Tripp burst into the kitchen, the door swinging behind him. "Where's my dessert?"

Seth didn't even glance up. All his focus was on piping a perfect swirl of whipped cream over the bowl before him. It had a brownie, caramel sauce and vanilla ice-cream combo that would tempt anyone who possessed a stomach.

"Almost done."

"Great," Tripp flashed a quick smile. He was a small Asian man who looked to be somewhere in his forties, but Seth suspected he was several decades older than that. Tripp turned his attention to the other inhabitant of the kitchen. "Jake, another order of the special, if you could."

"Hn." Jake grunted his response, ever a man of few words. He was a giant of a man, closer to seven feet than he was to six, and he clearly spent all his spare time at the gym. His build was 90% muscle, with arms that could easily lift a car and legs that were wider than the average man's waist.

Yet despite his intimidating appearance, Jake was an all-round good guy. He made an extra serving of the day's special for Seth, ensuring that he never went home with an empty belly. And not once had he ever expressed anything but a quiet patience towards Seth's occasional mistake or forgotten task.

"There, done." Seth set the bag of whipped cream down and picked the dessert bowl in both hands. It was some of his finest work, if he was honest.

"Very nice," Tripp appeared to agree. He held out a hand for the dessert. "If that wasn't a heart attack in a bowl, I'd ask you to make one for me."

Jake made a scoffing sound as he turned to open the fridge, ducking down to look for what he needed.

With a half-smile, Seth went to bring the dessert over to his boss. He had to navigate around a trolly filled with clean dishes, which he deftly stepped around, but then there was the counter's corner for him to pass by. He went to go around it, but then his foot landed in a different place than he thought it would. Just like that, his balance was lost and he stumbled, hand flying up, the bowl of dessert leaving his grasp.

Eyes widening, Seth watched it go airborne, horror draining the blood from his face. Then he was flailing because the world tilted on him. One of his hands caught the edge of the counter; he used that to stabilize himself. But it was still too late for—

Oh. Tripp held the bowl in one hand, safe and sound. He looked at Seth with a single raised brow. Seth instantly flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Just take it easy, kid," Tripp said, his tone showing he wasn't upset in the slightest. Then he glanced over at Jake. "I'll be back for that special in a few."

As he pushed through the swinging door into the main dining area, Seth sagged. It wasn't the first time this night that he'd had a mishap. He'd already knocked over a stack of plates, breaking several of them in the process, and he'd bumped his knees into the counter and cupboards countless times.

Even though he had a day off yesterday to recover under Mrs. Beakor's care, his coordination was still a mess. But it was getting better as far as he could tell. Though it would be nice if he could stop being such a klutz.

Jake directed him over to a bag of onions, and soon he was engrossed in the lovely task of peeling them. It wasn't as bad as the next step, at least. The only thing worse than peeling onions was chopping them. He really wasn't looking forward to that part.

Tripp came back into the kitchen a short while later. "Where's my special, Jake?"

With a grunt, Jake set a freshly plated serving on the counter. It was what one would normally consider breakfast food, with fried eggs, seasoned potato chunks and two farmer sausages. Yet it was popular with the late-night workers coming in for quick feed before heading home for the night.

"Ah, there it is. Thank you." Tripp leaned over and deftly picked it up. Then he glanced at Seth, and said casually, "Oh right. There's a couple of cops looking for you out front."

"There's what?" Seth stared at him, not quite processing this.

"Better come out. Looks like they just want to ask you a couple of questions." Tripp waved for Seth to follow, then swept out of the kitchen.

The cops? Here? Why? Even as Seth's mind struggled to catch up to this idea, his feet were already carrying him out of the kitchen.

Just as Tripp had said, there were two officers standing by the register in the dining area. One was an older female, with graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, and hard brown eyes that seemed to take in the diner as if criminals hid in the shadows. The other was a younger man, with ginger hair and green eyes, but unlike his companion, he seemed much more friendly and welcoming.

Seth had stalled behind the counter, now hesitant about approaching them, but it was too late. They had already spotted him. The female cop narrowed her eyes, but the male smiled warmly.

"Seth Veregin?" he asked.

Wordlessly, Seth nodded. A small voice within suggested he turn now, and bolt through the kitchen and take the door into the alley, where his bike waited for him. If he hurried, he could probably make a quick getaway.

"Do you have a few minutes? We'd like to have a little chat."

"You can use my office," Tripp piped up. He gestured to the short hallway that led the washrooms, the janitor's closet, and his office.

Seth shot him a look. Why are you helping them? What if they're here to take me to jail? Tripp just gave him a little wave, as if telling him go on, no worries, this was all no big deal. Too bad Seth didn't feel that way.

He swallowed back a bundle of nerves, and went stiffly around the counter. Thankfully this time, he didn't trip over his own two feet.

"This way," he mumbled, and led the way to Tripp's office. Which was, he realized just now, a very quiet and secluded place. If they wanted to quietly make him disappear, it'd be the perfect place to do it.

There weren't a lot of people in the diner right now fortunately, but the two men sitting in the booth by the window were watching curiously. No doubt they thought he was a terrible criminal now. And the two cops—they followed close on his heels, as if he was a criminal and they were afraid he'd get away.

Maybe they aren't real cops, he thought morosely. Maybe they're hitmen dressed up as cops. The lady looks mean enough.

He walked into the little office, which held a desk, filing cabinet and a couple chairs. The cops crammed in behind him, with the lady cop firmly closing the door.

The sound of it shutting made him tense. Now he was trapped in here with two supposed cops. Were they going to arrest him now?

But I didn't do anything!

"Your mother sent us," the male cop said.

Seth paled, feeling like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over his head. He gazed at the police officer, mind spinning into a wild mess.

