Mira crouched beside him, her movements instinctively slow, careful.
"Hey, Mikey," she said softly.
Mikey looked up and clapped again — a bright, wordless hello. Mira ruffled his hair with infinite tenderness before standing again. She looked at Elias and said simply:
"Mikey doesn't talk much. But he's got the biggest heart you'll ever meet."
There was something in her voice when she said it — something fierce and breakable — that made Elias's throat feel too tight.
Before he could answer, Mrs. Carter reappeared, a heavy basket of folded laundry balanced effortlessly on one hip. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw him still standing awkwardly near the doorway.
"So," she said briskly.
"You here to help? Or just to gawk?"
Elias opened his mouth. And quickly closed it.
Mira snickered beside him and piped up brightly:
"Both."
Mrs. Carter snorted and tossed a sock at Mira's head.
Mira caught it mid-air with an exaggerated military salute, which made Mikey clap and giggle from his spot by the fireplace.
Mrs. Carter shook her head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "God help me."
Then she fixed Elias with a look — not unkind, but unflinching.
"First rule of Hope Haven: Nobody gets to be invisible here," she said.
Mira nudged Elias with her shoulder.
"Come on," she said, voice warm and mischievous all at once.
"We don't bite. Well, Liam might. But only if you have cookies."
The kids exploded into movement then, like someone had hit a hidden switch. Sam called across the room for more math flashcards. Liam barreled past carrying a stolen soccer ball. Mikey's tower collapsed again in a spectacular heap, sending colorful blocks skittering across the floor.
And Rosie... Rosie didn't even blink.
The whole room thrummed with messy, chaotic life.
It wasn't polished. It wasn't curated. It wasn't safe. It was alive. And so was he.
For the first time in years, Elias felt the edges of himself loosening, unwinding from the tight, silent knot he had twisted himself into.
Without thinking, he shrugged out of his jacket. Rolled up his sleeves. And stepped forward.
Straight into the heart of it. Straight into them.
The day unfolded gradually, wrapped in the golden haze of autumn light streaming through the broken windows, casting long shadows and illuminating dust motes that danced like tiny stars.
He started simply—sitting cross-legged on the worn rug, watching Mikey carefully stack his wooden blocks. The boy's concentration was absolute, tongue poking out between his teeth as if the effort of focus was a sacred act.
Elias decided—foolishly, perhaps—that it looked easy.
"I can help," he said, reaching for a block.
Mikey froze.
Then shook his head—serious, determined—and slapped Elias's hand away with a tiny, open-palm thwap.
Elias blinked, startled.
Mikey's eyes widened with a kind of challenging innocence.
"Not yet," Mira said softly, kneeling beside him. "You have to earn Mikey's trust."
Elias studied the boy, then took a deep breath. Carefully, he picked up another block, holding it out like a peace offering. Mikey's serious expression softened just a little as he took the piece, but the tower collapsed immediately when Elias tried to place it.
The crash echoed like a gunshot in the quiet space. Mikey's eyes widened in horror.
Elias froze, feeling the familiar instinct to apologize flood him. To fix. To retreat. The old shame prickled at his skin.
But then Mikey burst out laughing—a high, bright giggle that broke through the tension like sunlight through storm clouds.
Elias hesitated, then chuckled—an awkward, genuine sound that surprised even him. It was contagious. Soon, Mira was laughing too, her shoulders shaking with relief.
Somewhere in the room, Liam's voice erupted in a battle cry, and Elias saw the boy zoom past, a blur of denim and dirt.
"Oh, no," Elias muttered, standing and giving chase.
Liam darted around the battered couches, giggling wildly, his eyes shining with mischief.
"You're gonna have to do better than that, old man!" Liam called over his shoulder.
Elias grinned, the tension melting away like snow in sunlight. He caught Liam around the waist, lifting him up with a rough, affectionate grip. Liam shrieked with laughter, kicking his legs as Elias carried him to a corner.
"You're lucky you're cute," Elias muttered, ruffling the boy's hair.
Liam grinned, unbothered, and dashed off again, leaving Elias standing there, breathless but lighter than he'd felt in years. Turning back, Elias saw Sam, the serious older boy, standing nearby, arms crossed, studying him with sharp, assessing eyes.
"You're not what I expected," Sam said bluntly.
Elias raised an eyebrow.
"Good or bad?"
Sam shrugged, casually flipping through a battered book—To Kill a Mockingbird.
"Don't know yet," he replied, voice even.
Elias hesitated, then asked, "Favorite character?"
Sam didn't hesitate and said, "Atticus."
"Why?"
Sam's gaze flickered with something unreadable.
"Because he didn't win. But he still did the right thing."
Elias nodded, feeling a strange weight lift inside him. They shared a quiet moment—an unspoken understanding passing between them.
Sam finally spoke again, softly, "You can sit with us later."
And then he disappeared down the hall.
Elias exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the day settle around him.
Mira appeared at his side, her face calm but shining with something proud and tender.
"You passed," she said quietly.
"Congratulations."
He shook his head, feeling a mixture of awe and disbelief.
