I didn't go home until 9:30 p.m.
The apartment smelled of cabbage stew and worry.
My mother was at the kitchen table—papers spread out. Bank statements. A printout of the Thorn Publishing press release from last week.
She looked up when I walked in.
"Alex."
Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.
I set my bag down.
"Evening, Mama."
She didn't smile.
"Sit."
I sat.
She pushed the papers toward me.
"Explain this."
The Thorn Publishing article was circled in red pen.
"New owner: Alex Thorn (aka Chronos_Architect)."
Below it, a blurry photo someone had pulled from my Fistoria profile.
My mother's finger tapped the name.
"This is you."
I didn't deny it.
"Yes."
She exhaled. Shaky.
"How much money is in that account they asked me about?"
"Enough," I said.
"Enough for what?"
"For us to be comfortable. For you not to worry about bills anymore."
Her eyes filled.
"I don't want comfort if it comes from… from whatever this is."
I reached across the table. Took her hand.
