Close Your Eyes, Kid

FABIAN

I stared at my sandwich like it might explode. The peanut butter was too thick, and the jelly looked weird, like medicine. My stomach hurt from being hungry, but I didn't want to eat anything from him.

"Not hungry after all?" Vaughn asked, leaning against the counter.

His smile was fake. I'd seen real smiles—like Mom's when I made her laugh, or Alpha Roman's when he thought no one was looking. This one was plastic, like the Halloween masks at the store.

"It's okay to eat," he said, pushing the plate closer. "No one's going to hurt you."

Liar. They already hurt us by taking us.

I remembered what Mom always said: "Be smart, not scared." So I took tiny bites, chewing slowly to buy time. Each second felt like forever in this cold kitchen with its too-bright lights.

"Smart boy," Vaughn nodded. "Your mother must be proud."

I didn't answer. Talking about Mom felt wrong with him.