The closer he got to the living room, the clearer the voices became.
His father's voice, deep and heavy, cut through the space.
"I'm tired, Elise," Aaron said. It wasn't angry like it used to be. It was defeated. "Every day, it's the same. Money. Everything needs money. The heating bill is up again. I work, I scrape, but it's never enough. It's like filling a bucket with a hole in the bottom."
His mother, Elise, replied. Her voice was quiet but firm. The steel in it was thin, brittle.
"And you think I'm not tired?" she asked. "I want to do more, Aaron. I really do. But you know I can't work overtime."
Her voice trembled a little.
"My body won't take it. Even normal shifts… my back feels like it's on fire by noon. Only the…"
She didn't stop but a massive peal of thunder shook the entire building, vibrating the floorboards under Evan's feet.
Evan strained to hear, but the sentence was left hanging.
Only the what? he wondered.
He knew she was in pain. He'd seen the way she braced herself against the kitchen counter when she thought he wasn't looking. But he didn't know the extent of it. She hid the struggle, just like she hid whatever she was doing to manage it. Whenever Evan asked about her health, she deflected, changing the subject with a practiced smile.
"Mr. Greg asked about the rent again," she added softly, once the thunder faded.
The silence that followed was heavy. Thick with shame.
"I saw him on the stairs," Aaron muttered. "The way he looks at me… like I'm a squatter in my own home."
He exhaled, a long, ragged sound. "Ask him for more time," Aaron suggested.
"I did," Elise snapped. Then she softened. "Friday. That's all he gave. Friday or the eviction notice."
Evan closed his eyes in the hallway. The deadline was absolute.
Aaron stared at the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with regret. "What if… we ask Evan to help?"
Evan's heart stopped.
"I know it's wrong," Aaron continued quickly, before Elise could interrupt. "I hate even saying it. I hate myself for thinking it. But what choice do we have? He has that bookstore job. Maybe he saved something."
"I already did," Elise whispered.
"You did?"
"I sent him a message. But Aaron… how long can we keep leaning on him? He needs to finish school. He needs that degree. I don't want to be the anchor that drags him down."
"You're right. He's our son," Aaron said, but the conviction was gone. "He has a bright future."
Evan couldn't listen anymore. The guilt of standing there, letting them believe in a future that had already been stolen by the Dean, was too much.
He stepped out of the shadows.
"I'm home."
They jumped.
Aaron and Elise turned to see him standing in the archway.
Evan forced a smile onto his face. It felt tight, like a mask that didn't fit quite right.
"I bought everything," he said, keeping his voice light, waving the receipt. "Even got the good eggs. No cracks."
"Thank you, Evan," Elise said, quickly wiping her eyes. Her relief at seeing him softened her smile, but the worry lines remained etched around her mouth like scars.
Evan looked at his father. Aaron was sitting in his armchair, rubbing his bad knee. He looked ten years older than he was.
"Everything alright, Dad?"
Elise quickly jumped in. "It's fine. We were just talking."
"Talking?" Aaron scoffed, shaking his head. He couldn't hold the facade. "No. It's me. Dragging us back to the same thing every time. Always money. Always because I can't give this family more than a roof that leaks."
"Aaron…" Elise warned.
Evan walked over. He stood his ground between them.
"Don't worry," he said. His voice was calm, steady. The voice of the problem solver. "I'll help. Just… please. Stop fighting. Jacob isn't home, but Lily is right there."
He gestured to the closed door.
"She doesn't need to hear this."
Aaron looked at the door, then slumped back in his chair, deflated. "You're right. I'm sorry."
Evan turned back to his mother.
"I'll figure it out," he said. "Somehow."
Aaron and Elise exchanged a fearful, guilty look. They knew he didn't have the money. They knew they were asking for water from a dry well.
"I'm sorry for asking you just now," Elise said softly. "You can forget about the message. We'll find a way."
