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It works like a charm, Bennett nodding and stepping past me into the kitchen. Seven is still sitting at the front door, unsure where to go. He looks at me, then down the hall, back and forth until finally he comes to my side and nudges me with his nose.

Brilliant dog.

We trek behind Bennett, both of our brown eyes filled with worry over the boy we love so much.

I nearly run into Bennett’s back as he stalls out in the doorway, before stepping close to his side and grabbing him around the elbow. He clears his throat, staring awkwardly around the kitchen as Alessia and Adam stand straight from their relaxed postures.

Adam Reiner knows his son, loves him dearly, and it barely takes a second before he calls, “We were just heading to the living room to discuss a few things. We’ll get out of your hair.”

Bennett doesn’t say anything but allows his dad to cup the back of his neck, sliding his hand to his shoulder in a tight, firm squeeze. Their eyes meet for a moment—a clash of deep ocean blues—before the eldest of them moves away, letting Alessia follow.

“Do you want me to help?”

He shakes his head, grabbing a towel and placing it over his shoulder while turning on the oven to heat.

“You can go sit with them while I do this,” he says, gesturing vaguely around the room. He still won’t really look at me.

“All right,” I say, letting him have this time, the same way he’s given me so much.

I don’t pay much attention to whatever it is they’re talking about, choosing to stand nearest the kitchen doors so that I can hear him if he calls for me, though I’m sure that he won’t.

Alessia and Adam talk quietly. She hasn’t told me much about her own story, just that she can relate, that there are similarities in our pasts. I can see her guard is up just slightly; she has a sharp tongue and witty retort to everything heart-on-his-sleeve Adam Reiner has to say.

I don’t join them in their conversation, too distracted by the racing thoughts of concern over Bennett, standing steps away. Something feels off—Seven is in the kitchen, near Bennett, hovering like he can sense it, too.

A part of me is tempted to ask Adam about it, to see if Bennett’s dad has picked up on anything or knows what I can do to make this better, easier for him.

Suddenly, there’s a shattering, cacophonous sound, and a low curse followed by a loud clang. I take off to the kitchen without a glance back, hoping no one follows for now.

“Bennett?” I call, turning into the room.

My stomach drops.

Porcelain shards are scattered everywhere, a pan of biscuits is strewn across the floor, and Bennett is on his knees by the still-open oven, the top of his hands and arms bright red and darkening by the second.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, stepping toward him and sinking to my knees by his side.

He grimaces, stretching one pinkened hand out.

“Don’t—you’ll cut yourself, P.” His voice is scratchy and raw. I ignore him and scoot closer, trying to avoid shards where I can but more concerned with him.

Bennett Reiner has never broken a dish and never, ever burned food.

“Hey, those burns look like they hurt. Let’s—come with me and let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

He doesn’t argue with me. But when he does manage to stand, he hoists me up onto the kitchen counter to run his hands carefully over my bare legs and feet to check them. I grab his chin as he tries to check them a third time, shaking my head lightly.

“I’m okay. You already looked,” I say, voice firm. “Now come with me upstairs.”

Bennett nods, letting me down and following me upstairs.

Once we’re in the bathroom, door closed, I turn on the shower. Bennett waits stationary, stiff by the door.

I nod for him to come closer, which he obliges silently, becoming a shadow at my back. I run cool water at the sink, testing with my fingers until it’s just the right temperature, then reach for his arm and set it beneath the running water.

Slowly, methodically, I attempt to soothe his reddened skin on each arm, before wrapping them in soft hand towels with cool water. They’re not bad burns—probably from grabbing for the pan without mittens and dropping it across his arms in pain.

After a long moment, I reach for the cold compresses, checking his skin. He watches me intently.