The house still smelled like cardboard and new paint. Boxes crowded the hallway, stacked like uneven towers, each marked with Elena Blake's looping handwriting.
Connor kicked one open with the tip of his sneaker and grinned.
"Found the important stuff," he said, holding up a bag of snacks like treasure.
His dad laughed from the living room, bent over an unassembled bookshelf. "You find the hammer, you'll be my favorite son."
"You only have one, Dad."
"Still counts."
Sophie dashed past them in a blur of pink pajamas and messy hair, a towel tied around her shoulders like a cape. "Super Sophie is moving in!" she yelled, running straight into a half-empty box.
Connor caught her just in time. "Super Sophie's kryptonite: bubble wrap."
She giggled as he pulled her free, bits of wrapping paper clinging to her hands.
Elena appeared from the kitchen doorway, her hair tied up, sleeves rolled high. "Alright, superheroes, breakfast first. The kitchen's open for business, sort of."
"Define open," Daniel said, inspecting a mug with paint flecks on it.
"Cereal and coffee. That's civilization enough."
They ate on the floor, sitting around a half-open box that served as a makeshift table. The morning light slipped through the blinds, warming the beige walls.
Connor looked around the new space, the echo in the empty rooms, the unfamiliar hum of the neighborhood beyond the window. It didn't feel like home yet, but it didn't feel wrong either.
Elena nudged him lightly. "You okay, honey?"
He smiled, automatic and bright. "Yeah. Just thinking about where to put my desk."
She smiled back, believing him, or maybe choosing to.
The rest of Saturday passed in a blur of organizing and laughter. Daniel discovered a mysterious box labeled "kitchen stuff" that turned out to be filled with Sophie's toys. Elena tried to hang a picture frame, missed the nail twice, and laughed until she cried. Sophie built a fort out of packing boxes, naming it Fort New Life.
Connor played along, helping her tape up the "walls," pretending not to notice when she made him a paper crown.
"Rule number one," Sophie declared, pointing at him with a plastic spoon, "no sad faces allowed."
He gave her a mock salute. "Aye, your majesty."
She grinned, satisfied. "You're learning."
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, the house grew still. Connor lay awake, the faint creaks of settling wood sounding like whispers. His eyes wandered to the corner of his room, where the old volleyball sat on top of an unopened box, exactly where he'd left it.
Except… he didn't remember leaving it facing that way.
He sat up slowly. The moonlight caught on its worn leather surface, and for a heartbeat, he thought he saw a flicker, blue, faint, almost invisible. He blinked. Gone.
With a quiet sigh, he leaned back on his pillow. "Get a grip, Blake. You're just tired."
He reached for his phone, intending to scroll himself to sleep. But the screen didn't turn black when he locked it. Instead, above it showed a blue screen
[System Standby: Physical calibration incomplete.]
Would you like to resume connection?
His chest tightened.
"Very funny," he whispered to no one. He blinked his eyes once, then twice. The screen was no longer there.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere, a floorboard popped. The hum of the fridge downstairs kicked in. Normal sounds. Real sounds.
And yet, for the first time since moving, sleep didn't come easy.
Sunday began quietly. The storm of unpacking had passed, leaving only the slow rhythm of a house finding its pulse again.
Outside, the Oregon sky was pale and overcast, the kind of calm gray that made every sound feel louder. The click of the heater, the soft shuffle of Sophie's feet as she colored at the dining table, the occasional laugh from his parents downstairs.
Connor wandered through the hall, aimless. He helped his mom hang curtains, carried books for his dad, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the faint blue words from last night.
Every time he tried to dismiss it as imagination, the memory of the glow came back, sharp and undeniable.
By mid afternoon, the house was in that in-between quiet, no one talking, no one needing anything.
Connor stood in his room, half unpacked boxes still around him. He glanced up one time and the blue screen was there.
He hesitated, blinked twice like before but this time the screen was already moving.
[SetterOS: Training Module Online.]
Recommended Environment: Indoor Court.
Would you like to begin preliminary scan?
A small, cold breath caught in his chest. He tapped "No."
The display didn't vanish. Instead, a map appeared—outlined in thin blue lines, glowing softly in the darkened room. A single dot pulsed near the center.
He zoomed in slowly. The label came into focus.
Ridgefield Central High School Gymnasium.
Connor stared, silent. The screen dimmed but didn't desapeared. It just waited.
He closed his eyes again, as if that might bury the thought. "You're not real," he muttered under his breath.
But the faint blue glow was still there, pulsing once.
Twice. Then it faded into darkness.