Chapter 1
The blue light of the triple-monitor setup was the only thing illuminating the dim bachelor apartment. I sat hunched in my ergonomic chair, the hum of the cooling fans the only heartbeat in the room. To my right, a vertical screen was a wall of cascading syntax—a coding project I was building from the ground up. It was complex, messy, and far from finished, but it was my bread and butter. The center screen showed my desktop, a clean void of icons, while the left screen played a YouTube streamer’s latest walkthrough. The chaotic noise of the game didn’t interest me; it was just white noise to fill the silence.
My mind wasn’t on the code tonight. It was on the small cottage four blocks away.
I’d spent the last week obsessing over my grandparents’ safety. I had already finished reinforcing the handrails on the second-story staircase of their cottage and fixed the leaking thatch on the roof where the winter winds had been too cruel. Johnathan was a giant of a man, even in his eighties, but his hands shook now, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him climbing a ladder. They had raised me—given me a home when the world felt too loud—and now, the roles had reversed. I was their guardian.
I swiped my mouse over to a shopping tab. I had finally found it: a frame for my grandmother’s birthday gift. It was a heavy, ornate thing—gold filigree laced with deep, navy blue stones. It was the perfect vessel for the photo I’d taken of the Cotswold hills, focusing on the skeletal beauty of a broken-down farmhouse. I clicked ‘order,’ feeling a small spark of satisfaction.
The delivery would be here in two days.
Pushing back from the desk, I stood and stretched, my joints popping. I walked into the small, sterile bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a contradiction. My hair was a raven black, jagged fringe that swept across my forehead, shaved close at the sides to reveal the black studs and plugs in my ears. The ink was the most prominent part of me—the dark rose on my throat, the intricate skulls and moths that sleeved my muscular arms, and the script that crawled along my collarbone.
I pulled on a faded pair of black jeans that hugged my lean, athletic frame and a crisp white V-neck T-shirt over my chest. The white fabric made the tattoos on my neck and arms pop, the stark contrast of ink against skin looking like a map of my history. I laced up my black sneakers, grabbed my phone, and took one last look.
“Let’s get going,” I murmured to the empty room.
The walk was short, but it was exactly what I needed. The Cotswolds were breathing after a week of relentless rain. The air was thick and damp, carrying the scent of wet stone and moss. My sneakers clicked against the stone walkways, which were still slick and gleaming under the streetlights.
When I reached the small wooden gate of the cottage, I didn’t even have to knock. The door swung open, and there stood Johnathan. Despite his age, the man still held himself with a quiet dignity, his tall frame filling the doorway.
“Ready as always, Pops,” I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face as I stepped onto the porch. I pulled my grandfather into a brief, firm hug.
Johnathan chuckled, the sound deep and gravelly. “I have no idea what you mean, son. I just happened to be by the door.”
“Likely story.”
We walked into the kitchen, and the change in atmosphere was instant. It was warm—heated by the AGA stove and the sheer presence of my grandmother, Diana. The air smelled of rosemary and slow-cooked beef.
“Good evening, Nana,” I said, stepping into her open arms. She smelled like flour and lavender, a scent that meant safety in in mind.
“Good to see you, dear,” she whispered, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. She pulled back and looked at me, her gaze lingering on my ink for a second, not with judgment, but with the familiarity of someone who knew the man beneath it. “I do hope you are hungry?”
“Oh, but of course,” I replied, taking my usual seat at the sturdy oak table.
In the center of the table sat a massive Cottage Pie, its mashed potato topping peaked and browned to a perfect golden-crisp under the broiler. Beside it sat a wicker basket filled with home-baked buns, still steaming, and a crisp green salad with vinaigrette.
I stood up immediately. “Let me, Nana.” I dished up three generous portions of the pie, making sure my grandfather got the biggest piece of the crusty edges, and snagged a bun for myself.
Once everyone was served, we bowed our heads. Johnathan said Grace, his voice steady and rhythmic, and then the sound of silverware against china took over.
