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Copyright© 2026 by Sci-FiTy1972
Chapter 18: The Failed Normal
The plan was simple.
Not safe.
Not permanent.
Just simple.
Darius would keep the world small for one more day.
A normal day. A believable day. A day that didn’t leave footprints in anyone’s mind. If someone was watching, they would see only what they expected to see: a quiet neighborhood, a retired soldier with too much discipline, a woman who smiled easily, a family that grilled on weekends and argued about nothing important.
Normal was camouflage.
And like all camouflage, it only worked until the light changed.
Morning started with routine.
Amina made coffee like she’d lived there for years—quiet steps, the same mug Darius always reached for without thinking. She slid it across the counter with a look that said I see you trying.
“Today,” Darius said, more to himself than anyone else.
Amina’s eyes softened. “Today,” she echoed, but he could hear the caution underneath.
Next door, his sister’s house woke up in bursts—doors, feet, kids moving like loose electricity. The sixteen-year-old was already half out the door before his mother called him back for something he’d forgotten. The eight-year-old appeared in the doorway holding a bowl of cereal like it was a shield.
“Uncle D, you taking us?” he asked around a mouthful.
“To school?” Darius asked.
The boy nodded hard.
Darius glanced at his sister. She shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like it was casual. But her eyes were locked on his, asking questions she didn’t want to voice in front of the kids.
Darius nodded once.
“Yeah,” he said. “I got it.”
Bianca wasn’t in her pen.
She hadn’t been for days.
The Cane Corso was stretched out near the back door, head up, eyes open, body angled like she’d decided the threshold was her post. When Darius moved past her, she didn’t wag. She didn’t whine. She just tracked him—calm, steady.
On duty.
His sister noticed it, but didn’t comment this morning. She only lingered a second longer at the door before heading back inside.
The drive to school felt ordinary on purpose.
Windows down a little. Radio low. Conversation light.
The sixteen-year-old sat in the front, pretending he wasn’t listening. The eight-year-old chattered in the back about a science project and whether Bianca would ever be allowed inside the house “like a real person.”
Darius smiled at that.
His sister sat in the back seat this time, quiet, watching out the side window like she was memorizing landmarks she’d driven past a thousand times. It wasn’t fear.
It was attention.
At a stoplight, Darius noticed the black sedan two cars back.
Same shape as yesterday.
Same distance.
Same patience.
It didn’t make a move. Didn’t accelerate. Didn’t crowd.
It simply existed in the lane like it belonged there.
Darius didn’t change speed. Didn’t turn his head.
He drove like a man who had nothing to hide.
But his hand tightened slightly on the wheel.
At the school drop-off line, the eight-year-old leaned forward between the seats.
“You coming to the thing later?” he asked.
“What thing?” Darius said.
“The library night,” the boy said, like it was obvious. “I told Ms. Henson you might come.”
Darius checked the mirror.
His sister met his eyes and gave him a small, silent nod.
Library night.
A normal event. A public place. A safe place.
Darius swallowed.
The eight-year-old hopped out, backpack bouncing. He waved like he wasn’t aware that waves mattered.
The sixteen-year-old followed, giving Darius a quick nod that was half respect, half question.
Then they were gone into the building.
Darius pulled away from the curb.
The black sedan was still there.
Two cars back.
His sister stopped him at the driveway when they returned.
She didn’t start yelling.
She didn’t confront him in front of the neighbors.
She simply waited until they stepped out of the car and said quietly, “We’re doing library night.”
Darius paused.
“We’ll see,” he said.
Her jaw tightened. “That’s not an answer.”
“I know,” he replied.
She stared at him a moment longer.
Then she said something that landed hard.
“My kids don’t deserve to be managed.”
Darius’s throat tightened.
“I’m not managing them,” he said.
“What are you doing, then?” she asked.
He looked at her, truly looked.
“Trying to keep them from being collateral,” he said.
The word collateral made her flinch.
She hated military words. Hated anything that turned people into categories.
“Darius,” she said, softer now. “Whatever’s happening ... I’m in it now. You already did that.”
He held her gaze.
“I know,” he said.
He tried to keep the day ordinary anyway.
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