
His dad didn't say anything right away.
Just held him tighter.
A tear ran down his father's cheek, cutting a clean line through the grit on his face. He blinked it away but didn't wipe it. Just stayed there—solid, still—his strength pulled in around his son.
"I miss her too," he said again, slower this time. "I miss her too."
They stayed like that a long moment.
Then Peter leaned back, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand, sniffing once.
"Dad," he said, voice rough, "we need to get strong. We can't let this happen again. We can't…"
He shook his head, trying to find the words fast enough to keep up with the storm inside.
"The animals—they're changing. They're getting faster, smarter. You didn't see it, but Jud—he punched a tree and left a fist mark. Like a real one. Not a dent. Like someone took a hammer to it. And the energy, it's real. I felt it. It hurt like hell, but I felt it. I think Jud's right. I think if we don't start doing something, we're gonna get left behind."
His hands moved while he spoke, flicking and chopping as he tried to show how big the tree was, how serious it felt. He kept talking, breath fast, words tumbling one over the other.
His father said nothing.
Just listened.
Letting his son unload everything he'd been holding in.
After Peter finished, his father stayed quiet a beat longer. He looked out over the murky water, eyes narrowing like he was trying to find something in the reflection.
"Do you know one amazing thing about you, Peter?"
Peter blinked. A few leftover tears still clung at the corners of his eyes. He didn't speak—just waited.
His dad's voice came out a little rough. "Your sense of direction."
Peter frowned slightly. "Like… walking?"
His dad gave a small huff through his nose and looked over at him. "No. I mean the kind that comes from in here," he said, tapping two fingers lightly against his chest. "You wanted to play pro ball, and you worked for it. Not because I asked you to. You showed up on your own. Every damn day."
Peter shrugged, wiping at his cheek. "A lot of people train."
"Not like you." His dad was smiling now, just a little. "Do you know any other thirteen-year-olds who practiced their crossover blindfolded in the driveway for an hour just to 'feel it better'?"
Peter paused, then half-smiled, remembering. "You made me run suicides after."
His dad chuckled once. "And you thanked me for it."
The wind moved through the tall grass by the fence. A dry plastic bag rustled near the shed.
His dad's face sobered again. "I've been scared, Pete. Since the day we lost her. That kind of scared where you don't know how to fix anything, so you just start hammering nails hoping something holds."
Peter stayed quiet, watching the pond.
"I've been trying to hold it together for your sister. For you. But the truth is… I've been grieving in a way that's made me blind. You saw the truth faster than I did. Your instinct was to get strong. You didn't run from it."
He turned back to the pond and exhaled slowly. "And you're right. About all of it."
Peter looked over, heart thudding.
His dad kept his voice steady. "I haven't met Jud. Not once. I've just been repeating what others said—'crazy Jud this,' 'wild talk that.' But I haven't looked him in the eye. I haven't asked him a damn thing."
Peter tilted his head, listening closely.
"I shouldn't judge someone I haven't spoken to. So—" he glanced over at Peter "—we'll go together. Me and you. We'll talk to him."
Peter blinked. "Oh."
A crow called out from a tree nearby. The wind was picking up.
They sat there for a bit, Peter still perched on the smooth side of the rock, his fingers laced loosely in front of him.
Finally, Peter cleared his throat. "Well… he's a little weird. But he's genuine."
His dad raised an eyebrow. "Weird how?"
Peter shrugged. "Talks a lot and weirdly.." Peter paused a moment before adding. "Cooks good meat, though."
His dad smiled again, faint but real. "I've known worse neighbors."
Peter gave a short laugh through his nose. He slid off the boulder, brushing the dirt from his palms. His dad stood with a quiet grunt, hands resting briefly on his hips before falling to his sides.
Neither of them said anything for a moment. The pond lay still behind them, the last bits of light catching along its scummy edge. Somewhere nearby, a screen door creaked open and slammed shut again. A dog barked once, then quieted.
Then, together, they started walking.
Back toward the house, side by side.
READ AUTHORS NOTE!