The door clicked shut behind them.
For a moment, no one spoke. The kind of silence that didn't demand to be filled — it just sat there, quiet and heavy, like the last breath after a long day.
Nolan gave a polite nod as he stepped inside. "Nice place."
Michael tossed his keys on the side table. "Make yourselves at home."
Chen walked in with quiet confidence, her eyes scanning the space. West hesitated near the doorway, like he wasn't sure he belonged inside yet.
Samuel stood in the hallway, watching them all. His eyes settled on Nolan — and the song came back.
"Is that a baton in your pocket / or are you just happy to see me…"
That stupid YouTube video. The one he thought was just catchy until now.He blinked, looked away quickly.
Nolan caught his glance. "You must be Samuel. Michael's told us you're smarter than he is."
Samuel shrugged. "Low bar."
That got a short laugh out of Nolan. Chen smiled faintly. West gave a nod but said nothing.
"So," Nolan asked, easing into the space, "how old are you really? You look fifteen."
"Twelve," Samuel said, already heading toward the kitchen.
Chen raised her eyebrows. "Seriously?"
"Probably the training," he said. "And the food I eat."
West finally spoke. "Wait… you cook too?"
"He does," Michael said, opening a cabinet. "Don't let the age fool you. He's made more dinners than I have since he moved in. Phil next door turned down a plate earlier and spent the rest of the visit trying not to drool on the counter."
That made Nolan laugh. "Okay, now I'm curious. What kind of twelve-year-old cooks steak?"
Samuel gave a modest shrug. "One who doesn't like microwave beeps."
He moved to the stove, already reaching for a pan. The sound of oil sizzling filled the kitchen a moment later — the first real noise to cut through the leftover tension in the room.
Samuel added a pinch of sea salt to the pan, then turned the heat down. The kitchen filled with the sound of soft sizzling — garlic browning, rice steaming. The smell was enough to settle most of the room, even if the tension still lingered.
The rookies sat around the island, their posture somewhere between exhaustion and polite alertness. They hadn't touched the beers Michael offered, but at least they weren't standing anymore.
Nolan broke the silence first."That smells ridiculously good."
"Give it five minutes," Samuel said, flipping the steaks.
Chen leaned on the counter with one elbow, her jacket still half-on. West sat stiffly, like if he relaxed too much, something might fall apart.
"You always cook like this?" Nolan asked.
"Pretty much," Samuel replied. "Since moving in with Michael, yeah."
"It helps him think," Michael added from the far side of the kitchen. "Or so he says."
Samuel smiled faintly. "It keeps my hands busy."
The small talk faded again, settling into quiet.
Then Nolan glanced at Michael."Bradford's stable?"
Michael nodded. "Vest took most of it. Busted ribs, maybe a fractured shoulder. He'll be okay."
Chen let out a slow breath — tension slipping, but not gone.
West stayed quiet, eyes low.
"I froze," he muttered, more to his plate than to anyone else.
Chen didn't jump in. Michael did."You're here. That counts."
Nolan added,"Freezing once doesn't mean you're done. You got back up. That's what matters."
It was quiet after that. Not the bad kind. Just heavy.
Samuel felt it again — the air getting thick. He didn't say anything. Just kept flipping steaks.
Then Michael stepped in, casually but deliberately.
"So… why were the Dunphys here earlier?"
Samuel blinked. He hadn't expected that yet.
He turned the heat down and wiped his hands."You know I skipped some lessons yesterday."
Michael gave a short nod."You mentioned it. Just didn't say where you went — or who you were with."
Samuel looked toward the rookies."you know I wasn't at school. Just didn't know the details."
That made them pause.
"You skipped school?" West said, surprised.
Chen blinked at him. "You don't seem like the 'sneak out' type."
Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Twelve years old, skipping school and cooking steak. What kind of kid are you?"
Samuel gave a dry smile. "One who had a weird day."
He leaned back against the counter.
"I went to the beach. I just… needed air. Was walking past the yachts when two guys called out. Said they recognized me."
Michael straightened slightly."Recognized you?"
"From that video Haley posted," Samuel said. "Apparently it got around."
Chen leaned in, curious now. "So what happened?"
Samuel glanced at her. "They started talking to me. Asked if I could perform at a birthday party. I didn't really think about it — I was kind of out of it. So I said yes."
"You performed?" West asked. "Like singing?"
Samuel nodded. "Yeah. The party was for Vincent Chase."
That hit.
Chen's eyes widened."You mean Vincent Chase? Aquaman?"
West leaned in. "Are you serious?"
