NEST

The coffee shop on Fifth Street buzzed with the usual Friday afternoon crowd—college students hunched over laptops, business professionals grabbing their caffeine fix. Elderly couples sharing quiet conversations over steaming mugs. In the corner booth, five teenagers sat huddled around a scratched wooden table, their voices kept deliberately low.

“Eleven houses,” Tara whispered, her green eyes gleaming with pride as she flipped through her notebook filled with meticulous handwriting. “Eleven successful jobs, and not even a whisper from the cops.”

Mia nervously twisted her raven-black hair around pale fingers, a habit she’d developed since childhood whenever anxiety crept in. “Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead. My mom’s been asking questions about where I got the money for those new boots.”

“You babysit the Henderson kids every weekend, right?” Dex replied with a smirk, his nimble fingers unconsciously working a practice lock beneath the table. At twenty one, he was the oldest of the group. Growing up in foster care as a youth, he ditched a career in IT after discovering a talent for bypassing security systems. “Besides, we’re not exactly hitting middle-class suburbia here. These people have more money than they know what to do with.”

“I also keep thinking about that house on Maple Street—the one with all the family photos. Seeing their kids’ pictures while we were taking their stuff… it felt wrong.” Mia murmured.

“We’re not exactly robbing orphans here” Tara countered sharply. “We research every target. We only hit houses where the owners are vacationing in places that cost more than most people make in a year.”

Vance, who’d been silent throughout the conversation, finally looked up from his phone after moving his Knight to pin his opponents Queen in online Chess. At seventeen, he was the youngest but also the most observant, the most diligent. A trait that had kept them out of trouble more than once. “The pattern’s getting predictable, though. We’ve hit the same type of neighborhood three times this month. Eventually, someone’s going to notice.”

“Which is why we’re expanding our territory,” Tara said, pulling out her phone and sliding it across the table. The screen displayed a photograph of a Victorian mansion, its Gothic architecture both impressive and somehow unsettling. “Blackthorn Lane. Other side of town.”

They’d been together for almost a year now, ever since Tara had caught Dex trying to break into her family’s garage and, instead of calling the police, had recruited him. One by one, they’d added the others—First, Dex’s girlfriend Mia, and then Mia’s best friend from high school, Vance. His artistic eye helping to spot valuable items the others might overlook.

Mia leaned forward, squinting at the image. “That place looks old as fuck!”

“The owner is an elderly woman, in her eighties at a guess. Lives alone. No family visits, no friends dropping by. Doesn’t even have a cat. The perfect target.” Tara’s voice carried the professional tone she always adopted when discussing their operations. She’d been the one to organize them, to transform what had started as teenage rebellion into something approaching a business.

Dex frowned, his experience had taught him to be suspicious of easy targets. “How do you know she’s alone? What if she has a caregiver? Live-in help?”

“I’ve been watching the place for two weeks,” Tara repeated with a hint of irritation. “Same routine every day. One dim light moving from room to room in the evening. No other activity. No cars in the driveway except for an old sedan that hasn’t moved since I started watching.”

“Security?” Vance asked, capturing his opponents Queen with his Knight.

“The house is from the 1890s. Standard locks. It’s all old school, baby.” Tara grinned.

Dex studied the photo.

“So why do we think she has anything worth taking? I mean, the place doesn’t exactly scream “money”.

“Old houses like that are filled with antiques, jewelry, maybe even cash hidden away by old biddies who don’t trust banks.”

Mia bit her lower lip, a gesture that had preceded every major decision in her life since childhood. Her parents thought she was studying at the library on these Friday nights, building toward the college scholarship they’d sacrificed so much to help her achieve. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she was planning crimes while they worked double shifts to pay for her SAT prep courses. “I don’t like the idea of breaking into someone’s house while they’re sleeping inside. What if she wakes up? What if she has a heart attack or something?”

“She’s eighty years old and moves like she’s in constant pain,” Tara replied, though her voice softened slightly. She understood Mia’s concerns—they all came from working-class families where elderly neighbors were respected and protected. “People that age sleep deeply, especially if they’re on medication. We’ll be in and out in ten minute Tops! Just like always.” Tara said firmly. “First sign of trouble, we abort and get out. No one gets hurt, no unnecessary risks.”

Vance took his turn to look over the photo, his expression troubled. “There’s something off about this house. Look at the architecture—those windows aren’t evenly spaced. The roofline doesn’t match the foundation. It’s like different parts were built at different times, by people who didn’t communicate with each other.”

“Since when are you an expert on Victorian architecture?” Dex asked with a laugh, though he picked up the phone to study the image more closely.

“Since I’ve been researching the neighborhood for my art history class,” Vance replied seriously. “Most of the houses on Blackthorn Lane were built between 1885 and 1900, part of a planned development for wealthy merchants. But this one… it doesn’t fit the pattern. And look at the landscaping.”

The others crowded around the phone. The grounds around the Victorian were indeed unusual—overgrown hedges that seemed to reach toward the house like grasping fingers, vegetation that looked more wild than neglected.

“It’s just an old house with an old garden!” Tara scoffed.

“I still think we should stick to empty houses,” Mia said quietly. “It’s worked so far.”

“And it’ll work again,” Tara assured her, though something in her voice suggested she was trying to convince herself as much as the others. “Besides, we need a bigger score. The jewelry from the Anderson place was mostly costume stuff. The silverware from the Millers was plate, not sterling. We need something substantial if were gonna get enough to get into college”.

That was the justification Tara used, they all used. The own personalised rationalization that made their crimes feel less like stealing. Tara was planning to study business. Mia’s wanted to become a vet. Vance an artist. Whilst Dex just wanted to clear a secret gambling debt.

“When?” Mia asked, his resignation evident in his voice.

“They’re forecasting heavy rain Thursday so I say midnight. Meet at the corner of Blackthorn and Oak, then approach from the rear. Wear dark clothes, bring your usual gear. And remember—” Tara looked each of them in the eye “—first sign of trouble, we abort. No heroics, no unnecessary risks. We’re thieves, not home invaders.”

The group fell silent for a moment as each weighed up their own decision.

“So?” Tara prodded.

“Yeah. In”. Dex’s voice resigned.

“In” Mia followed suit.

Vance took his opponents Rook with his Bishop whilst delivering Checkmate. He shrugged before nodding.

“Yeah. In”

Tara grin widened.

“In”.