“So,” Johnathan began, breaking a bun in half. “How is that recent job going? Still speaking in riddles and numbers?”
I swallowed a bite of the savory beef and potato. “It’s going a little slow, to be honest. This specific coding is a bit complex—lots of layers to the security—but I have two months before the deadline. There’s more than enough time to get it right.”
“I don’t know how you stare at those screens all day,” Diana said with a laugh. “I’d go cross-eyed.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by more this week,” I added, my tone softening. “Work just got away from me.”
“Oh, hush,” Diana waved her hand dismissively. “We know you’re busy, and we know you’re always thinking of us. Besides, you should have seen the excitement we had yesterday.”
I arched a dark eyebrow. “Excitement?”
“The neighbors,” she said, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “The Millers. They were out in their yard, screaming and shouting as if a beast from the woods had moved in. Johnathan and I thought it was a wolf or something equally dire. We went to the window, and there was Mr. Miller, armed with a broom, poking at a cardboard box.”
I chuckled. “And?”
“It was a little bunny,” she laughed, her eyes bright. “A tiny thing, making a nest in a box. But the way it was scratching and scraping at the cardboard, the Millers thought it was something monstrous.”
I broke into a full laugh, the image of the frantic neighbors and the tiny rabbit playing in my head. “I wish I could have seen that. A terrifying beast, indeed.”
As the last of the savory cottage pie disappeared on my plate, I leaned back, my gaze lingering on my nana . The warmth of the kitchen and the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway created a cocoon of peace I rarely found in the digital world.
“Is there anything you need in town tomorrow?” I asked, crossing my tattooed arms loosely over my chest. “I’m heading in to restock my own fridge. It’s looking a little pathetic.”
Nana’s eyes brightened. “Oh yes, dear. I have a small little list. If you wouldn’t care to get that sorted for me, I would appreciate it.” She reached over, patting the back of my hand where a dark moth was inked across close to my knuckles.
“Of course,” I promised, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Just remember to give it to me when I leave, please.”
True to my nature, I didn’t let my grandmother lift a finger once the meal was done. I cleared the table with efficient, quiet movements and stood at the sink, the steam from the soapy water dampening the stray dark hairs at my temples. I scrubbed the dishes while Johnathan dried, the two of us working in a comfortable, rhythmic silence that spoke volumes of our bond.
Once the kitchen was spotless, they retreated to the small living area, the fire crackling low in the hearth.
“Do you remember that summer you decided you were going to be a master woodsman?” Johnathan asked, his voice thick with nostalgia.
I groaned playfully, leaning my head back against the armchair. “Oh, no. Not the birdcage story.”
“You were so persistent!” Nana laughed, clutching a throw pillow. “You were what, seven? Eight? You had found those old cedar scraps in the shed and spent three days straight hammering away. You were so sure you were going to catch that robin that nested by the garden gate.”
“I had a blueprint and everything,” I admitted, a reluctant chuckle escaping me. “I thought if I made the latch perfectly balanced, it would just… snap. I spent hours sitting behind the hydrangea bush with a string in my hand, waiting for that bird to even look at my trap.”
“He never did, did he?” Johnathan teased, nudging Kael’s shoulder. “That bird was smarter than a future software engineer. It just sat on the fence and watched you work, chirping like it was cheering you on.”
“Persistence is a virtue, Pops,” I said, though I was laughing now. “Even if it resulted in a very empty, very well-constructed cedar box.”
As the evening wound down, I noticed the slight droop in my grandmother’s shoulders. I checked my phone; it was getting late. Knowing their routine, I stood up to make my exit. Nana scurried to the kitchen, returning with a folded piece of paper—the shopping list—and a Tupperware container heavy with leftover cottage pie.
“A little something for later,” she said, pressing the warm container into my large hands. “I know how you get when you start coding. You forget to eat.”
It was a small gesture, but it held the weight of the decades they had spent raising me. I felt a familiar swell of gratitude. I leaned down, kissing nana’s soft cheek, and gave Johnathan a firm, lingering hug.
