The sky hadn’t cracked open yet, but Rizer already felt it coming. Just something quiet. Low in the bones. Like the shift in air before a storm.
In the kitchen, the scent of golden pancakes clung to the warm air, sticking to the walls and curling around Rizer’s fingers as he carefully flipped one on the pan. The edges hissed.
His younger brother, Elias, sat at the small table by the window, folded over a sheet of paper, his tongue pressed between his lips as he creased a perfect wing.
“Fold it tighter,” Rizer said gently, not looking. “So it doesn’t drift.”
Elias didn’t speak. He just folded again, obedient. Then he blew lightly on the paper plane as though giving it a soul.
Their grandmother, a wiry woman with a bun that had collapsed an hour ago, watched over them from the kitchen doorway. Her hands were wrapped in a dishtowel, the way they always were when she was worried.
“I thought you were off pancakes after last time,” she said, a soft attempt at teasing.
Rizer gave a tired half-smile. “Last time we had them was before the announcement.”
The air changed then. Just slightly. Like the house itself inhaled.
She didn’t press further. Just stepped forward and placed three mismatched plates on the counter, one after the other. Her fingers lingered too long on Elias’ dish.
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The front door creaked open.
Kiera stepped inside, wind-tossed and frowning, her boots muddy from the backyard. “The scanner’s still blinking red. Probably just dust in the intake again.”
“Eat first,” Grandma said, waving her over with a plate. “Then save the world.”
Kiera gave Rizer a look as she passed, not quite a smile, more like a silent check-in. He returned it with a glance, then slid another pancake onto the growing stack.
Outside, the world was unusually still. No sirens. No government-issued countdown reminders yet. Just distant birds and the soft flutter of wind brushing against the rooftop solar cloths.
Rizer finished cooking and joined Elias, who was already lining up his paper planes across the table, naming each one like a captain assigning names to lifeboats.
“This one’s mine,” Elias whispered, tapping the nose of a blue-striped flyer. “And this one… is yours. It flies the longest.”
Rizer ran a hand through his dark hair. “They’re just paper, Eli.”
Elias shook his head. “They’re not. They carry people. See?” He flipped one over, revealing tiny stick figures drawn inside, all smiling.
Something in Rizer’s chest broke a little.
Their grandmother cleared her throat. “Eat, boys. Then we head to your appointment. They won’t wait for us.”
The word appointment hit like a bell in a silent room. Elias stiffened. Rizer didn’t move. The appointment. The check-in. The scan. The official weighing and registering of bodies.
Who was healthy. Who was expendable. Who got a seat.
Kiera had stopped eating. She stared at the wall above the table, where their grandfather’s photo hung in a worn wooden frame.
Without a word, she stood, fetched the tiny screwdriver from the drawer, and tightened the frame’s top right corner.
“I want one good breakfast where you’re all under the same roof,” Grandma muttered. “Before the sky tears us apart.”
The pancakes grew cold.