Lucas and Allison locked eyes across the hallway.
She stood there in her too-long hoodie, fists clenched, her jaw trembling—not with fear, but with rage. Her hair was slightly messy, and her eyes had that wild, urgent look of someone realizing everything was slipping out of her control.
“Give it back,” she snapped.
Lucas didn’t move. Instead, he turned the screen slightly, just enough to keep an eye on her while tapping his own profile again. The sentence was still there:
“A 14 year old boy is the oldest child in the Martin family.”
He tapped “oldest”—not to change it, but to adjust the power dynamic more directly.
He deleted it.
Then typed:
“respected”
The new sentence read:
“A 14 year old boy is respected by his siblings in the Martin family.”
He tapped Apply.
A low pulse ran through the hallway. Like a soft drop in pressure. Allison staggered back half a step, gripping the doorframe. She blinked rapidly, like she was trying to shake something out of her head.
Lucas grinned.
“Allison?” he said smoothly.
She straightened up. Opened her mouth.
Paused.
For just a second—one, tiny second—she hesitated. And he saw it. Doubt. A flicker of it. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t bring herself to yell. Her defiance faltered, just enough.
“Lucas,” she said, quieter now. “That wasn’t fair.”
“Maybe,” he replied, pocketing the phone. “But you know I only do what’s best, right?”
Allison swallowed. Her mouth opened. Then closed.
She didn’t agree—but she didn’t argue either.
Just behind her, a small voice piped up from Bri’s room.
“Lukey?” Bri said, poking her head out, now wearing a mismatched pair of socks and a stuffed bunny under her arm. “Can I have snack time early? You always make the bestest ones.”
Lucas glanced down the hall at both of them—Allison silent, conflicted; Bri half her former age and completely obedient.
He smiled. Calm. In control.
“Sure, Bri. You can have snack time early. Allison, help her out, will you?”
Allison hesitated again.
Then nodded.
“…Okay.”
Lucas turned and walked back into his room. The door shut quietly behind him. The app still glowed in his pocket, and he hadn’t even scratched the surface yet.
He’d just made himself respected.
What would happen if he changed it to admired? Obeyed?
Loved?
He sat on his bed and opened the app again.