“Please keep safe and sleep well,” I murmured. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
I was halfway out the gate when nana’s voice drifted through the cool night air. “We love you, Kael!”
“Love you guys too!” I called back, my voice echoing slightly against the damp stone walls of the lane.
The walk back to my bachelor apartment was quiet. The rain-washed streets caught the yellow glow of the lanterns, and the air felt clean and sharp in my lungs. As I walked, my thoughts drifted, as they often did in the quiet hours, to my parents. I wondered if my mother had walked these same stones with the same sense of belonging. I knew she had been loved fiercely; I could see it in the way my grandparents treated me.
But my father was a shadow. A blank space in my history. Whenever I tried to bring him up, I would see a specific, guarded look in Johnathan’s eyes—a sharp flash of warning that told me the ground was too thin to walk on. Over the years, I had learned to stop asking. I didn’t want to hurt the people who had given me everything just to satisfy a curiosity about a man who hadn’t stayed.
I reached my apartment, the heavy silence of my living room a stark contrast to the warmth of the cottage. I set the leftovers on the counter and looked at nana’s shopping list.
The steam from the shower still clung to the bathroom mirror as I stepped out, a towel slung carelessly over my shoulder. I pulled on a pair of dark grey slacks, letting them hang low on my hips, the waistband resting just below the deep V-line that disappeared into my heritage. Droplets of water still clung to the defined muscles of my chest and the dark, jagged lines of the roses on my throat.
I moved to my desk, the familiar hum of my PC a grounding presence. As the triple monitors flickered to life, I picked up my phone, my thumb mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. I scanned past photos of old classmates from Oxford and digital art groups, my mind still half-locked in the logic of my code.
I set the phone down and was just leaning in to tackle a stubborn string of syntax on the right-hand screen when the device buzzed, lighting up the dark wood of the desk.
It was a text from Seth.
Seth: Yo, you got plans for the weekend?
I tapped out a quick reply: No, not really. Why?
I knew Seth’s rhythm. My friend wasn’t the type to ask about a schedule unless he was looking for an escape. A few minutes later, the reply confirmed my suspicion.
Seth: Thinking of heading your way to hang out. Apparently, she decided to visit my sister this weekend. Since the fallout, I’ve been dodging her like the plague.
My jaw tightened. “She” was the ex-girlfriend who had once held every piece of my guarded heart. It had been what I thought was a “forever” kind of love—the serious, heavy kind. We had navigated the complexities of our youth together, even sharing the milestone of losing our virginity to one another. At least, I had believed it was a shared first at the time.
The memory of the betrayal still had a sharp, jagged edge. I could still see it if I closed my eyes: walking into that flat in Oxford and finding her with one of the city’s notorious “bad boys.” It wasn’t just the cheating that had gutted me; it was the revelation that followed.
She hadn’t fallen for the man who spent his nights obsessing over elegant code or the softness and loyalty . She had fallen for the facade. She wanted the tattoos, the piercings, and the dark, brooding aesthetic. She wanted the “bad boy” she thought I was, never realizing that the ink was just a shell for the gentlest soul she’d ever known.
I let out a dry, hollow laugh that echoed in the quiet apartment.
Kael: You’re more than welcome, man. I’ll be here.
I set the phone back down, the irony of my life weighing on me. I looked like the very thing she had cheated on me with, yet my heart was closer to the old-fashioned loyalty of my grandfather.
It’s a good thing I’m restocking the fridge tomorrow, I thought. With a friend coming over and nana’s list to fulfill, my trip to town was becoming a necessity rather than a chore.
I forced my focus back to the center screen. For the next two hours, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic click-clack of my mechanical keyboard as heI lost himself in the digital architecture. It was the only place where things were logical—where if you put in the right input, you were guaranteed the right result. People, I had learned, were far more buggy than any software.
By the time I finally hit the power button and the monitors faded to black, my eyes were heavy. I climbed into bed, the cool sheets a welcome relief against my skin. As I drifted off, my last thought wasn’t of my ex or my code, but of the shopping trip tomorrow.