She sent the cops after me? Why would she do that? I didn't do anything!

You told her no, a tiny voice reminded him.

So she, what? Sent them to come find me? Bring me home? That's crazy! I'm not going to go back! I'd rather go to jail!

His thoughts must have been written on his face, for the ginger-haired cop spoke soothingly, "Hey, it's all right. You're not in trouble. We were just asked to check in on you. Make sure you were safe."

Seth took in a shaky breath, grabbing onto the idea not in trouble like it was a lifeline. He looked at the male cop properly now, seeing he looked younger than he first thought. This guy had to be in his late twenties, yet he had a very steady, approachable way about him. And, Seth finally took notice of the nametag: Leroy.

"My mom asked you to check on me?" He asked, in a slightly higher pitch than he would have liked. At least he managed to keep his voice steady.

"She did," Leroy confirmed. "She was pretty concerned that you've fallen into some trouble."

Stunned by that revelation, Seth rubbed at his jaw, perhaps a bit more forcefully than he intended to. He became aware that both cops were watching him closely. A tinge of embarrassment colored his cheeks, even as he dropped his hand and averted his gaze to the worn wood surface of his boss's desk.

"There's nothing for her to be concerned about," he muttered. Since when had she actually cared about his well-being? He'd been little more than the stepping stool for his sister's rise to glory. He was nothing more than a helpless little boy in his mother's eyes, the poor, stupid twin who couldn't be allowed out of his cage lest he make them look bad.

"Are you sure?" Leroy asked gently. "There's no one here but us. You can tell us anything. We're only here to help."

Does he think I'm really in trouble? Seth could hardly believe it. Suddenly, this whole situation seemed incredibly ridiculous and he wanted to laugh until he cried, but he didn't because all he felt was a despairing ache.

He wasn't in trouble. Not any more. He'd finally escaped thanks to his late uncle, and yet there she was, trying to ruin his life again. His own mother, the very person that was supposed to be the safest person he could be with.

Instead, the safest person had been his uncle. Had, because uncle Fenn had died in a freak explosion on a work trip. And Seth wasn't anywhere near ready to even try and understand how that had happened. He was still figuring out how to get through a single day without falling apart.

A bitter smile twisted across his face, and when he looked at the cops, his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

"You can tell my mother that I am safer than I have ever been. And if she actually is concerned about me, then the best thing she can do is to..." he paused, struggling a little to speak aloud the words that sat heavily in his heart for so long. When they did finally come out, they were barely audible. "...Is to stay out of my life."

"Oh," Leroy said. And then there was pity in his eyes and Seth hated the sight of it. "I see."

He didn't. How could he? Unless he stood in Seth's shoes, this young cop would never understand what it was like to grow up hating the people that you loved.

"I'm not going back," Seth said softly. His chest tightened, almost suffocating him, but he made himself say it, even as the old anxiety tried to claw the words back. "I have a job here, my own place, and I'm doing okay. I have my own life now."

A sigh from the female cop. When he looked up at her, he was surprised to see that her gaze didn't seem as cold as before. "Your mother said you were held hostage by some woman."

Seth couldn't help it. He laughed. And then he smiled, a rush of warmth flooding through his chest. "That would be my neighbor. She's 80 years old and she makes the best lasagna. And yeah, she might have told my mom to back off."

A hint of a smile showed on the female cop's face. "She sounds like quite the lady."

"She is."

"And how long have you been working here?" She asked.

Seth shrugged. "A couple of weeks."

"Do you like it here?"

"Yeah. It's great." There was no hesitation there. He might have been a little nervous going in, but both Tripp and Jake were great guys. They looked after him and treated him like an actual human being.

"I'm glad," the lady cop said, sounding like she meant it. She turned, and her nametag came into view. Abigail. "I think we've got what we needed?"

Leroy gave a brief smile. "I believe so. Thanks for taking the time to chat with us, Seth."

Seth nodded, watching as Abigail opened the door. Both cops filed out. He waited a moment, composing himself, before he went back to the kitchen.

He met Tripp along the way. The Asian man had a tray balanced effortlessly in either hand, yet he paused to give Seth a questioning look.

"Everything all right?"

Seth gave a tiny, genuine smile. "I think so."

"Good." With a satisfied nod, Tripp continued to deliver the meals.

When he entered the kitchen, Jake was laying coils of raw farmer sausage on a tray to be frozen. Pink, squishy, soft coils that looked sort of like...

Guts.

Suddenly all Seth could think about was intestines gushing out of the Free Trader's belly, the splash of hot gore on his face, the taste of blood on his tongue. He heard a low moan rising above the horror, and knew that he'd just killed a man.

The world tilted around him, fading, and he barely had enough sense remaining to rush for the garbage bin and lean over it before his stomach upheaved itself.

"Seth?" That was Jake. It was the first time Seth ever remembered the man sounding startled. It was also the first time he remembered Jake saying his name.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the wash of viscera, though it didn't help since it was burned into his mind. Why did he have to be reminded of it now?

"I hate sausage," he muttered into the garbage.

Thankfully, Jake didn't serve him the special at the end of his shift. The big chef gave him a bowl of chicken soup and a piece of garlic toast.

Seth appreciated it, but he would have preferred if both Jake and Tripp weren't in the kitchen watching him in concern while he ate it. What, did they think he was going to puke this up, too?

The spoon shook in his hand and he really didn't feel hungry, but he ate the soup anyway. It was the least he could do after Jake went out of his way to make something that wasn't even on the menu.

If only they knew what I've seen. It's just a game, but it feels like I really killed someone...

At least it wasn't real. He took comfort in that. Because if it was, he didn't know what he'd do.