The scent of simmering tomatoes, garlic, and onions filled the kitchen like a warm embrace. The sun had climbed to its peak above Grit City, and the windows of the Keller Estate cast long, sharp shafts of light across the polished floor. The usual hum of distant city traffic was muffled by thick estate walls, giving the kitchen a timeless, womb-like hush. It was the first time in days that the mansion had felt even remotely like a home again.
Ken stood at the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up, slicing fresh basil with deliberate precision. His movements were practiced but slow, as though he were slicing more than just herbs—cutting through his own tangled thoughts. He hadn't said much since his morning walk with Anuli. Her words still echoed in his mind.
“Things will get better the more you talk about them.”
Her story about losing her brother had struck Ken in a place he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge to others, to himself, even. There was a piece of him—raw and afraid—that had built Ethan up not just as a mentor or crime-fighting partner, but as something deeper. A guardian. A symbol. A father. And now that man was gone. At least in the form Ken had once known.
But maybe it’s time to start talking about it.
He stirred the tomato sauce with a wooden spoon, watching the steam rise, swirling like a memory he couldn’t quite hold onto.
Behind him, Amelie moved with effortless grace—adding spices, flipping garlic bread in the oven, and preparing salad like the world wasn’t tilting ever so slightly out of balance.
“You’re quiet today,” she said gently, not looking up. “The world did not end last night, young master Ken. I checked.”
Ken offered her a tight smile. “I talked to Anuli this morning. She gave me a lot to think about.”
Amelie nodded, setting down a bowl of mixed greens. “She is a smart girl. Stronger than most.”
“She told me I need to talk about it. About…them. About the adult versions of Ethan and Jack.”
“Then it is good timing,” Amelie said, brushing her hands dry on a towel. “Because I spoke with them this morning. Over breakfast.”
Ken looked up, suddenly more alert.
“They’re still getting used to things,” she continued. “Still learning to adjust. But their hearts are unchanged. Especially my petit chou.” She leaned on the counter beside Ken, folding her arms. “They asked about you, you know.”
“Yeah?” Ken replied, surprised.
“They saw how you looked this morning. They’re young, not blind.” Her voice softened. “I told them what you’ve forgotten to tell: that you have lost something precious. And that you will feel that pain. But with time—and conversation—it becomes a weight you can carry.”
Ken stared at the bubbling sauce. “I didn’t think it would hit this hard. They’re still here, right? Still them. Still cocky and ridiculous and brave as ever.”
Amelie placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “Yes. But it is not wrong to mourn who they were. You grew up with Ethan as your example. A larger-than-life figure. That man is still in that boy—but it’s different. And so are you.”
Ken closed his eyes. The words he’d been keeping inside started to gather like rainclouds behind his ribs. “I think I need to say something. At lunch. I think it’s time.”
“Then say it,” Amelie said, squeezing his shoulder once before moving to pull out five table mats from the drawer. “They’ll be here soon.”
And as if on cue, a burst of giggles echoed from the hallway.
Ken turned in time to see Ethan and Jack tumble into the dining room like two boys who managed to sneak out of school. Jack had a light scuff on his knee, probably from roughhousing, and his child-size flannel shirt was crooked on one shoulder. Ethan was practically glowing, his cartoon dragon T-shirt slightly rumpled, cheeks flushed with laughter.
Jack gave Ken a nod. “Yo.”
“Hope we’re not late,” Ethan added, trying and failing to suppress a grin.
Amelie’s eyebrow rose a fraction. “Cutting it close. But the pasta will forgive you.”
They shuffled into their seats, Jack still chuckling under his breath. Ethan gave Ken a look—an eager, flickering thing—like he wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how. There was an excited sparkle in his eyes. Along with precocious determination, sharp and aware.
Ken narrowed his eyes slightly. That wasn’t just your average preteen mischief in Ethan’s expression. Something was different. But… he’d ask later. For now, he had something more important to do.
He set the huge bowl of pasta down in the center of the table, and sat across from Ethan and Jack. Amelie and Anuli took their spots as well—Anuli with a tall glass of mango juice, her fingers absently playing with the end of her braid.
For a moment, there was only the sound of plates being served, the scrape of silverware, the soft clink of ice in glasses. The boys dug in hungrily, clearly not just pretending to enjoy the food. Jack was halfway through a breadstick when Ken cleared his throat.
“I need to say something,” he began.
The table stilled.
Ken looked at Ethan. Then Jack. Then back down at his plate. “I’ve been keeping a lot in these last few days. More than I should’ve. And Anuli reminded me today that silence doesn’t make the pain go away.”
Ethan and Jack exchanged a glance, suddenly very still.
Ken pressed on. “You two… I mean, the adults you were… you meant a lot to me. Especially you, Ethan.”
The boy’s baby blue eyes widened slightly. He swallowed his mouthful of pasta with a ‘gulp’.
“You were my guide,” Ken said. “My teacher. You saved me from self-destruction when I was swallowed by anger and gave me more than just food and shelter. You gave me purpose. And Jack… you might not have known it, but when I watched you two work together, it taught me what trust looked like. What real friendship meant.”
Jack, who was nibbling his breadstick, pulled it out of his mouth. “That’s… wow, Ken.”
“I know you’re still you, just without your adult burdens.” Ken said quickly. “But the people you were? They were like giants to me. And I guess I’m still mourning that loss.”
Ethan set his fork down. His voice was quiet. “We miss them too, Ken. We feel it. Even if it’s weird, or confusing, or comes in flashes. It’s like we’re… walking around in our own shadows sometimes.”
Ken’s throat tightened. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… I miss my mentors. And I want you both to know that it’s okay for me to feel that. And it’s okay for you to feel it too. But I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to act like it’s all normal, or that I’m not scared of what might come next.”
The room was silent.
Then Ethan, softly: “We’re scared too.”
Jack nodded. “But we are not gone. Not really.”
“I know,” Ken said, offering a small smile. “And I’m done trying to handle it all alone.”
Amelie touched his hand briefly, proud.
Anuli raised her glass. “To being brave in the quiet ways.”
They all clinked glasses—water, juice, or otherwise—and a little of the heaviness in the room lifted.
Afterward, Ethan leaned across the table slightly, eyes gleaming.
“So, uh,” he said. “You remember that lamp?”
Ken’s brows furrowed. “Yes…”
Ethan looked left, then right, then leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “I think it might’ve…given me a gift just now.”
Jack bounced slightly in his seat. “Oh great! What gift?”
Ethan tapped the side of his head. “He’s in HERE. Adult me. Not all of him, but… A voice. It’s like having a guardian angel. A very smug, very punchy angel.”
Ken blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” Ethan said. “He showed up this morning, thanks to Geoff.”
“And?” asked Anuli, cautiously interested. “What did he say?”
Ethan smiled, but it wasn’t just childish mischief now—it had matured a bit, steadier, but still got that juvenile buoyancy. “He wants to help. He says we’ve still got work to do.”
Jack rolled his eyes and groaned. “Of course he did. More devil-training for us.”
“But he’s right,” Ethan said. “We’re not done yet. Not even close.”
Ken stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Because neither am I.”
And for the first time in days, they all smiled—not just because the pasta was good, or because the juice was refreshing, or because they’d survived another grieving day.
They smiled because, for once, they knew they weren’t alone.