The morning began, as it often did, with Ortego's exasperated voice cutting through the thin bedroom door.
"Foster! You left your police coat on the banister again! And the milk is sour!"
Foster, already awake and mentally preparing for his morning transformation into Andrew Garfield, sighed and opened the door.
Ortego stood there, hands on his hips, doing a perfect impression of a disgruntled housekeeper.
At sixteen, he was all sharp angles and boundless energy, a stark contrast to Foster's own weary vigilance.
"I'll get more milk after work." Foster said, running a hand through his already-mussed hair.
"You said that yesterday," Ortego retorted, following him down the stairs.
"And the day before. It's like you're living in a different world half the time. Are you even listening to me?"
"I'm listening."
Foster said, though his mind was already on the contents of the disguise bag hidden in his closet.
"Sure you are." Ortego grabbed his backpack, a well-worn thing covered in pins of mathematical symbols and a single, out-of-place paper aeroplane sketch.
"Mrs. Gable asked if you could look at her data-slate again. It's making a funny noise. I told her you've been busy, but you know she'll just keep asking."
"I'll stop by this weekend."
Foster promised, the lie coming easily. Andrew Garfield didn't fix data-slates for neighbors.
With a final, long-suffering look, Ortego headed out the door, joining the stream of other students in their navy blazers.
The walk to school was familiar.
Ortego met up with his friend Liam, and their conversation was a rapid-fire exchange of homework complaints, shared jokes, and speculation about an upcoming chemistry exam.
School itself was a universe of its own, separate from the grim weight of Foster's world.
In history, they discussed the Industrial Expansion, the official, sanitized version of the city's chaotic growth.
In biology, they dissected frogs, their teacher pointing out the similarities in basic physiology between amphibians and mammals.
"All living things are built on the same essential blueprint..."
The teacher said, and Ortego, for a reason he couldn't explain, thought of the strange, geometric symbols Foster sometimes absently doodled on the edge of the newspaper.
During lunch, the conversation turned to the city's oddities.
"My dad says the power outages are getting weirder," Liam said, munching on an apple.
"Says it feels like something's sucking the life right out of the wires."
"It's just old infrastructure." Another friend chimed in. "This city is a patchwork."
Ortego was quiet, thinking of the late nights he'd found Foster staring at city maps, his expression not one of a policeman hunting a criminal, but of a man trying to decipher a code.
He thought of the way his brother sometimes flinched at loud noises, a reaction that felt new, and deeply ingrained.
Later, in the library, his thoughts returned to Foster. He was changing.
The brother who had patiently helped him with his hydraulic model was now distant and preoccupied by a shadow Ortego couldn't see.
He was nagging and scolding because it was the only way to pull him back.
To remind him that there was still a home, still a little brother who needed him to be present.
As he packed his books at the end of the day, Ortego made a decision.
He wouldn't just nag. He would watch. He would listen.
If Foster was in some kind of trouble, he would find out. He was the only other person in their little world, and it was time he started acting like it.