The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the apartment, casting long shadows across the polished surfaces of the kitchen. It was 2035, and New York City bustled outside, but inside their home, everything was still. Perfectly still.

Emma sat at the kitchen table, her phone in hand, flicking through endless social media posts as if it could distract her from the stillness that filled the air. The kitchen was eerily silent, the hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock the only sounds. She had always loved mornings like this, when everything felt just right, when her family fell into their routine without a thought. It was a comfort—a small slice of normalcy in a world that had been changing far too fast.

But today, that normalcy felt... off.

Her father, as usual, had already left for work. He was the first one up in the house, up before the sun, brewing coffee in his ritualistic way, even though he knew he wouldn’t be there to drink it. Dad worked for a major tech company, the kind that was shaping the future, and though Emma never fully understood what he did there, it was clear that the company—his company—was taking over the world. He was always busy, always somewhere else.

Emma’s fingers tapped absently on her phone as she glanced over at her older brother, Aidan, who shuffled into the kitchen. His movements were slow, weighted, like he was carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

"Morning," Emma said, without looking up. 

Aidan didn’t respond right away. He was too tired for pleasantries, too tired for anything. At 16, he was already as exhausted as their father, working hard at school, trying to juggle homework, friends, and everything in between. He had grown so much in the past year—taller, leaner, with the hollow look of someone who had been carrying burdens far beyond his years. But he was always there, doing his best, even if it didn’t always feel like it.

He opened the cabinet, grabbed a bowl, and poured himself cereal, the sound of the milk splashing against the bowl cutting through the silence.

“Mom still asleep?” Emma asked, breaking the silence that hung between them. 

Aidan didn’t look up. “Yeah. Again.” His voice was thick with irritation. “I don’t know how she does it.”

Emma could hear the frustration in his voice, though it wasn’t directed at her. It was just... the way he spoke lately. Like everything in their lives was too much. 

“Maybe she should take a break. She’s been working so much...” Emma’s voice trailed off as she took a sip of her orange juice, but Aidan didn’t seem to hear her.

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“She’s fine. You know she’s always fine,” Aidan said, though there was no conviction in his words. He glanced over at her, but his eyes were distant. He didn’t look like he was really seeing her.

He never really saw anyone these days. Aidan’s mood had been heavy for weeks, and it wasn’t just because of school. Something had changed in him, and Emma couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but she knew it was there. Something had shifted, and it wasn’t something that could be fixed by just trying harder.

Emma shook her head, trying to push the thought away. Everything’s fine, she told herself. But the words didn’t sound convincing. 

The silence stretched on, until finally, Aidan dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clink. He grabbed his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m heading out. I’ll grab Noah on my way.”

Emma nodded, though Aidan was already turning away, his back to her. She heard him mutter, “Try not to burn the place down, okay?”

The joke fell flat, as most of Aidan’s jokes did lately. 

Emma didn’t laugh. She couldn’t. 

Aidan’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, but she barely heard them over the feeling of heaviness settling in her chest. She stared at the empty space where her father’s coffee mug still sat, untouched. There was a strange emptiness to the house this morning. The usual noise—the soft murmur of her father’s voice, the hum of the apartment—felt... distant. As though they were no longer truly here. 

The clock ticked on. It was almost 8:00, which meant Noah would need to start getting ready for school soon. 

Emma shifted in her seat, glancing over at the small figure sitting on the couch in the next room. Noah, her 7-year-old brother, had been strange lately. He wasn’t acting like himself. He sat too still, his little face blank. She couldn’t remember the last time he had really *talked* to her. Instead, he stared at the TV, his stuffed dinosaur clenched tightly in his hands, as if he were trying to hold onto something real.

Noah had always been a little different, but lately... it was as though he had retreated into a world of his own. Emma couldn’t explain it, but the stillness unsettled her. It was the same every morning—Noah would sit there, staring, barely acknowledging the world around him. Not angry. Not sad. Just... vacant.

Emma tried to shake it off. He was probably just tired. They all were.

But the stillness in the air—the sense of something missing—grew heavier with every passing minute. 

Her eyes lingered on Noah for a moment, her stomach tight with an unease she couldn’t place. She should get him up, get him dressed. He had school today. He needed to eat. 

But still, she couldn’t bring herself to move just yet. Something in her gut told her that if she went over there, something would *change*. She didn’t know what. But something would.

As she sat there, watching Noah, her phone buzzed, snapping her from her thoughts. It was a message from her dad. 

“I’ll be home late tonight. Mom will help with everything. I’ll check in later.”

Emma stared at the screen, her fingers frozen over the message. The words felt oddly distant, as though the message wasn’t meant for her at all. The words felt cold. Like something automated. The same thing he said every time. It was routine. The message, the tone, the certainty that everything was fine.

She sighed, shoving the phone aside. Everything’s fine, she repeated in her head. 

But as she glanced over at Noah again, the quiet in the room pressed in on her, thick and oppressive. She stood up slowly, walking toward him, her footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor. He didn’t move when she reached him. His eyes were wide open, but he didn’t seem to see her. 

Everything’s fine, she told herself once more. 

But Noah didn’t look fine.

And the house didn’t feel fine either.