Nolan blinked. "I went to see Aquaman with my kid. Wait — you're saying you sang at Vincent Chase's birthday party?"
"Yeah," Samuel said, still calm. "That's what happened."
Chen looked like she was hanging on every word. "Did you meet him?"
"Yeah. We talked. A lot, actually. About movies. He liked some of the things I said. Asked what I thought about stories, characters, that kind of thing."
Samuel noticed the shift. Chen was locked in — eyes wide, fully focused. West and Nolan, though, exchanged a glance that clearly said: Is this kid for real?
"Do you have his autograph?" Nolan asked, half-joking.
Michael squinted. "Wait — why are you guys making such a big deal out of this? Who is this guy?"
Chen turned to him, shocked."He's only one of the biggest actors out there. Aquaman. Brooklyn Boulevard. His last movie broke box office records."
Michael blinked. "Huh."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Michael folded his arms again. "That still doesn't explain why the Dunphys came over."
Samuel nodded. "Right. So… today, during lunch, I got a call. Same guys from the beach. Asked if I wanted to brainstorm some movie ideas."
"I said yes."
He glanced at Michael. "They picked me up in that same car. Phil Dunphy saw it. Apparently when he asked Haley and Alex about it, they told him the whole story. Claire got worried… and, well, she sent the whole family to check in."
He let out a breath."That's the full story."
The table went still.
Not because they didn't believe him — they did. But it was a lot. A tidal wave of strange connections, unexpected names, and bold decisions. The kind of story that makes you lean back and just… process.
Michael hadn't said a word yet. His arms were still folded, his expression hard to read. He wasn't angry. He wasn't amused. Just quiet — in that way people get when something doesn't line up the way they thought it did.
He looked at Samuel like he was trying to find the outline of the boy he knew under this new version — the one with Hollywood contacts and a gift for understatement.
Samuel didn't look away. He let him watch. Let him wonder.
Then, finally, Michael spoke — calm, but firm."We'll talk about this tomorrow."
It wasn't a threat. But it wasn't a shrug either. Just a line in the sand.
Before the tension could take root again, Nolan leaned forward, curiosity laced in his voice."So… what was Vinny like?"
Samuel turned slightly, surprised by the pivot — but welcomed it."Chill," he said. "Way more normal than I expected. He doesn't lead with the fame. Just asked questions, listened. Kind of quiet, honestly — in a good way."
Chen leaned in, already hooked."And what did he say about your ideas? Like, what kind of movies are you pitching?"
West added, a little more curious now."Did he show you anything he's working on?"
Samuel gave a small shrug."We talked about one idea he's been carrying around — kind of dark, kind of heavy. But by the end of it, neither of us felt like it fit."He turned back to the stove, flipping the steak one final time."So I started pitching stuff that was a little more fun. Big concepts. Some energy. He liked those more. Said we should keep going with them."
The pan gave a final hiss. Samuel turned off the heat and began plating.
"Nothing official yet," he added, arranging the food with precise ease, "but it felt like something started."
Then he slid the plates across the island — rice, seared steak, roasted vegetables, everything perfectly placed. It looked more like a magazine spread than a teenager's weekday breakfast.
Nolan blinked down at his plate."You've got to be kidding me…" He picked up his fork, still half-doubting it was real food and not a restaurant order that magically appeared in Michael's kitchen.
Chen leaned in and angled her plate to admire the presentation."Okay, this is ridiculous. Like, actually ridiculous. How old are you again?"
Samuel smirked but didn't answer, already plating the next dish.
West took a cautious bite — then froze mid-chew. His eyes lifted, slowly, like he was seeing the kitchen in a whole new light."…Holy crap."
Chen was already digging in, chewing once before pointing her fork at Samuel."No. No way. This isn't normal. This is five-star level."
Nolan let out a low laugh and turned toward Michael."You eat like this all the time?"
Michael, still recovering from the earlier conversation, gave a half-smile and shook his head."I'm just lucky he enjoys cooking. Most kids his age wouldn't even know how to turn the stove on — he's over here plating like he's auditioning for a Michelin star."
West leaned back with a dazed look."He could open a restaurant tomorrow and nobody would question it."
Chen waved a piece of steak before popping it into her mouth."He'd skip culinary school and teach the instructors instead."
Samuel gave a half-bow, wiping his hands on a towel."Glad you're enjoying it."
With food now in front of them, the energy shifted. Softer. Easier. The conversation picked up again, more questions coming — curious, playful, light. Vincent this, Ari that. The kind of movies Samuel liked, what ideas he pitched. Nothing too serious. Nothing too heavy.