"I feel like I just got initiated into a gang," he muttered.
She laughed, a gentle, private sound, and they watched the kids—little forces of nature—wreaking havoc and creating beauty all at once.
The wind outside rattled the windows again, carrying the smell of burning leaves and distant rain.
Elias looked around him—at the cracked walls, the laughter, the chaos—and realized something profound.
He didn't miss the skyscrapers. He didn't miss the suits. He didn't miss the empire waiting for him to step into its hollow crown. He just... didn't.
And maybe that was the greatest victory of all. Because here, in this battered, imperfect place, he was beginning to feel alive again. And that realization—fragile, stubborn—felt like hope. It felt like home. It felt like the first page of a new story.
****
The afternoon stretched out lazily, stitched together by small, clumsy victories.
After Rosie's quiet acknowledgment, Elias relaxed a little more — enough to let himself be pulled fully into the gravitational orbit of Hope Haven.
Mikey dragged him into another block-building session, this time more elaborate: two towers, a bridge between them, a carefully balanced arch of battered, brightly colored wood.
Elias took the assignment seriously — tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth in deep concentration — while Mikey clapped encouragement every time a piece didn't immediately collapse.
"Architect in the making," Mira teased from the couch, flipping through a tattered magazine.
"Or maybe demolition expert," Elias muttered, just as his painstakingly balanced bridge gave way with a spectacular crash, sending blocks bouncing in all directions.
Mikey squealed with delight, clapping so hard he toppled over onto his side, still giggling.
"You're getting worse at this, Albrecht!" Mira called.
Elias gave her a dry look as he gathered scattered blocks.
"I'm working under intense pressure," he said.
"And judgment."
Mira just smirked and tossed a balled-up sock at his head.
Sam, from his corner with his book, glanced up and offered a faint, approving smirk of his own — like Elias had passed another invisible checkpoint.
Progress. Small and stubborn. Like everything that mattered here.
Later, when Mrs. Carter announced snack time with a shout of "I'm not making second rounds for slowpokes!" Liam took it as a personal dare.
He whooped, launched himself off the arm of a chair, and sprinted toward the kitchen — tripping neatly over Elias's outstretched legs.
There was a cartoonish thud. A pause. A wide-eyed moment of shared silence.
And then Liam erupted into laughter, pounding the floor with his fists.
"I GOT OWNED!" he howled, delighted with himself.
Elias reached down to haul the boy upright, biting back a grin.
"Serves you right, thief," he said.
Liam wiped his eyes and grinned up at him, missing one front tooth.
"You're cool," he declared with the solemnity only a nine-year-old could summon.
Elias saluted him in return — a ridiculous, exaggerated military-style salute — and Liam returned it with perfect, sloppy enthusiasm before tearing off again.
Mira caught his eye across the room, eyebrows raised, and as if she is saying:
You're fitting in.
He shrugged helplessly.
Maybe he was. Maybe he really, stupidly was.
Later, after the sun had started sinking into a burnished orange behind the crooked roofs, Elias found himself sitting on the porch steps with a paper cup of lemonade in hand. Mira sat next to him, shoulder brushing his — casual, easy, like they had been doing this forever.
The laughter of the kids drifted out of the cracked windows, and somewhere in the back, Mrs. Carter was banging pots and muttering about mystery stains on the ceiling.
It felt... perfect. In a way he didn't have the right words for.
Elias sipped his lemonade, making a face.
Mira laughed at him.
"What, not champagne enough for you?" she teased.
"It's suspiciously non-alcoholic," Elias deadpanned.
"I think it's poison."
Mira bumped his shoulder playfully.
"You're dramatic."
He shrugged.
"I have a brand to maintain."
"You're a mess," she said, smiling.
"Yeah," he agreed softly, surprising both of them.
A breeze kicked up, lifting her hair around her face in soft, golden strands.
He watched her quietly for a moment. The way she tilted her face toward the sun without flinching. The way she existed — fully, fiercely, even now, even knowing her clock was ticking.
He wanted to say something — something real. But he didn't know how to fit it into words that wouldn't sound broken in his mouth.
Instead, he just said:
"You're good at this."
Mira tilted her head, smiling a little.
"At what?"
"Making people feel like they belong."
She shrugged, looking down at her scuffed sneakers.
"Maybe because I know what it feels like not to."
Her voice was light — but the weight behind it was unmistakable.
Elias swallowed hard. Before he could answer, Mrs. Carter stuck her head out the front door.
"Mira!" she called. "When you're done seducing the help, come inside — I need backup with dinner!"
Mira laughed, bright and shameless.
"Yes, boss!" she shouted back.
Elias flushed and coughed into his lemonade, trying and failing to look unaffected.
Mira grinned at him, eyes sparkling with wicked amusement.
"You heard the lady," she said, standing and offering him her hand.
"Come on, seductee."
He groaned under his breath but took her hand anyway, letting her haul him to his feet.
It was warm. Small. Real.
He didn't let go right away. Neither did she.
And maybe, just maybe, that tiny hesitation between them said more than either of them was ready to admit yet.
They went back inside.
Together.