Ryder Calloway slouched against the brick wall outside Northridge High, sheltered from view by the dumpsters that reeked of yesterday's cafeteria surprise. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the pavement slick and shiny under the afternoon sun. He took a long drag from his cigarette, savoring the burn in his lungs before exhaling slowly through his nostrils.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Shaun asking if he was coming to Danny's place later. Ryder knew what that meant—Danny's parents were out of town again, and his older brother had supplied enough pills and powders to make everyone forget their own names.

Need to watch the brat tonight. Rain check? he texted back, his thumbs moving quickly across the cracked screen.

His sister. Always his fucking sister. Like he was some kind of free built-in babysitter just because Special Agent Calloway couldn't bother to arrange proper childcare between saving the world and giving Ryder those long, disappointed looks.

The thought of another evening trapped in the same house as his sister made his jaw clench. Something about her very existence seemed designed to piss him off. The way she breathed too loudly when they were watching TV. The way she'd barge into his room without knocking. The way his dad always took her side when they fought.

Ryder almost laughed. If everyone only knew. His father thought he was the perfect son—straight A's (thanks to a network of kids who'd do anything for a pill), respectful (when he was sober enough to remember his manners), and responsible (when he wasn't high off his ass at Danny's place).

His backpack felt heavier than usual. Inside, tucked between textbooks he rarely opened, sat a small baggie of pills he'd promised to deliver to Tyler Brooks by the end of the day. Good money, easy work. He'd started small—just selling to friends, making enough cash to support his own habits. Now he had regulars, a supplier, a system.

All while his FBI father thought he was at debate club.