The day Kai Mercer became an orphan, he was drinking milk straight from the carton.
"You're disgusting."
Kai lowered it from his mouth.
Across the kitchen table, Asha stared at him with the exhausted disappointment of someone who had been forced to share a home with a wild animal.
"That's a serious accusation."
"There's milk on your lip."
Kai wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"Circumstantial evidence."
"That made it worse."
"You can't prove anything."
"I literally watched you do it."
"Witness testimony is notoriously unreliable."
Asha stared at him.
Kai stared back.
At twenty, she was barely a year younger than him, but she had somehow spent most of their lives acting like the responsible sibling.
Her dark curls were tied into a loose knot. Three university brochures surrounded her laptop, each filled with smiling students sitting beneath trees that probably cost more in tuition than Kai's entire wardrobe.
Their mother's curry simmered on the stove.
Their father's old radio muttered through the football scores from the windowsill.
Rain tapped against the glass.
Nothing about the afternoon seemed important.
That was the cruel thing about the last normal day of Kai Mercer's life.
It didn't know it was the last one.
Asha reached for the carton.
Kai moved it away.
"That's mine."
"You drank from it."
"Exactly. Contaminated."
"With you."
"Dangerous stuff."
"Kai."
He grinned and handed it over.
Asha inspected the carton.
"It's empty."
Kai looked inside.
"Huh."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"I'm considering it."
His phone vibrated beside the sink.
Unknown Number.
Kai almost ignored it.
People who had good news usually texted.
People who wanted money called.
"If that's Trevor," Asha said, "tell him you died."
"Trevor would come to the funeral and ask for his forty quid."
"He'd check your pockets during the viewing."
"True."
Kai answered.
"Hello?"
A woman asked if she was speaking to Kai Mercer.
Something in her voice made his smile disappear.
"Yes."
"My name is Dr. Patel. I'm calling from St. Anne's Hospital. There's been an accident involving Daniel and Mariah Mercer."
Kai closed the refrigerator.
Asha stopped typing.
"What kind of accident?"
"A collision on the A12. Emergency services brought both of your parents in."
Kai waited.
The curry bubbled behind him.
The radio host complained about a referee.
Rain touched the window.
Everything kept going.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Mercer. Their injuries were severe. Neither of them survived."
Kai said nothing.
There should have been another sentence.
A correction.
A confused receptionist realizing she had called the wrong family.
Anything.
Instead, Dr. Patel began explaining identification procedures.
Kai looked at Asha.
She was already standing.
"Kai?"
His knees hit the cupboard.
He sat on the kitchen floor.
The phone slipped from his hand.
"Kai."
Asha crossed the room.
"What happened?"
He tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
She looked at the phone near his shoe.
Then at him.
Fear entered her face.
"Where are Mum and Dad?"
Kai swallowed.
"There was an accident."
Asha went still.
"Are they hurt?"
He hated that she had to ask.
"They're gone."
"No."
"Ash—"
"No."
She stepped backward.
"They left twenty minutes ago."
Kai couldn't look away from her.
"Dad forgot his glasses. He came back for them. I spoke to him."
"Asha—"
"You're wrong."
Her voice sharpened.
"Call them."
Kai didn't move.
"Call Dad."
"Ash."
"Call him!"
So Kai did.
His hands shook badly enough that he nearly dropped his phone.
He found Dad.
Pressed call.
A second later, a cheerful ringtone began playing from the hallway.
Both of them turned.
Daniel Mercer's phone sat beside his keys.
He had forgotten that too.
It rang.
And rang.
Asha stared at it.
Then her legs gave way.
Kai caught her before she hit the tiles.
The first scream tore out of her against his chest.
Kai held her.
The ringtone stopped.
Then started again when the call redirected.
Their mother's curry began burning.
Neither of them noticed.
The weeks afterward were full of paperwork.
Kai learned that death came with forms.
Forms for the hospital.
Forms for insurance.
Forms for the bank.
Forms to prove that two people who had existed for decades no longer did.
He signed his name until Kai Mercer stopped looking like words.
There were two coffins.
Two photographs beside them.
Their father laughing at a barbecue.
Their mother pretending she hadn't noticed someone taking her picture.
Relatives appeared.
Some cried.
Some brought food.
Nearly all of them said the same things.
They're in a better place.
They'd want you to keep going.
You need to be strong for your sister.
Kai nodded because it was easier.
Then everyone went home.
Kai and Asha returned to a house that still expected two more people.
Their father's boots remained beside the door.
Their mother's scarf hung from the banister.
A shopping list was still attached to the refrigerator beneath a smiling strawberry magnet.
Rice.
Coriander.
Washing powder.
Kai's awful cereal.
At three in the morning, Kai found himself standing in front of it.
He had come downstairs for water.
Instead, he read the list again.
And again.
He reached for the magnet.
Stopped.
For some reason, removing the list felt worse than the funeral.
So he left it there.
Asha found him asleep at the kitchen table the next morning.
She didn't mention the dried tears on his face.
Kai didn't mention hearing her cry through the wall every night.
That was how they survived those first months.
Badly.
Together.
Three months later, Kai forgot to pay the electricity bill.
