As he walked away, he could still hear Grayson's voice behind him. Special forces my ass. The officer muttered to Miller. Bet dad's special forces of the couch. Probably never even met the kid.
Jaylen kept walking, his steps measured and calm. Despite the storm inside him, he didn't look back. Didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply the officer's words had cut. As Grayson returned to his cruiser, he paused, a thought forming. Hey, Miller.
You know anything about a special forces guy living in this neighborhood? Miller shrugged. Not that I've heard of this king kid. I'm curious now. Find out who his dad really is, would you?
Sure thing, Miller replied, though his tone suggested he had no intention of following through on what seemed like a petty request. But Grayson wasn't letting it go. Something about the kid's calm confidence had gotten under his skin. Jallen hadn't backed down or shown fear, and that bothered Grayson more than he cared to admit. As Jaylen disappeared around the corner, Maya Thompson slipped her phone into her pocket and hurried away in the opposite direction.
The video safely recorded. She didn't know what she would do with it yet, but something told her it might be important. Grayson watched the street for a moment longer, then got back into his cruiser. He had a new mission now. Find out the truth about Isaiah King.
The front door of 1742 Cedar Street closed quietly behind Jallen as he stepped inside the modest two-story home. Unlike many of the showpiece houses in Oakidge Heights, the King residence was humble but well-maintained, a testament to Angela King's meticulous care. Despite working full-time as a hospital administrator, Jallen dropped his backpack by the door and stood for a moment in the entryway, letting the familiar sense of home wash over him. Lemon furniture polish. The faint hint of the jasmine candles his mother loved.
The lingering aroma of last night's dinner. The walls of the living room held a careful selection of family photos. Angela and Jallen at his middle school graduation. Jaylen as a toddler in the backyard. The three of them, mother, father, son, at the beach 5 years ago, squinting into the sun.
But there were no photos of Isaiah in uniform. Nothing that suggested his military career. This was deliberate. Jallen walked to the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. The encounter with Officer Grayson replayed in his mind as he took a bite, the crisp sound filling the quiet house.
A memory surfaced. Jallen, at 8 years old, sitting cross-legged in the backyard while his father taught him how to tie special knots. "Why do I need to know this, Dad?" He had asked. "We don't go camping much."
Isaiah's smile had been warm but serious. "These are skills, son. Some skills you show the world, like your basketball. Others you keep hidden until needed. Being invisible when necessary is sometimes the greatest advantage.
At the time, Jallen hadn't fully understood what his father meant. Now, at 16, pieces were starting to come together. The sound of keys in the front door pulled Jallen from his thoughts. Angela King entered, her nurse's scrubs replaced by the business attire she wore as a hospital administrator. Despite the long day, her posture remained straight, her movements precise.
"Hey, baby," she greeted him, setting down her purse. "How was school? Fine," Jallen replied automatically. Angela gave him a look that said she didn't believe him, but wouldn't press. "Not yet."