And Samuel? He was fine with the shift in tone. That was the goal — to keep things light, to give them a break from their day. The questions were easy, the smiles real. He wanted it that way.
As the plates cleared and the kitchen quieted, he pushed back from his stool, wiping his hands on a towel.
"I should head back to my project," he said casually, his voice a little softer now — like he was gently signaling the end of the night.
Chen gave him a half-smile."Good luck. Just don't solve Hollywood before breakfast."
Samuel smirked."No promises."
He turned to leave, but Michael's voice followed — calm, but firm."We'll talk tomorrow."
Samuel slowed, glancing back over his shoulder."About… the whole thing?"
Michael gave a quiet nod. Then, after a beat, added,"And I want to talk to this Vincent Chase myself."
Samuel raised an eyebrow."What, like an interview?"
Michael didn't smile."Call it… making sure he understands who's watching."
Samuel tilted his head slightly."Vinny and Ari are supposed to call tomorrow anyway. I'll let you know when they do."
Michael studied him for a second longer before nodding."Good. And just so you know — the rookies are staying here tonight. Nolan's on the couch. Chen and West have the guest rooms."
Samuel gave a small nod."Alright… night, guys."
"Night," Nolan said, already stretching with a satisfied groan.
"Sleep well," Chen added, her tone gentle now.
West gave a small wave."See you in the morning."
Samuel offered a quick smile and slipped down the hall — leaving behind the soft glow of the kitchen, the scent of garlic and roasted vegetables, and three quietly amazed rookies who still weren't quite sure what kind of kid they'd just shared a table with.
As Samuel disappeared down the hall, the kitchen fell into a quiet lull. The rookies looked at each other, not needing to say anything out loud.
Michael gestured toward the living room."Couch is yours, Nolan. Guest rooms are made up — Chen, West, take your pick."
Nolan stood with a satisfied sigh."I've crashed on worse."
Chen rolled her shoulders."Honestly? I didn't realize how much I needed a night like this."
Michael gave a quiet nod."Exactly why you're here."
And one by one, they drifted out of the room — full, tired, and still wondering just who this kid really was.
Samuel rubbed his eyes as he sat up, the soft light of dawn filtering through the blinds. He hadn't stayed up too late — just long enough to finish what he needed.
The pirate story was done. Or at least, draft one. Messy but promising. The kind of pitch that could catch attention if Vinny liked a drunken pirate captain who's luck never ran out. And the Narcos-style idea? He'd outlined a killer opening sequence and a few gritty character beats. Enough to get a real conversation started.
He scribbled some final notes before crashing last night. There was still work to do, but it felt real now.
And later today? His first official football practice. New team. New people. A different kind of test.
He breathed in the stillness of the house and moved out of bed. Routine called.
The house was quiet, cloaked in that early golden hush where even the walls seemed to sleep. His body moved out of habit — stretches first, slow and deliberate, shaking out the remnants of sleep from his limbs.
He padded into the hallway, heading for the backyard like he always did, bow and quiver already slung over his shoulder.
Then he heard it — snoring.
He froze.
Right. The rookies.
A soft exhale escaped his nose as he turned his head and saw Nolan, half-draped over the couch, one foot planted on the floor, the other twisted up under him like a pretzel. Still asleep. Still out cold.
Samuel carefully tiptoed past him, mouth twitching into a tiny smile, and slipped out the back door.
Nolan stirred.
Something had woken him — he wasn't sure what. A shift in air, maybe. Or instinct. Eyes still half-lidded, he blinked into the dim light of the living room.
It took a moment to remember where he was.
Michael's house.
The couch. The smell of steak still somehow lingering in his memory. The weight of yesterday returned in fragments — the shooting, the adrenaline, the silence afterward. His first week and already a life lost by his hand.
He sat up slowly, pushing his fingers through his hair.
He hadn't known what to expect from Michael. A helicopter pilot? Sure. But a cop? A guy who could anchor a scene in chaos, who could read a room with one glance and handle a shootout without losing his nerve?
The station still didn't know what to make of him.
But after yesterday, Nolan did.
Michael was the guy you wanted beside you when it got real. And opening up his home like this? Bringing them here to decompress?
It helped more than Nolan had realized.
A soft thump outside caught his attention.
He looked around but didn't see anyone. Then another — faint, rhythmic. From the backyard.
He walked over to the window, curiosity pulling him forward.
There, across the yard, was Samuel. Bow in hand. Calm. Focused.
Nolan leaned in, watching.
