Family Secret

Chapter 25

School had been a battlefield in its own right. New classrooms, new rules, new teachers—everything came at Ryan and Kyan fast. Yet, somehow, they survived.

Kyan was restless, her mind prone to wander. She hated sitting still for too long, hated the endless rows of problems scrawled across paper. Ryan, on the other hand, absorbed everything like a sponge, but he had his own advantage—one no test could outsmart. Whenever Kyan froze on a question, her pencil hovering uselessly in the air, Ryan would tilt his head just enough, whispering or Morse coding the answer from another student’s mind. Kyan would grin, scribble the correct response. To the teachers, they looked like clever siblings working hard. In reality, Ryan was running a subtle network of borrowed answers, shielding his sister from failure.

But academics were only half the battle. The true test came on the playground.

Ever since the barbecue, Carissa’s youngest boy, Chadwick, had decided Ryan and Kyan were his sworn enemies. Chadwick was seven and already a miniature reflection of his mother—snobby, petty, and sharp-tongued. He wore perfectly pressed clothes, his hair slicked to one side, and always carried himself like the world belonged to him. He had seen the way Ryan humiliated his mother with the mustard-and-ketchup “accident” and hadn’t forgiven it.

Worse yet, Chadwick was best friends with Miguel Monroe—son of Cisco Monroe, the very man Nate needed to keep close tabs on. Miguel was a thin boy with dark, slicked-back hair and a nose that seemed permanently turned up, as though everything around him smelled foul. He was sharper than Chadwick, crueler too, with a talent for twisting words like knives.

Their little gang didn’t end there. Two more boys rounded out their group:

Henry Caldwell — blond, freckled, with a constant smirk and a laugh that made the teachers wince. He was the type who repeated everything louder just to get others to laugh, no matter how cruel.

Samuel “Sammy” Pike — a round-faced boy with too much energy, who always hovered at Chadwick’s elbow like a loyal dog. What he lacked in wit, he made up for in enthusiasm when it came to mocking others.

The four together were a storm of sneers, whispers, and sharp jabs. And Ryan and Kyan, to Chadwick’s delight, became their favorite target.

It started small—snide comments muttered under their breath when the twins walked by. “Beggar brats.” “Street rats.” Ryan would stiffen, his fists balling at his sides, but Kyan would put a hand on his arm, steady and calm, silently reminding him not to take the bait.

Then came the nicknames. Chadwick coined them himself, proud of his “wit.” He called Ryan Mute Mouse for being so quiet and unreadable, and Kyan Crazy Kya because she sometimes zoned out when her visions pulled her away. The others picked up the names, chanting them in singsong voices until they echoed across the playground.

Ryan kept his jaw tight, forcing himself not to react. He knew bullies fed on anger, on proof their words cut deep. He reminded himself over and over: Ignore them. Protect Kyan. Don’t give them what they want.

But every insult hurled at his sister made his chest tighten like a vice.

Miguel Monroe didn’t laugh.

Not really. He forced a chuckle when Chadwick elbowed him, muttered a half-hearted insult when Henry and Sammy looked at him expectantly—but his heart wasn’t in it. Ryan saw it instantly. The boy’s eyes weren’t sharp with cruelty like the others; they were heavy, distracted, as if his mind lived somewhere far away.

Ryan let his own gaze soften, focusing just enough to slip into Miguel’s thoughts.

It was like stepping into a storm of quiet worry.

Miguel wasn’t wasting his energy on petty squabbles. His thoughts spun around his father, Cisco Monroe, who worked late into the night. Always gone. Always with excuses. His mother whispered suspicions—an affair. Ryan felt the boy’s fear tighten in his chest, the unspoken dread that if his parents divorced, the scandal would follow him everywhere. In their world, a fractured family wasn’t just a private wound—it was a public brand. Something whispered about in drawing rooms, sneered at during dinner parties. Miguel didn’t want to be pitied. He didn’t want to be shunned.

And beneath it all, a flicker of honesty: These twins don’t even seem that bad. Weird, sure, but not bad. Especially the girl… she’s kinda cute.

Ryan pulled back before he grinned too broadly, but the satisfaction still curled at the edges of his mouth. There it was. A crack in the wall. Miguel wasn’t like the others. He could be reached. Befriending him wouldn’t just make school easier—it would make Nate’s mission easier. And maybe, just maybe, if Ryan and Kyan proved themselves useful, Nate would finally stop looking at them like temporary tools. Maybe he’d see them as something more. Something worth keeping.