"No," Aaron added, his voice cracking. "I'll find a way. You two don't need to carry this. I'll pick up extra shift at the depot."
"Dad, your back can't handle the depot," Evan said sharply.
"I can handle it," Aaron insisted.
Evan took a deep breath.
"Stop," he said. "Please."
He forced his smile wider. It was useless, but it was all he had.
"Don't worry. Who knows, maybe the universe will finally bless me. Could be today, could be tomorrow. Maybe I'll win the lottery I never play."
The words landed flat. They hung in the air, hollow and stupid.
Logic didn't allow for luck. They all knew it.
Evan rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry… that didn't help. Seems like I just need some rest."
He walked to his room before the mask could slip completely. He left them in silence. He could feel their eyes on his back—guilt pressing down on them for dragging their son into their mess.
Evan's room was the smallest in the apartment.
It was a box. An old bed pressed against one wall. A desk with peeling laminate edges. A cracked mirror taped to the closet door. A wardrobe that barely closed because the hinge was bent.
The ceiling fan hummed unevenly—wub-wub-wub—a rhythm he had fallen asleep to for ten years. The useless, broken heater sat in the corner, gathering dust.
None of it bothered him. These were the things that had carried him. This was his sanctuary.
He dropped his backpack on the floor. He emptied his pockets onto the desk. Keys. His empty wallet. Loose change.
And then… he felt it.
The cold, smooth shock of the black card.
Evan pulled it out.
The memory of the vanished stranger rushed back. The sudden silence in the street. The way the crowd had disappeared and reappeared like a buffering video.
"Well… that was creepy," he muttered.
He sat on the edge of his bed. The springs creaked. He held the card up to the light of his desk lamp. It absorbed the light. It didn't reflect it. It was like holding a piece of the void.
The stark white letters seemed to float on the surface: EMPEROR.
"Emperor… A brand maybe?" Evan mused.
He pulled out his phone. He typed EMPEROR black card into the search bar.
The results were expected. Tarot cards, a metal band from 2028, and a local clothing store.
But he knew those had nothing to do with the card.
"No information," he whispered.
He flipped it over. The back was blank. No magnetic strip. No chip. No QR code.
Just smooth, cold blackness.
But the cold… it was still cold. Logic said it should have warmed up in his pocket by now. Thermodynamics applied to everything.
"Illogical," he murmured.
His eyes grew heavy. The adrenaline of the day finally crashed.
He lay back on the pillow.
"Just a piece of plastic," he lied to himself.
He drifted off, the card still clutched in his hand.
The storm outside blurred into a distant white noise. Rain hammered the Edgewater district. Water poured from the rusted gutters of the nameless brick buildings, turning the alleyways into rivers.
But outside Evan's building, across the street, there was an old oak tree that had miraculously survived the city's concrete expansion.
On a high branch, hidden by the leaves and the darkness, a figure sat in silence.
It was the same man.
Tall black hat. Shades. Face mask.
His trench coat hung still, impossibly dry despite the deluge around him. The rain seemed to bend around him, avoiding his silhouette entirely, as if reality itself refused to touch him.
He rose slowly, balancing on the branch with a grace that defied gravity. The branch didn't dip. It was as if he weighed nothing.
From inside his coat, he pulled out a pocket watch.
The metal was dull, scratched by centuries of use. But from its center, a faint, rhythmic gold glow pulsed.
Tick-tock.
It sounded less like a mechanism and more like a heartbeat.
He clicked it open.
The hands were not normal hands. There were three of them, and they moved counter-clockwise.
They ticked, sharp and steady.
"It's time," the man whispered. His voice was not loud, yet it cut through the sound of the thunder like a razor.
The glow from the watch flared once—bright enough to illuminate the mask, the dark glasses, the unmoving expression.
Then, like smoke caught in a gale, he vanished.
The branch stood empty. The rain continued to fall.
Inside the room, the card in Evan's sleeping hand began to pulse.