The Threat to Leo

Arthur and Harrison hadn’t just lied. They had been sloppy. They had been arrogant enough to think the world would never look past the summer weight of a cotton t-shirt in the middle of a blizzard.

I left Marcus standing by his truck, the yellowed log clutched in my hand like a shield. The drive back to the Tudor was a blur of tunnel vision and white-knuckled steering. My brothers were murderers, and the law they served was the very shovel they used to bury the truth.

I pulled into the driveway, the detached garage gaping open like a mouth. I didn't see Harrison’s car, but the side door was unlocked.

I burst into the kitchen, the scent of antiseptic hitting me before I even reached the island. Harrison was there, his white lab coat stark against the dark granite. He wasn't alone. He was standing over an open suitcase on the counter, systematically folding Leo’s clothes.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice cracking.

Harrison didn't look up. He adjusted the sleeve of one of Leo's hoodies with clinical precision. "Leo’s school suspension has been extended, Eleanor. And given your recent... excursions... I’ve decided it’s time he moves back into my house permanently."

"He stays here," I said, stepping toward him. "I'm his legal guardian."

"A role you are currently unfit to fulfill." Harrison finally looked at me. His eyes were cold, professional, and entirely devoid of brotherly affection. "Nurse Miller filed her report. Your erratic behavior, your shouting, your clear inability to maintain a stable environment for a child in crisis... it’s all documented, El."

"Documented for Arthur?" I spat, the paper from Marcus Finch burning in my pocket. "For a judge who knows how to make statements disappear?"

Harrison’s expression didn't flicker. "Documented for the state. I’ve already initiated the paperwork to revoke your guardianship. And as your physician, I’m flagging your pharmaceutical non-compliance. Your biometrics show you haven't taken your morning dose in three days."

Leo appeared in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with a frantic, cornered energy. He saw the suitcase. He saw his father’s white coat.

"I'm not going," Leo said, his voice trembling.

"Leo, go get your shoes," Harrison commanded, his tone dropping into a dangerous, low-frequency hum.

Leo didn't move toward the door. He moved toward me, his hand clutching my fleece sleeve with a strength that nearly pulled me off balance.

"He's staying, Harrison. Get out of my house."

Harrison took a slow, deliberate step toward us. He didn't reach for Leo; he reached for me. He placed a hand on my shoulder, his fingers pressing into the muscle with a weight that felt like an arrest.

"You're not well, Eleanor. The paranoia, the delusions about the walls... it's a textbook collapse."

Harrison locked eyes with her. 'You're sick, El. It's time for a facility.'