The Talk

I follow Noah to the table. He slides into the seat across from his mother. I sit beside him. It's quiet. Thickly, awkwardly quiet. I hold my breath.

She closes her tablet slowly, deliberately, like ending a transaction. Her gaze rises to meet mine. I stiffen. It's like she's evaluating my worth with nothing but her pupils.

"Cassian," she calls. My real name. Not Knox. Not a misheard version. She knows that she knows. I gulp and nod. No more running.

Her eyes narrow. I swear she could slice a cake just by glaring at it. We sit there in a strange triangle of silence—me, Noah, and the woman who looks like she could dismantle my life with a sentence.

"So you're not denying it any longer," she says in sarcastic tone.

"There's no point of hiding things that you already know, Ma'am," I answer.

She asks again, "What's the actual reason you're here?"