The knock came maybe ten minutes after the summit broadcast ended.
Three sharp raps against the door, urgent but controlled. Aiden stood from his bed where he'd been watching the countdown in his vision tick down relentlessly, walked to the door and pulled it open.
His mother stood in the hallway, bags hanging from both shoulders and one hand gripping Callum's arm like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go. She looked exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, her hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail that was already coming loose. Callum stood beside her, eighteen years old and trying very hard not to look as scared as he clearly was.