That hope sat heavy in Ryan’s chest.

But Chadwick’s voice sliced through his thoughts.

“Well, would you look at that,” Chadwick sneered, puffing his chest with self-importance. “Mute Mouse is smiling at nothing. Maybe he’s cracked in the head like his sister.”

Henry burst into laughter, too loud and grating. Sammy slapped his knee, cackling along. Even Miguel managed a thin smirk for appearance’s sake, though Ryan felt the discomfort ripple in his thoughts.

Ryan didn’t flinch. He didn’t scowl or defend himself. He simply stood still, his expression unreadable, letting the insult slide past him like water. Chadwick wanted a reaction, but Ryan wouldn’t feed him.

Inside, however, his mind was turning, sharp and deliberate. Ignore the little brat. The real target is Miguel. One wrong move, and the others will close ranks around him. If I want Miguel to see us differently, I have to be careful. Precise.

Ryan’s lips twitched again, not from amusement this time, but from the shape of a plan forming in his mind.

The game wasn’t about surviving Chadwick’s taunts anymore.

It was about turning Miguel Monroe into an ally.

And Ryan was already laying the first stone.

Kyan froze mid-step on the playground. Her laughter cut off, her eyes going glassy the way they always did when the visions came.

Ryan was at her side in a second, masking his concern with a quick smirk so no one else noticed. “Ky,” he whispered, crouching low. “What is it?”

Kyan blinked back into the present, her cheeks pale. “Ryan…” she whispered. “It’s gonna happen. You—fighting. With Chadwick.”

Ryan’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Her little voice trembled, but her eyes stayed sharp. “He pushes me. You shove him. Then Henry and Samuel jump in. It… it all turns bad.” She bit her lip. “We all get in trouble. Even Miguel.”

Ryan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Great. Just great.” He wanted to say he’d avoid it, that he’d outsmart the vision—but visions weren’t guesses. When Kyan saw something, it was already written most of the time.

And sure enough, it began.

Chadwick, strutting like a spoiled rooster with Henry and Samuel flanking him, cut across the playground. “Out of my way,” he sneered, and with a shove of both hands, he knocked Kyan to the dirt.

Ryan’s vision of restraint snapped like a brittle twig. His jaw tightened, his chest burned hot, and before he even thought it through, he shoved Chadwick back. Hard.

The spoiled boy stumbled, gasping dramatically. “Did you see that?!”

Henry didn’t hesitate, shoving Ryan’s shoulder in retaliation. Samuel joined in, grabbing Ryan’s arm. Within seconds, fists were flying—small but vicious, the kind of scrappy brawl only children could muster.

Kyan scrambled up, dirt streaking her knees. “Don’t touch my brother!” she shouted, charging straight at Chadwick. In a burst of wild determination, she leapt onto his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling at his hair. Chadwick shrieked, flailing.

And then Miguel moved.

At first, it looked like he was jumping in against the twins, as Chadwick expected him to. But Ryan caught it—the subtle way Miguel tugged at Chadwick’s arm, the way he shifted his weight just enough to ease Kyan’s grip and steady her balance so she didn’t fall. Miguel’s face stayed blank, but in his thoughts Ryan caught the flicker of panic and something softer: Don’t let her get hurt. Please.

Ryan narrowed his eyes. Interesting. Very interesting.

But the fight didn’t last long.

A sharp, shrill voice cracked across the yard like a whip. “ENOUGH!”

The second headmistress stormed out, skirts swishing, spectacles perched at the edge of her nose. She already disliked Ryan—the fountain incident during orientation had sealed that—and now her glare burned straight through him as though he’d masterminded the entire brawl.

“ALL of you—my office. Now.” She snapped her fingers, pointing at Ryan, Kyan, Chadwick, Henry, Samuel, and even Miguel. “Detention. The six of you will spend the next week writing essays on civility. And I will be notifying each of your parents.”

Chadwick sputtered. “But he started—”

“Not. A. Word,” the headmistress snapped.

Kyan’s shoulders slumped. Ryan clenched his fists but kept his expression neutral. If Nate found out about this… he didn’t even want to imagine it.

But Miguel? Ryan caught the quick glance Miguel gave his sister when the headmistress wasn’t looking. A flicker of guilt. And affection.

That was something Ryan could use.