Image: Syeda

"What?" Syeda spat. This was ridiculous.

She hadn't come all this way, spent hours digitally and physically chasing down the IP address and IMEI number of the dang device, tracking it down to Christina's party (making herself look desperate by showing up despite declining, ugh) to only-

"I have no idea who that photo's of, I've never seen that text before! Swear on ma life!" The teen looked desperate to persuade them.

"Look, my phone went missing like a week ago! I found it like a day later, maybe someone took it and used it!"

"When?" Syeda pressed.

"October 21st!"

Syeda knew the date of her text inside out.

October 21st. "It was missing at 2:30pm?"

"Yeah... Yeah, it was."

Everyone was silent for a while. Frank looked thoughtful, Jack looked confused and frustrated, Syeda blank, and Elyka was completely perplexed.

"Well, dang." Frank interrupted quietly after a bit.

Jack turned to Syeda. "So... we got anything else to go on? Apart from this guy?"

Syeda's gaze was resolutely on her text, her complexion pale and emotionless.

"No. None, Jack."

------

"So, what was happening upstairs?"

Chris had brought Elyka aside into a corner of the house.

The party was still going strong, though Syeda had left, and after hanging round for a few minutes, so had Jack and Frank. Chris had decided it was time for them to leave as well.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris observed Angel, quietly sulking away in the darkest shadow of the room he could find. He was probably plotting his revenge against the world, the taxi for being late in the morning, the lawnmower for cutting his grass too low, his parents for being loving but not quite meeting his standards. The young man was an enigma to Chris. He didn't understand the cause of his tensions. Chris had been to school with Angel (even been on friendly terms throughout), and the boy had been the model of an average kid. It was just in the last year or so that he'd developed an especially salty, unnecessary attitude. But Chris had needed people, and Angel was one of the few he could rely on, and who his father preferred he relied on, as one born into being a Higher. And the only one who'd been willing to accept what his new role asked for.

Summer, on the other hand, the one he'd worried been about the most, the commoner, the Lower he'd found off the streets; not only was she not kicking up any sort of fuss, she was cheerily chatting away and gathering the socials of everyone in the room. See, that was how to make yourself useful. She'd sure shown him, he thought as he smiled.

Dexter-Suleman, Summer's apparently classless friend, was nowhere to be seen. Chris had a sneaky suspicion that he'd chipped. He didn't know what to make of the boy. He was more the muscle, the fourth opinion, the one who made up the crowd, than anything else. And he still refused to touch astrapies. Strange kid.

They did need to leave now; no point staying later. Of course, first to get what he came for.

Elyka swiftly replied. "They thought they'd found someone who'd been sending Syeda texts about her dad's location. Her dad went missing four years ago. They're trying to locate him." She told, eyes glued to the floor the whole time.

"Missing, huh..." Chris pondered out loud.

"Elyka, I need you to do something. Something that is crucial to me."

Elyka looked up towards Chris's face (he was short, but of course she was shorter. She was always shorter.). Her own face displayed her unasked question.

Chris grinned, slyly and openly. No one to watch now. No one to pretend for.

"I need you to get hold of Syeda's phone."

------

Syeda had left. Jack was gutted; seeing her pain so raw, and yet so hidden, had hurt.

But what could he do for her right now? It was night-time. She'd refused his offer of giving her a ride home; she isolated herself whenever she was upset. He understood it was her way of coping. He'd always been there for her as kids (though she'd still always kept some barriers of secrecy), but now... he couldn't go to her place (didn't need that shenanigans again), nor exactly invite her to his, cause she'd never accept.

The rift between them would never close.

'Maybe she just needs some time.' Frank had suggested. He'd listened.

After the party had felt decidedly dead to him after their disappointing news, Jack and Frank had left together. He decided to show Frank his apartment for a bit, where they'd chilled and watched some tv (Frank was decidedly appreciative of Jack's whole cupboard-load of a snack collection; 'What? A man gotta eat.' he'd retorted defensively). The uncanny, strangely cool nerd (what Jack had figured Frank out to be) whom no one could quite make out had decided to set off for home around 12, and Jack had dropped him off (dude really did live in the middle of nowhere; took half an hour to get there at full legal speed).

Jack lay back on his bed now, and huffed-sighed tiredly. "Shit's been going down, Slifer. We have no idea where anyone is. Syeda's leads are zilch at the mo." he spoke to his Astra, stowed away safely in the cupboard.

As always, it replied, after a second of detecting his silence. "This is just the beginning, Jack. Anything can happen. I'd just say, brace yourself."

---------

Frank turned the key in the lock, and with a 'clunk', it opened the old-fashioned door that must have been installed around Brexit. No, earlier. He'd changed into his spare clothes at Jack's (that his anything-prepared self had carried along just in case), and Jack had dropped him off outside his door. The razzmatazz ruffian's motorbike was a standard silent model, but extra sleek somehow. Thing could steer itself, Jack had effused proudly, when halfway through the journey Jack had let go of the steering handles to start egregiously munching his crisps instead, to Frank's horror.

Well, that party sure was something. But he was too tired to mull over its events properly now; he'd been up since 3am this morning (or yesterday, now, it being 12:30am) going over his English assignment draft and submitting it. Should've done it the day before, but ehh.

He needed some shut eye.

The blondie-brownie walked through the hallway and into their 'receiving' room, which had doors that led to the kitchen and to the living room.

Wait. He stopped, ears almost pricking upwards to listen out for... what was that sound?

... Talking? Two voices.

Familiar voices.

No. It couldn't be. The MNP would declare all citizens equal first.

It was mum and his stepdad. Talking.

