Blaze arrived home with Luca, the weight of the day still heavy on his shoulders. As they stepped inside, the familiar smell of his father’s cooking wafted through the air, a comforting reminder that life continued despite the chaos surrounding them.
“Dad!” Blaze called out, heading toward the kitchen. “Can I ask you something?”
His father, engrossed in preparing dinner, turned around, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “What’s on your mind, Blaze?”
“Did you sense Alan beign here or something.”
His father shook his head, returning to the stove. “Not anything, until now.” He turned the heat down on the pan, the sizzling sound filling the brief silence.
“Dad, I’m serious,” Blaze insisted, his frustration bubbling over. “I caught him recording me, manipulating what I said to make it sound