He found out when the lights went off while Asha was making toast.
The toaster died.
Asha looked up.
Kai looked at the ceiling.
"Atmospheric."
"Kai."
"Romantic, even."
"Kai."
"I forgot."
Her expression softened.
That was worse than anger.
Kai grabbed his jacket.
"I'll sort it."
"You worked yesterday."
"And?"
"And the day before."
"I'm noticing a pattern."
"You came home at midnight."
"Eleven forty-seven."
"That isn't better."
"It is thirteen minutes better."
Asha didn't smile.
Kai stopped at the door.
"What?"
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Pretending everything's funny when you don't want to talk about it."
Kai opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Asha pointed toward the kitchen table.
An envelope waited there.
University letterhead.
Kai knew immediately.
"When did that come?"
"Yesterday."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I'm deferring."
"No."
"Kai."
"No."
"That wasn't a question."
"Good. My answer remains efficient."
She shoved the letter toward him.
Kai read it.
Tuition.
Accommodation.
Deadlines.
Numbers that looked considerably more offensive when printed in bold.
"We can't afford it," Asha said.
"We'll figure it out."
"We?"
"Yes. Very exclusive financial organization."
"Kai."
"I'm CEO."
"We are behind on electricity."
"Temporary liquidity issue."
"Our mortgage payment is due next week."
"Hostile market conditions."
She slapped the table.
"Stop joking!"
Kai stopped.
Asha's eyes were wet.
"I can work."
"You already have a weekend job."
"I can work full-time."
"No."
"I'll go next year."
"And if next year is worse?"
"Then the year after."
"No."
"Why do you get to decide?"
"Because you've wanted this since you were fourteen."
"And you think I want to watch you destroy yourself paying for it?"
Kai frowned.
"I'm fine."
"You forgot the electricity."
"One bill."
"You forgot to eat yesterday."
"I ate."
"Coffee isn't food."
"There was milk."
"You drank that straight from the carton."
Despite herself, Asha almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she looked at him.
"When was the last time you bought something for yourself?"
Kai glanced at his jacket.
"These shoes—"
"Were on sale. I know."
"Excellent shoes."
"You cancelled your manga orders."
That caught him.
"How do you know that?"
"The shop emailed me."
"Why?"
"You used my email after yours got locked."
"That feels like an invasion of privacy."
"You cancelled six volumes."
"I can read them later."
"When?"
Kai shrugged.
"Later."
Asha looked at him for a long time.
Then she folded the university letter.
"I'm not going."
Kai pulled out the chair opposite her.
"Yes, you are."
"With what money?"
"I'll get another job."
Her face changed.
"No."
"Bakery near the station needs someone for mornings."
"You already work at the warehouse."
"The shifts don't overlap."
"Kai, no."
"I checked."
"Of course you checked."
"And there's a takeaway place looking for drivers."
Asha stared at him.
"You're talking about three jobs."
"Technically the delivery one would be evenings."
"That doesn't make it better!"
"I can sleep between them."
"When?"
"Buses exist."
She looked horrified.
Kai smiled.
"Very comfortable seats."
"Stop."
He did.
Asha's voice dropped.
"I already lost Mum and Dad."
That silenced him.
"I'm not losing you too because you decided my degree matters more than you do."
"Ash—"
"No. Listen to me."
He did.
Her hands trembled.
"I can wait. I can work. I can change universities. I can do something else. I don't care."
"I do."
"Why?"
Because their mother had kept every one of Asha's school certificates.
Because their father had spent two weekends helping her prepare her application and understood none of it.
Because Kai remembered Asha at fourteen announcing exactly what she wanted to study and their parents looking at each other like she'd already graduated.
Because there were some things death shouldn't be allowed to take.
He looked toward the photograph on the mantel.
Mum.
Dad.
Asha followed his gaze.
"You can't fix everything," she whispered.
Kai knew that.
He had stood beside two coffins and learned it better than most.
But knowing something and accepting it were different things.
He looked at his sister.
"Watch me."
Asha didn't smile.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
"If you do this, you'll work until you collapse."
"I won't."
"You can't promise that."
Kai reached across the table.
She reluctantly gave him her hand.
"You're going to university."
"And you?"
He frowned.
"What about me?"
Asha stared at him.
"Exactly."
For once, Kai had nothing clever to say.
He squeezed her hand instead.
His alarm went off at 4:40 the next morning.
Kai stared at the ceiling.
Every part of him wanted another hour.
He got up anyway.
By five-thirty, he was unloading flour behind a bakery.
At nine, he changed shirts in a train station bathroom and headed for the warehouse.
That evening, he filled out the delivery application.
By Friday, Kai Mercer had three jobs.
The manga beside his bed disappeared beneath unopened bills.
Dinner became whatever he could eat standing up.
Seven minutes on a bus became a nap.
Twelve minutes in a break room became a luxury.
When Asha asked whether he'd slept, Kai learned to lie without thinking.
And every morning, before leaving the house, he passed the same photograph on the mantel.
Mum.
Dad.
Asha.
Three people smiling beneath a summer sky.
Kai always looked at Asha last.
He had made her a promise.
He intended to keep it.