The next morning, I wake up and head downstairs to Mom already packing her suitcase.
"Ready already?"
"Always prepared, you know me," she says, folding a sweater that's seen better days. "No use in waiting around."
I grab a bowl of cereal and watch her movements. She's done this too many times—knows exactly what we need and what we can leave behind. The essentials only: clothes, toiletries, and the few items we've managed to keep during our constant relocations.
"Do you think it'll be different this time?" I ask, knowing the answer.
She pauses, a shirt half-folded in her hands. "I don't know, Lewis. But they swore on the bracelets. That's something."
"Yeah, something that'll kill them if they break it." I push my cereal around. "Not exactly comforting."
Mom sighs. "We don't have much choice. At least we have some insurance this time."
I pause and sigh heavily, "I know I know."
I go upstairs to my room and grab the suitcase on top of my shelf and start packing. I take my time packing my suitcase, clothes, few photos and some random trinkets.
I grab a photo from my desk—the one of me and Mom at the beach three cities ago. We were almost happy then, before they found us again. I tuck it between my shirts where it won't get bent.
The letters in the drawer are another matter. I stare at them for a long time, debating. They're from the Council, all of them unopened. "Burn."
One by one, the letters curl into flame, edges blackening, words unread disappearing forever. I watch them burn, feeling nothing but a hollow satisfaction as they turn to ash. When the last one crumbles, I sweep the remains into my palm and let them fall into the trash can.
Mom knocks on my door frame. "Almost ready?"
"Yeah," I say, zipping up my suitcase. "Just finishing up."
She looks at the empty drawer, the faint traces of ash still visible. Her eyes meet mine, but she doesn't comment. We both know what I've done.
"We have until tomorrow," she says instead. "Is there anything you want to do before we go? Anyone you want to say goodbye to?"
I think for a sec, "No, not exactly I haven't met new people really."
Mom nods, understanding. We've never stayed anywhere long enough to form real connections. "We should probably get some rest then. Big day tomorrow."
I lie in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. The house creaks and settles around me, familiar sounds that I've grown used to. I wonder what noises I'll be listening to tomorrow night. Council headquarters probably doesn't have squeaky floorboards or that dripping faucet in the bathroom.
When morning comes, I'm already awake.
"Lewis?" Mom calls from downstairs. "They're here."
I grab my suitcase and take one last look around my room. Empty now, "Time for an adventure."