Chapter 223| Checking In
223| Checking In
Myria arranged the calls for the same evening, staggering them carefully so the family could give each connection their own proper, undivided attention, and Allen found himself, settling in for the first, genuinely looking forward to hearing how Corvin’s own quiet, steady rebuilding had continued in the months since their last, careful conversation.
Corvin appeared on the screen looking far more settled than Allen remembered, some of his earlier guarded exhaustion replaced by a steadier, more grounded composure. "Good to see you," he said, managing a genuine, easy smile. "I wasn’t expecting a call, but I’m glad you reached out."
"How have you been?" Allen asked.
"Better," Corvin said, something quietly proud in his voice. "I started volunteering, actually. At a support group for Hunters processing traumatic operational memories. Not exactly the same as what happened to me, but close enough that I think I can genuinely help."
"That’s wonderful," Vivian said, warmth evident in her voice. "You’re doing exactly what we hoped you might eventually find your way toward."
"I learned it from watching you," Corvin admitted. "The way you talked about carrying things instead of fixing them. I started saying that to people in the group. It helps them the same way it helped me."
Allen felt genuine warmth settle into his chest, watching proof of exactly how far this patient, difficult work continued to ripple outward, one honest conversation carrying forward into countless others none of them could have properly anticipated.
"I’m proud of you," Allen said simply.
"Thank you," Corvin said, something moved crossing his composed features. "That still means more than I probably let on."
"Any luck with connections?" Irene asked gently. "You mentioned, last time, not having much family or close friends."
Corvin’s expression carried genuine, quiet warmth at the question. "Actually, yes," he said. "A few people from the support group. We get dinner sometimes, after sessions. It’s not the same as family, exactly. But it’s something real, and I haven’t had that in a long time."
"That’s not ’not the same,’" Vivian said gently. "That’s simply a different, equally genuine kind of family. I’d know."
Corvin’s smile widened at the reframe. "I like that," he admitted. "I’ll try thinking of it that way."
Before they signed off, he hesitated, something more careful crossing his expression. "Can I ask you something? Something I’ve been sitting on for a while."
"Of course," Allen said.
"Do you ever worry that all of this — the outreach, the check-ins, people like me — starts to feel like a duty instead of a choice?" Corvin asked. "I’d understand if it did, eventually. I just wanted to ask honestly, rather than wonder about it quietly."
Allen considered the question with the seriousness it deserved. "Not yet," he said. "Maybe someday it will, if I let it. But right now it still feels like exactly what it was the first time — someone worth showing up for. I don’t think that changes just because the list gets longer."
Corvin’s expression eased at that, something visibly lighter in his posture before the call finally ended.
---
The call with Dara and Soren carried its own particular warmth, the twins’ own outreach program having grown considerably since their last update, now supporting nearly forty families across their hometown’s own struggling districts.
"We’ve actually started training other volunteers," Dara reported, genuine pride evident in her voice. "People we’ve helped directly, who wanted to pass it forward the same way we did."
"That’s remarkable," Myria said. "You’ve built something genuinely sustainable."
"We learned from the best," Soren said, grinning. "Though I should mention, we’ve been comparing notes with Camila lately too. Small, informal network forming between the three of us."
Allen felt something warm settle into place at the observation, understanding, with quiet, genuine wonder, exactly how far this web of connection had grown entirely on its own, survivors finding each other and building something considerably larger than any single conversation could have properly anticipated.
"I love that you’re all connecting directly," Allen said. "That’s exactly what I hoped might eventually happen."
"We wouldn’t have found each other without you," Dara said. "I hope you know how much that matters, even if we don’t say it every single time we talk."
"I know," Allen said softly. "It matters to me too."
They talked a while longer, catching up on hopeful progress across every corner of this expanding network, and Allen found himself, ending the final call of the evening, deeply grateful for exactly how much genuine, lasting good had grown from a truth that had once felt, to all of them, like nothing but devastating loss.
"A good night," Myria observed, once the last call finally concluded.
"A genuinely good night," Allen agreed.
Everlyn, quiet through most of the evening’s calls, finally reached for her notepad once the household began settling toward rest. I keep thinking about how none of this was inevitable, she wrote. We could have just processed our own truth and stopped there. Instead it turned into all of this.
"I think that’s the part I’m proudest of," Allen admitted. "Not just surviving what happened to us. Building something out of it that reaches people we’ve never even met in person."
"It reaches further than we can properly track anymore," Vivian said. "Corvin’s support group, the twins’ volunteer network, Camila’s classroom. Each one branching into its own, entirely separate web of genuine, hopeful connection."
"Like roots," Everlyn wrote, a small, satisfied smile touching her expression. "Growing wherever they find room, whether or not we’re there to watch them do it."
"I like that image," Allen said, drawing her close. "I think it’s exactly right."
The household settled gradually into rest after that, the evening’s warmth lingering long after the final call had ended, and Allen found himself, drifting toward sleep, quietly certain that whatever difficult, patient work still waited ahead, this expanding network of genuine hope would keep growing regardless, its own roots reaching further than any single family could ever properly measure.