It started simple. A clean draw, a straight shot. Then another — just above the first. Then another, and another, until there was a row of arrows, spaced within centimeters of each other. Measured. Exact.
Nolan blinked.That couldn't have just happened.
He stepped a little closer to the window, brow furrowing.
Samuel stood steady, bow in hand, still watching the air where the tennis ball had just been — or what was left of it.
Nolan's eyes flicked to the arrow now embedded in the fence, a shred of neon fuzz still clinging to the shaft. Clean shot. Dead center. One try.
He let out a slow breath.No way that was luck.
He'd seen professionals miss easier targets under less pressure. Hell, even in the olympics, he'd never seen control like that from someone this young. Calm. Unshaken. Surgical.
Samuel just smirked and lowered the bow like it was no big deal — like this was just how he started his mornings.
Nolan leaned his shoulder against the window frame, watching in silence.
Michael had mentioned his nephew once or twice — said he was smart, disciplined, a little unusual. Most people said things like that when a kid could finish a book or remember to do chores without being asked.
But this?
This was something else.
He had a kid too. Great kid. Full of energy. Still figuring himself out.But he'd never met a twelve-year-old who trained like this. Focused like this. Moved like this.
What the hell kind of twelve-year-old slices a tennis ball out of the air before breakfast?
Nolan stood there, still and quiet, feeling the weight of the morning shift a little.
Yeah.Michael's nephew wasn't just "different."
He was on another level entirely.
Samuel walked back into the house, sweat cooling on his skin, bow slung neatly over his shoulder. He was about to head out again — a quick morning run before the day really began — when he heard a voice behind him.
"How are you so good with a bow?"
He froze for a half second, then turned.
Nolan was standing in the hallway now, arms loosely crossed, gaze half-curious, half-awestruck. So much for sleeping in.
Samuel gave a slight shrug. "I've been practicing since I was five. Just… a lot of repetition. Every day."
He couldn't exactly say it was because of a gacha spin when he was born. The truth was easier to manage.
Nolan nodded slowly, stepping farther into the kitchen. "That wasn't just 'practice.' That was next-level."
Samuel cracked a wry smile and leaned the bow near the doorframe.
"You wake up early too?"
"construction habit," Nolan said, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Though I wasn't expecting to wake up to a kid pulling Olympic-level shots in the backyard."
Samuel chuckled lightly and moved toward the kitchen.
"Well… now that you're up, want some breakfast?"
Nolan raised his brows.
"I mean, yeah — I'd be a fool to say no after last night."
Samuel washed his hands and began pulling ingredients from the fridge — eggs, avocado, wholegrain bread, cheese. His motions were smooth and practiced, everything in the right place without a second thought.
Nolan leaned on the counter, arms folded, still watching him.
"So, seriously. You been doing archery since you were five?"
"Every day since," Samuel said, cracking an egg into a bowl. "Kind of became my thing."
Nolan nodded slowly, quiet for a beat.
"You're really not like other kids."
Samuel glanced up briefly.
"You mean because I cook, shoot arrows, and wake up early?"
"That's part of it," Nolan said. "But… yeah." He looked toward the hallway, then back. "Michael said you were sharp. Different. But watching you this morning?" He shook his head, smiling faintly. "Different doesn't cover it."
They let the quiet sit for a moment. The skillet began to warm. The scent of garlic and onion started to rise.
Then Samuel asked, more softly,
"Is being a cop anything like what you thought it would be?"
Nolan looked up, surprised by the question.
He exhaled.
"Sometimes, yeah. But then there are days that hit harder than training ever prepared you for."
Samuel kept stirring.
"Yesterday was one of those?"
Nolan nodded, slowly.
"Yeah. First week. First shooting. It stays with you. Doesn't matter how clean it is. You start seeing things differently."
Samuel didn't speak, just kept cooking — but he was listening.
"You ever think you made the wrong choice?" he asked after a moment.
"I've thought about it," Nolan said honestly. "But then I remember why I joined. To do something that mattered. Sometimes it's hard. But it still matters."
Samuel nodded.
"That's fair."
He plated breakfast — rich with color and perfectly balanced — and slid one across the counter.
Footsteps stirred in the hallway behind them. Doors creaked open. Sleep-heavy footsteps made their way toward the smell of garlic and eggs.
One by one, the rest of the house began to wake.
Samuel wiped his hands on a dish towel, glanced toward the rising sun outside the kitchen window, and took a slow breath.
The day hadn't even started, and already the rhythm felt heavier — fuller. New questions to answer. New stories to write. And football practice still ahead.
He didn't know how it would all play out.
But breakfast was ready.And the day was waiting.