The house was quiet when they returned, their clothes damp, their bodies aching. Lukas's arm was bandaged, Étienne's face still bore the faint scorch of UV, Adrian's temple throbbed where the pan had struck, and Callum's hands shook as he set his baton down. They had sobbed together in the alley, broken and raw, and now silence hung heavy in the living room.
Adrian sat with his revolver on the table, polishing it slowly, his movements deliberate. Lukas leaned back against the sofa, his breath steady but his eyes tired. Étienne poured wine, his elegance dimmed but not extinguished. Callum sat apart, restless, his mind racing.
Finally, Callum spoke. "My parents are coming tomorrow."
The words dropped like stones into the quiet.
Étienne raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Visitors."
Lukas frowned. "That's… not good timing."
Adrian closed his revolver case, his voice calm but edged. "They cannot see us like this. Not after tonight."
Callum rubbed his temples. "They don't know. About any of this. To them, I'm just their son, the policeman who moved into a nice house in the fields. If they see you — pale, burned, bandaged — they'll ask questions. And I don't know what I'll tell them."
Lukas's voice was low, steady. "Then we hide. We stay out of sight. Let them see only you."
Étienne chuckled softly, though guilt lingered in his tone. "Hide? I have hidden for centuries. But parents… ah, they are sharper than strangers. They will notice something."
Adrian leaned forward, his diplomat's calm steady. "Then we prepare a story. We are your housemates, nothing more. A baker, a doctor, a civil servant. Ordinary men. We smile, we speak politely, and we let them leave without suspicion."
Callum shook his head. "You don't understand. My parents… they worry. They ask questions. They notice everything. If they sense danger, they'll never let me stay here."
Silence stretched. Lukas broke it, his voice quiet. "Do you want them to know?"
Callum hesitated, his breath uneven. "No. Not yet. I'm not ready. I barely understand it myself."
Étienne raised his glass. "Then tomorrow, we play the part. We are men, not monsters. We smile, we nod, we eat bread. And when they leave, the truth remains here, in this house."
Adrian added softly, "But if they press too hard, Callum, you must decide. Secrets cannot last forever."
Callum exhaled, his shoulders heavy. "Tomorrow. Just tomorrow. Let's get through it."
The fire crackled, shadows danced across the walls. They had fought together, sobbed together, confessed their truths. Now, they faced something quieter but no less dangerous: the scrutiny of parents.
The house in the fields braced itself for morning.