But that would be crazy. One, because his mum was supposed to be away on a business trip these two weeks, two, his stepdad should be asleep (he'd come back home recently after Frank had threatened to blackmail him if he didn't look after the kids while he was at the party; he wouldn't have been able to go otherwise), and three, cause like, the chances of those two speaking was the same as Brynnland re-entering the EU. Anyway, one of his stepdad's laudable attributes was that he always went to bed on time. He was never up past midnight. Never.

Frank crept slowly near the door of the living room, and listened quietly.

Seemed the conversation had just started.

"So you're finally back." his stepdad asked sullenly. What made this all all the more weird was that his parents barely spoke when they were home at the same time. Rarely slept in the same room, sat in different areas of the house, never argued or antagonised each other, just... ignored each other. Completely. As if the other didn't exist.

His mother snorted. "Leave it, Andy. I thought you were away at Simon's? At his empty estate more precisely."

"I wasn't going to share a table with his family. And anyway, I have only charity to rely on now." Hidden in the darkness, Frank could see through the tinted window of the living room door the meaningful look his stepdad gave his mother.

His mother hmphed. "You still haven't stopped feeling sorry for yourself, it's pathetic. Grow up. I never deceived you. And look, I've kept you with me. You're the father to my children. Doesn't that show how much I value you?" She spoke strictly, bordering on accusatory.

His stepdad looked distrustful. Surly. This was a man who never showed expression normally, apart from a small absentminded smile sometimes while he watched his children playing.

He was sitting, and Frank's mother, Azélie, was standing, her warm brown hair untied and down her back.

Frank's stepdad, Andrew, avoided looking her in the eyes while they spoke, looking everywhere in the room but at her, apart from quick bursts when he allowed their eyes to meet. As she turned to leave, he caught her wrist.

She turned, annoyed, and sneered. "I don't have time for your pitiful dramas now. I came to see my sons. Let go, fool."

"That's what I am. A fool." Andrew said to himself quietly, before he was silent for some time as Azélie tried to wrench her hand out his grip.

Then he spoke, heavily. "Don't you think you should finally tell him?"

Azélie looked irked. "It's none of your business. It never was. Just close your eyes and ears and hide under the carpet like you usually do. You'll be safe there." she ended spitefully, with a grin.

"Your tongue could be so sharp sometimes." Andrew mused absentmindedly. "You drove everyone away, apart from that blasted brother of yours. He's just as bad as you. I should have seen the signs. Should've seen what you really were."

Azélie looked disdainful, and was about to speak when Andrew held up a finger to pause her and cut in again.

"Sure, I mean nothing to you. Like a beast to the slaughter, you fattened me on lies and untruths, vicious untruths. You took from me. But them," he looked closely at her. "They're your sons. Your children. They mean something to you, don't they?"

His gaze became a little more intense. "You've left it too late. Francis won't forgive you when he finds out."

Azélie snatched her hand out of his grip, but her back was to Frank so he couldn't see her expression. He assumed it was pissed.

Frank decided this was the best time to quickly creep away as the conversation seemed over. A hundred things were rushing through his mind, and a strong part of him wanted to stay and confront his mother.

But he'd get into trouble for eavesdropping. And after his mother had come back from her trip (a week early), he didn't want to upset her. What if she left again?

Truth was, his mother only got home in time to sleep and left very early the next morning. On weekends, Frank worked for one of Andrew's friend's stablemen (yes, stablemen), who basically paid him for doing odd but time-consuming jobs around the place. But it took the better part of the day, and when he got home, his mum was busy with his brothers. True, she always made time for him, but there were some topics she always neatly, politely avoided. Like his real dad, why she couldn't come hope earlier or change jobs, why they didn't get the time to meet much.

He knew she cared about him. It was in her eyes, how they had a special look reserved just for him. He hoped he wasn't imagining it.

But tonight... He'd never seen her speak to anyone like she'd just spoken to his stepdad. With so much... belittlement and contempt. Like he wasn't worth her time. Maybe he had done something to earn it? Couldn't be.

And all this about her lying... About him not forgiving her. About his stepdad playing (or actually being?) the victim.

He couldn't run, he realised.

He had to confront her.

His mother opened the living room door, and both her and his stepdad noticed Frank. His stepdad looked mildly surprised, then his neutral glaze flicked back to Azélie again. Watching.

Azélie looked shocked, but quickly covered it up.

"I didn't know you were home, Frank. Your father said you were at a party." She smiled (she always insisted on her and Frank referring to his stepdad as his 'dad' since he was all the father Frank had ever known). "My son is socialising!" She patted his shoulder hard, playfully, as was her way. "I was waiting for this day! Next you'll have a g-"

"Mum." Frank interrupted quietly. Seriously. "We need to talk."

His stepfather chose this moment to lightly shoulder them aside and leave, reaching and ascending their spiralling staircase.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "I will tell you all, one day, Francis dear." She said firmly.

And with that, she began to follow his stepdad upstairs.

"Mum, no! You have to tell me now!" He reached for her, to stop her, but she whipped round and gave him a deadly look.

"Francis." She dared him to continue, in that warning tone she'd used since he was four, whenever he'd asked for more than he was allowed.

"Mother..." He replied, half angry, half already given up. "Mother, if you don't tell me..." What now? What to say? What would stop her and make her think again? "I'll leave. I won't come back." Maybe now she'd listen. Maybe she'd have no choice.

Maybe she'd tell him the truth behind everything that was wrong in his life. Why he'd as good as become a premature father to his brothers, why he was usually the only one at his parents evenings, why his mother had given him his true father's surname but nothing else of him. Why he was always left alone.

Maybe it would all make finally sense now.

"Then leave." She deadpanned, face appearing cold and heart appearing colder, then turned and continued upstairs.

Andrew looked on quietly from farther above, musing.

She really was a true De Alba.