The train to Norwood rattled through the dark, station lights cutting past like half-remembered dreams. Magnus stared at the city blurring by, thoughts drifting back to adolescence, anger, frustration, slammed doors, the rush of leaving at fifteen convinced he was proving something.
Yet, as he stepped off the train, unfamiliar memories washed over him.
His mother's soft laugh, his father's gentle patience, warm dinners, shared birthdays. A childhood far gentler than the one he knew he remembered.
The different memories clashing made his stomach twist.
He tried to ignore the feeling, but when he passed the playground
Their playground...
The false memories gave way to ones more familiar.
Children shrieked with delight as they shot down the same rusted slide he and Klaudia had once claimed as their fortress. For a heartbeat, Magnus saw her ghostlike at the top, blue hair ribbons, gap-toothed grin, before reality snapped back and left him cold.
'Klaudia... I wonder how your career is going.'
He shook his head hard and marched on.
Brad's parents hadn't moved. Of course they hadn't.
The Hopkins family rooted themselves in the world like monuments.
The house stood pristine behind manicured hedges, the timberwork facade still flawless, Mr Hopskin's handiwork stamped into every beam. Magnus drew a deep breath, squared his broad shoulders, and knocked once, hoping that no one answered.
Half a minute. Silence. Relief rushed in.
He turned to leave, but the door creaked open.
"Mag? Little Mag?" Brenda Hopkins stood framed the cool light of the hallway, her eyes widening in recognition.
Magnus forced a polite smile. "Hi, Mrs Hopkins. Yeah, it's me, but I'm not so little anymore. I'm here about Brad."
Her expression flickered, surprise, shame, distaste, pain, too many emotions fighting for space.
Still, she stepped back and waved him inside.
The house smelled of eucalyptus and something sterile, like a medical clinic disguised as a home. Magnus sat stiffly on the edge of an expensive sofa while Brenda poured tea into porcelain cups. She asked about his life, and disappointment tightened her voice with every answer.
Magnus bore it with the same numb patience he'd learned when he still lived in the neighbourhood.
But when conversation turned to Brad, Brenda's composure cracked. Her gaze drifted. Her voice wavered.
Magnus didn't let her evade. He just gently… persisted.
Brenda sat opposite Magnus at the polished dining table, fingers trembling around a half-finished cup of chamomile.
For a while she spoke only of surface things like her surgical rotations, Trent's latest renovation projects, the price of housing in Linden, but the more Magnus gently steered the conversation back to Brad, the more the veneer slipped.
Finally, Brenda set her cup down with a small clink that cut through the silence like a scalpel striking steel.
"He came home with nothing," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the faint reflection in the tea. "No job, no rental, no girlfriend, no savings… barely any clothes. Just that awful hoodie and a backpack full of things he couldn't bring himself to throw out."
Magnus swallowed. "He told you what happened?"
"Bits," she replied, voice tight. "Lost work because he 'had bigger things to focus on'. Lost his rental because he spent the rent money on… whatever it was making him feel alive. He said he didn't need the world's approval anymore, didn't need to follow anyone's rules. Then he'd cry an hour later because he couldn't afford bread."
She laughed. It was a sharp, brittle laugh, breaking halfway into something close to a sob.
"Mrs Hopkins?"
"Magnus, you're an adult now, you can call me Brenda."
"Okay, Brenda. Are you okay?"
"Oh, Magnus... Far from it. I thought it was just a phase. We took him in. Fed him. Gave him time to settle. I thought… a month, maybe two, and he'd get back on his feet."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"But he didn't. He kept… asking. More food. More money. A new phone because his had 'bad memories'. Then a loan because he had 'an opportunity'. He needed just a little more, always just a little more. And when we said no, he became someone I didn't recognise."
Magnus leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
Brenda's eyes glistened as she stared at the table's grain. Tears streamed down her face.
"He'd pace the house like a caged animal. Barely slept. Barely ate. Sometimes he'd just… stand at the window in the middle of the night, staring into the dark street like someone was coming for him. And then... then he'd turn around and flash that smile of his and say he was fine, that he just needed one more week, one more chance, one more loan. He said we didn't understand how close he was to something extraordinary."
Her voice cracked fully now, nothing gentle about it.
"We gave everything we could, Magnus! Not just money. We gave patience and we gave forgiveness. We gave him our love, but none of that was enough for him anymore. Every kindness became an expectation. Every boundary became an insult. And every time we tried to talk, like really talk, he'd say we just didn't believe in him."
Magnus didn't interrupt. He couldn't.
The friend he'd made cardboard castles with and rode his bicycle with growing up couldn't become the person Brenda was talking about.
"But... Brad loves you guys."
Brenda wiped under her eyes, smearing her mascara slightly.
"Loved, maybe. The last night he was here, he begged me on his knees. On his knees, Magnus. Over twenty years old, crying like a child, swearing he'd make it up to us if we just believed in him one more time. Trent tried to lift him up, tell him we loved him, and to snap out of it, but Brad… he just pushed him away and shouted that we were small-minded. That we were keeping him from becoming who he was meant to be."
Her hands curled into fists on the table.
"So we stopped. We said we couldn't help him anymore. He needed to choose to save himself. And Magnus, I-" her voice faltered. "I thought he'd stay angry for a week and then come back. But instead he just… walked out. Didn't look back. Said we'd see the reckoning."
She pressed a napkin hard to her face, shoulders shaking.
"He was my son, and I couldn't reach him anymore."
Magnus stood and wrapped his arms around her awkwardly. She wept into his shoulder.
When she pulled back, she sniffed and eyed him head to toe.
"You've put on weight, dear. Be careful. It's not healthy at your age."
'And here I was having sympathy for you.'
Magnus managed a strained chuckle. "Yeah… I know."
He wished her words hurt less than they did.
"What about your skills? Have you got anything about B-Rank?"
"Yes, Brenda, a couple of skills."
"That's wonderful, dear."
"Do you know anything about where he went?" Magnus asked softly.
She shook her head. "Just… something about friends. Something about… belonging somewhere."
Magnus felt his gut twist.
'Sounds like someone got their hooks into him. Stupid deceivable, naive Brad.'
"I'll keep looking," Magnus said. "I'll let you know if I find anything."
Brenda scribbled her number on a card, pressing it into his hand like a lifeline.
"Please do."
He tucked it into his coat, stepped outside, and let the cool air bite his cheeks.
The streets of Norwood felt the same as always, familiar, unforgiving, thick with memories both real and false.
He saw Mr Hopkins returning home and said hello briefly before continuing.
Magnus walked back toward the train station with heavy steps and a heavier heart.
Somewhere, Brad was waiting.
And Magnus needed to know why he'd vanished into that club's orbit.
"I'll talk to Pete tomorrow and figure out where to go from here." He muttered to himself while walking into the station platform.