3

Jaydean steps out of the cafeteria, the door hissing shut behind him as he merges into the steady stream of students moving through the hallways. His thoughts drift aimlessly as he navigates the crowd, but it doesn't matter. Everyone knows where they're going, and there's no need for words when their minds are so seamlessly connected.

*Mom's making lasagna tonight,* someone nearby thinks, and Jaydean feels a brief pang of hunger that isn't his own.

He walks past a group of girls, their thoughts a jumble of gossip and insecurities. One of them glances at him, and he can feel her wondering if he's noticed her new haircut. He hasn't, but he catches himself offering a faint nod anyway. She smiles, satisfied, and her thoughts flutter to something else, something more private that he tries to ignore.

The afternoon light filters through the school's large windows, casting long shadows across the floor as Jaydean finally exits the building. The warmth of the sun on his face is a welcome change from the artificial lights inside, but the thoughts around him don't fade. They never do.

As he heads toward the parking lot, his mind instinctively begins to tune out the noise. By now, he's learned to manage it, the constant barrage of other people's thoughts. It's not perfect—sometimes, it's overwhelming—but on most days, it's just background noise, like a low hum that he's grown accustomed to.

Jaydean approaches his car, an old, beat-up sedan that has seen better days. He unlocks it with a tap on his phone, the doors clicking open in response. Sliding into the driver's seat, he leans back, allowing himself a moment of quiet. The car provides a small bubble of solitude, even if it's only an illusion. He can still feel the Collective at the edges of his consciousness, but it's muted now, like someone turned down the volume.

He starts the engine, the familiar rumble grounding him as he pulls out of the parking lot. The drive home is uneventful, just the usual rhythm of traffic and the occasional flicker of a thought from a nearby driver. *Gotta pick up the kids,* someone thinks as they merge into his lane, and Jaydean lets them pass without a second thought.

The houses grow more spaced out as he gets closer to home, the suburban sprawl giving way to quieter streets. His neighborhood is the kind where everyone knows each other, not just because of the Collective, but because they've lived there for years. Jaydean's family has been here since he was a kid, and though he's never really questioned it, he knows every corner of this place like the back of his hand.

As he pulls into the driveway, the front door opens before he even gets out of the car. His younger sister, Lea, stands in the doorway, a mischievous grin on her face. *I beat you to it,* she thinks, and Jaydean smirks, shaking his head as he grabs his bag from the back seat.

"You always do," he says, walking toward the house.

Lea sticks her tongue out at him before darting back inside. He follows, the familiar smell of dinner already wafting through the air. His mom is in the kitchen, humming to herself as she stirs something on the stove. The thoughts from her mind are soft, gentle—mostly focused on the recipe, but there's an undercurrent of warmth, a sense of contentment that Jaydean has always associated with home.

"Hey, Jay," his mom says as he steps into the kitchen. "How was school?"

"Same as always," he replies, setting his bag down on the counter. "Nothing new."

*Except for that awkward moment with Mia in the cafeteria,* his mom thinks, a hint of amusement in her tone. Jaydean rolls his eyes, but he can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. It's impossible to hide anything in this house, but at least it's all in good fun.

"Dinner's almost ready," his mom says, turning her attention back to the stove. "Can you set the table?"

Jaydean nods and grabs the plates from the cupboard, moving on autopilot as he arranges them on the dining table. Lea is already seated, fiddling with her phone, her thoughts a rapid-fire stream of whatever game she's playing. He catches fragments of it, but none of it really sticks.

As he finishes setting the table, his dad walks in, looking tired but content. *Long day at work,* he thinks, but there's also a sense of accomplishment there. Jaydean can tell it was a good day, even before his dad says, "We closed that deal I was telling you about."

"Congrats, Dad," Jaydean says, genuinely pleased.

Dinner is a quiet affair, the usual flow of thoughts and conversation mingling together. They don't need to speak much—everyone's on the same page, as always. But there's comfort in it, in the shared experience of a meal, even if it's accompanied by the ever-present hum of the Collective.

After dinner, Jaydean retreats to his room, grateful for the small bit of privacy it affords. He flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as the day's events play out in his mind. It's not that anything was particularly interesting—just the usual routine. But there's something about it all that feels heavier than it used to.

*Maybe I'm just tired,* he thinks to himself, though he knows that's not really it.

He picks up his phone, scrolling through messages and notifications without much interest. His friends' thoughts filter in through the Collective, snippets of plans for the weekend, complaints about homework, and random memes. He engages just enough to keep the conversation going, but his mind is elsewhere.

Eventually, he sets the phone aside and closes his eyes, letting the quietness of his room lull him into a rare moment of peace. The Collective is still there, always there, but for now, it's distant enough that he can almost pretend it isn't.

He breathes deeply, his mind drifting as he tries to let go of the day. It's not long before sleep begins to creep in, pulling him into its embrace. And as he finally surrenders to it, the thoughts of the world fade into the background, leaving only the soft rhythm of his breathing in the dark.