The Letter

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window as Loid Forger carefully flipped an omelet with surgical precision. Yor was meticulously arranging toast points on a plate, her movements efficient but just slightly too sharp—a butter knife had already met an untimely end this week. Anya sat at the table, feet swinging, cereal spoon paused mid-air. A crisp envelope slid through the mail slot and landed on the mat with a sound that somehow made all three of them freeze simultaneously. Loid’s spatula hovered. Yor’s hand twitched toward a stray fork. Anya’s eyes went wide. The envelope bore the golden seal of Eden Academy. Loid recovered first, setting down his utensils and wiping his hands. “Just the school, probably a reminder about parent-teacher night,” he said, his voice a mask of calm. Inside, his mind raced through seventeen possible scenarios, each with its own set of contingency plans. He’d prepared for this. He was a professional. Yor smiled, but her grip on the toast knife tightened. Parent-teacher night. She’d been practicing her “normal mother” smile in the mirror. The neighbors had started avoiding her after she’d tried to practice “friendly waving” by nearly decapitating a mailbox. This was fine. Totally fine. Anya stared at the envelope, her thoughts ping-ponging between her parents’ internal monologues. *Daddy’s thinking about escape routes. Mama’s thinking about which fork to use as a weapon. I’m thinking about the three-legged race. Last place again. Sy-on boy is fast. Better than last year’s broken ankle.* Loid opened the letter, scanning it silently. His face remained impassive, but his internal muttering became a rapid-fire briefing: “Parent participation evening. Team-building activities. Three-legged race. Obstacle course. Competitive cooking. They want us to work together as a family unit. This is ideal for cover. But also a logistical nightmare.” Yor leaned over his shoulder. “It sounds fun,” she said, her voice too bright. In her head: *Fun. Like the time I ‘helped’ with the school fair and accidentally launched the dunk tank into next week.* Anya’s spoon clattered into her bowl. “I can win the race this year,” she announced, projecting confidence she didn’t feel. *Please don’t let them trip like last time. Please don’t let Mama’s competitive instincts activate.* Loid folded the letter neatly. “We’ll prepare. Strategically. As a family.” He said the word “family” like it was a code phrase that needed special intonation. “I’ll make snacks,” Yor offered, already mentally cataloging which kitchen implements could double as... never mind. “Healthy ones. For bonding.” Anya shuddered. She’d seen her mother’s idea of “healthy snacks.” The carrots had been cut into tiny, uniform cubes—perfect for throwing like shurikens. The three of them exchanged looks that were politely oblivious on the surface and deeply panicked underneath. “I’ll handle communications with the school,” Loid said. “I’ll handle the emotional support,” Yor said. “I’ll handle the telepathy,” Anya whispered, then froze. “I mean—I’ll handle the enthusiasm.” The toast began to smoke. Yor had forgotten to take it out of the toaster. She turned, grabbed the toaster cord, and accidentally yanked it from the wall. The toaster clattered to the floor. “Accident,” she said, smiling. Loid sighed internally. This was going to be a long week.