Anchors in the Shadows

The Rockens

Damien sat at the kitchen counter, a half-eaten piece of toast in front of him and a mug of coffee cooling beside it. The Rocken house was always spotless polished wood floors, gleaming countertops, everything in its place. Even the morning light seemed curated, streaming through tall windows like it had been told where to land. Amelia moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, her mauve sweater swapped for a crisp school uniform. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and she hummed softly as she packed her lunch. She looked like she belonged here like she’d never known chaos. “You’re going to be late,” she said without turning around. “And you still haven’t fixed your collar. You want me to do it?” Damien glanced down at his shirt, wrinkled and slightly askew. He hadn’t even noticed. “I got it,” he muttered, tugging at the fabric. Amelia turned anyway, stepping close and smoothing it out with gentle fingers. Her touch was light, familiar. “There,” she said. “Now you look like you belong to someone.” Damien didn’t respond. He never knew how to answer when she said things like that. Her mother, Celeste Rocken, swept into the room in heels and a tailored blazer, phone pressed to her ear. She offered Damien a distracted smile before disappearing into the hallway. Her father, Grant Rocken, was already gone probably at one of his dealerships or shaking hands with someone important. The Rockens were everywhere car yards, boat companies, real estate signs, political fundraisers. Their name opened doors. Their silence closed them. Damien had lived here since he was twelve, since the accident. Since the drowning. Since the coma. He remembered none of it only the dream. Only the lake. Only the feeling of sinking. Amelia’s family had taken him in without question. They’d given him a room, clothes, a place at their table. But sometimes, Damien felt like a guest who’d overstayed. Like a story they didn’t want retold. “You okay?” Amelia asked, sliding into the seat beside him. He nodded, forcing a smile. “Just tired.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “Well, lucky for you, today’s gonna be interesting. We’re getting a new student. Mid semester transfer. Rumor is she’s... intense.” Damien raised an eyebrow. “Intense how?” Amelia grinned. “Like, leather jacket and don’t-touch-my-coffee kind of intense. Should be fun.” He laughed softly, but something in his chest tightened. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the dream. Maybe it was the way Amelia said “she,” like she already didn’t like her. Maybe it was something else.