The familiar click of chess pieces on polished wood filled the living room. Alan sat opposite his father, his focus absolute.

  "Knight to F3," Alan announced, his hand moving with practiced precision.

  Richard, his hair now streaked with silver, his eyes etched with deeper lines, nodded. "Interesting." His fingers hovered, then his bishop slid forward. "Bishop to C5."

  Alan allowed a small smile. He’d anticipated that. Three steps ahead. Always.

  Elizabeth entered, carrying a tray with tea and cookies. She set it on the side table, her smile warmer than it used to be during these matches. "Who’s winning?" she asked, though she could read a board well enough by now.

  "Too early to say," Richard replied, his gaze fixed on the game. "But our boy has developed a devious mind. I’m not sure I like my position."

  Pride warmed Alan. "I had a good teacher."

  Richard’s eyes met Alan’s, a sudden intensity in them. "You’ve surpassed the teacher, I think." Pride, yes, but something else flickered there too. Urgency? Or was it concern?

  The game flowed, moves coming faster as they reached the middle game. Alan sprang his trap, claiming Richard’s queen. He shook his head, a hint of admiration in the gesture.

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  "Checkmate in twelve," Alan stated quietly.

  Richard studied the board, then tipped his king. "Brilliant." He reached across the table, his hand firm on Alan’s shoulder. "Your mother was right. We should celebrate your birthday early this year."

  Alan raised an eyebrow. His twentieth birthday was three weeks off. "Any particular reason?"

  Elizabeth and Richard exchanged a look Alan couldn’t decipher.

  "We just want to make it special," His mother said, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her hands trembled as she poured the tea.

  She’d been like that lately, very much jumpy.

  Richard, too, seemed on edge. More chess, more intensity, watching Alan with a look that sometimes felt like desperation.

  "Another game?" he asked, already resetting the pieces.

  "Richard," Elizabeth said softly, a warning note in her voice. "It’s getting late."

  "One more," he insisted. "There’s still so much to teach him."

  An unspoken current passed between them. Fear? "Is everything okay?" Alan asked.

  "Of course," she said, a little too quickly. "Everything’s fine."

  His father’s hands stilled over the board. "Alan," he began, his voice unusually grave, "what have I always taught you about chess?"

  "See the whole board," Alan replied, the words automatic.

  "Yes. And?"

  "Every move has consequences. Every sacrifice must serve a greater purpose."

  Richard nodded, satisfaction and something akin to grief in his eyes. "Good. Remember that. Always."

  He finished setting the pieces. "White or black?"

  "White," Alan said, his fingers closing around a pawn. He didn’t see the invisible clock ticking down, didn’t know the stakes of the game that awaited him.