Leftovers
Kael got home just after sundown.
The apartment was quiet—half-lit like someone had started turning on lights and then got distracted. The fridge buzzed like it always did, louder than it should’ve been. The place smelled faintly of instant noodles, burnt coffee, and cleaning spray that never quite masked anything.
He kicked off his boots and glanced at the leaning tower of unopened mail by the door. Another letter from the Department of Evaluation was wedged in the stack. He left it where it was.
In the kitchen, his uncle Marek sat slouched over a scratched-up tablet. He looked like he was reading something, but the screen had dimmed from inactivity. Mostly, he was just staring through it.
“You’re late,” Marek said, voice scratchy.
Kael raised a brow. “Since when do we do curfews?”
“Since I felt like pretending to be responsible.”
Kael snorted, dumped his bag by the door, and made his way to the fridge. Leftover noodles again. Good enough. He grabbed the carton and a fork, then dropped into the seat across from his uncle.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Not uncomfortable. Just the kind that fills space when neither of you knows what to say and both of you are tired of trying.
“You get flagged today?” Marek asked, finally breaking the quiet.
“Nope.”
Marek nodded slowly. Like he was trying to act neutral. Like that wasn’t what he expected.
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“They said I scored high on the theory stuff, though,” Kael added. “Top percentile, apparently.”
That got Marek’s attention. He glanced up. “Yeah?”
Kael shrugged. “Didn’t feel like anything special.”
Marek gave a small, tired smile. “You never think it does.”
Kael twirled his fork in the noodles, but he wasn’t really eating.
“You hear anything about them?” Marek asked.
Kael froze for a second. He didn’t need context.
“No.”
Marek leaned back, rubbing his face. “Didn’t think so.”
It had been three years since the Tetra scandal blew up. His parents—brilliant Tenra researchers turned criminals—had been arrested for experimenting with forbidden energy manipulation. Public trial. Life sentence. No visits allowed.
Kael had barely processed it before he was shoved into Marek’s apartment with two suitcases and no explanation.
Marek wasn’t much. Factory worker. Lived paycheck to paycheck. Never married. No kids. No clue how to raise one either.
But he tried.
And that, more than anything, kept Kael from resenting him.
“They weren’t evil, you know,” Marek said suddenly. “Your parents. They lost sight of the line, sure. But they weren’t trying to hurt anyone.”
Kael didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say. He remembered them being brilliant. Obsessed. Smiling one day, yelling the next. He remembered late nights, hush-hush arguments, and then nothing at all.
“I kept some of their notes,” Marek said after a pause. “Old logs. Backups they stored here when things started getting risky.”
Kael looked up. “Why?”
“In case you ever wanted to see where they went wrong.”
Kael raised a brow. “You think I will?”
“I think... it’s better to have it and not need it than to be caught blind if things ever get weird.”
That made something in Kael’s chest tighten. Just a little.
“Things are already weird,” he muttered.
Marek didn’t argue. Just nodded toward the cabinet. “Lockbox’s in there. Code’s your birthday.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Yours. I’m not that sentimental.”
He stood and stretched, groaning like his bones had been holding it in all day. “I’m gonna crash. Don’t stay up all night brooding or whatever it is you do.”
Kael gave him a half-smile. “No promises.”
Marek disappeared down the hall, door clicking shut behind him.
Kael sat alone, the quiet creeping back in. The fridge buzzed again. The clock ticked.
His noodles were cold.
He looked at the cabinet. Didn’t move.
But the weight in his chest pulsed—quiet, steady, like something deep underground.
Not fear. Not anger.
Just... something.
Waiting.
