Lucas stood motionless at the wrought-iron gates of Crestwood High School, his piercing blue eyes scanning the unfamiliar campus with a detached intensity. The gates were tall, intricate, and imposing, yet they seemed to whisper promises of normalcy—a cruel illusion to a boy who had already seen too much. The cold air bit at his skin as the dull gray sky hung above him, as heavy and oppressive as the thoughts that weighed him down.

The bell's sharp clang startled him, though he showed no sign of it, his face remaining a carefully crafted mask of indifference. Students swarmed around him, their chatter blending into an incoherent hum, their energy grating against the calm, dark storm brewing inside him. He stepped forward, his movements languid and calculated, his dark hair falling haphazardly across his face, as though shielding him from the world. He preferred it that way—hidden, untouchable, alone.

The hallways inside Crestwood were suffocating. The walls, lined with rows of lockers and faded posters, closed in on him like a vice. The scent of adolescent sweat, cheap cologne, and old textbooks filled the air, intensifying his discomfort. The students passed him with stolen glances, murmuring among themselves as their gazes lingered. He didn't care what they saw—only that they looked too long, too often.

When he finally found his homeroom, he slipped inside without a word. The teacher's voice droned on in the background, reciting rules and expectations with the energy of someone resigned to being ignored. Lucas took a seat in the back, his posture deliberately slack, his eyes fixed out the window as though the world beyond it held answers he couldn't find here. The other students stole glances at him, whispering amongst themselves, but Lucas didn't so much as twitch. He let their curiosity wash over him, as insignificant as the dust motes floating through the sterile classroom air.

---

By the time lunch arrived, Lucas had already memorized the faces of everyone who looked at him for too long. Not that he cared, but it was a habit—cataloging details, noticing patterns, assessing threats. It was all instinct now. He moved through the crowd with fluid precision, avoiding unwanted conversations until he found his way to the park behind the school.

The park was a relief, a sprawling green haven away from the clamor and artificiality of the building. Lucas sought out the shade of a gnarled oak tree, its thick canopy casting dappled shadows over the grass. He lowered himself to the ground, the blades of grass cool against his legs, and leaned back against the tree's rough bark. Closing his eyes, he let the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds drown out the chaos in his mind.

He didn't realize he was being watched at first—not until he felt it, an almost tangible weight pressing against him. Lucas glanced up briefly, his gaze drawn by the intensity of it.

A group of older boys stood a short distance away, their presence disrupting the quiet of the park. They moved as if they belonged there, dominating the space with an air of confidence that veered into arrogance. At the front was one boy in particular, taller than the rest, with broad shoulders and an easy, self-assured stride.

Lucas's eyes flicked over him quickly but precisely, taking in the dark, deliberately tousled hair, sharp features, and that smirk—cocky and self-satisfied, as if the world revolved around him. His entire demeanor screamed effortless control, and the others flanking him seemed to orbit him like planets around a star.

It was only after that quick assessment that Lucas realized the boy wasn't just watching him—he was studying him, his gaze steady and unrelenting. It was that intensity that made Lucas glance a second time, locking eyes with him briefly before looking away, uninterested.

A few seconds passed before shadows fell across him, blocking the patch of sunlight that had been warming his skin. A voice broke the quiet, cutting through the stillness like a blade—smooth, steady, and tinged with amusement. "Do you always look this miserable, or is today just special?"

Lucas blinked slowly, annoyed but not entirely surprised. He shifted in his seat beneath the tree, leaning back slightly as if to signal that he wasn't about to get up anytime soon.

Lucas didn't look up right away. He popped another piece of candy into his mouth, letting the sweetness melt on his tongue as his hand crinkled the wrapper. Only when the candy was gone did he glance up, his gaze cold and sharp, landing on him like a warning. "Do I know you?"

The taller boy grinned, unapologetic and completely at ease, as if they were old friends. "Not yet. Thought I'd change that. Name's Kane."

Lucas arched a brow, his expression cool and unreadable. "Good for you."

The grin didn't falter. If anything, it grew wider, like he enjoyed the challenge. "Sharp tongue. I like that."

Lucas studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You always this nosy, or am I just special today?"

Kane laughed, low and rough, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Depends. Is it working?"

Lucas snorted, a sound somewhere between disdain and amusement. "No."

"Shame," Kane said, taking a step closer. He had a casual confidence, the kind that annoyed Lucas almost instantly. "But I'm persistent. You got a name, or should I just call you Pretty Boy?"

Lucas's eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's Lucas."

"Lucas," Kane repeated, like he was testing the weight of it. He let the silence hang for a beat, then tilted his head. "Well, Lucas, you're either lost, running from something, or looking for trouble. So, which is it?"

Lucas's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that never quite formed. "Maybe all three."

Kane laughed, a low, easy sound. "Guess we've got something in common, then."

Kane laughed, a short, sharp bark that was more amused than offended. His friends loitered a few steps behind, exchanging glances, their jackets and cocky postures giving the impression of a gang. If Kane wasn't their leader, he was certainly their centerpiece. "You've got guts," Kane said, his tone edging toward approval. "Most people try too hard to fit in around here. Not you, though. You'd rather sit here, looking pretty and brooding, huh?"

Lucas tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes locking onto Kane's with unflinching intensity. "If you're done, leave."

Kane's grin widened, not in the least deterred. "Not so fast. Why don't you hang out with us for a while? You might even enjoy it." He gestured back toward his group with a lazy wave, their smug smirks and whispered laughter only adding to Lucas's irritation.

Lucas's eyes darted to the group before landing back on Kane. His expression didn't shift, but his silence carried a weight of disdain. "Thanks, but I don't make it a habit to hang out with people who look like they're auditioning for a biker gang."

Kane laughed, sharp and genuine. "You've got a mouth on you. I like that."

"Good for you," Lucas shot back, leaning against the tree. "Now go like a good little leader. Your pack's waiting."

Kane took a step closer, the playful smirk still in place but his eyes darker, sharper. "You're really not scared of me, are you?"

"Should I be?" Lucas asked, his voice cool, almost bored.

Kane studied him for a moment, as if weighing his response. Then he smiled, stepping back with an easy shrug. "Not yet." He pointed at Lucas with two fingers, the gesture casual, almost lazy. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Without waiting for a reply, Kane turned and walked off, his group falling into step around him like orbiting moons. Lucas stayed where he was, the taste of chocolate lingering on his tongue as he watched them disappear into the crowd. His fingers tightened around the empty wrapper.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, crumpling the foil and tossing it aside. The park settled back into its usual quiet, but the solitude that usually wrapped around him like a second skin felt thinner, less certain. The sun was beginning to dip lower as he spent the rest of the day practically glued to the tree.It was casting long shadows across the grass, and the usual hum of the park was starting to quiet as people began heading home for the end of the school day.

Lucas leaned back against the tree, his eyes fluttering closed. The peacefulness of the moment was almost too much, a rare kind of stillness he hadn't been able to enjoy in weeks. His body, starved for rest, gave in to the calm around him. The weight of the encounter, Kane's strange presence, had settled in his chest like a slow burn, but the quiet seemed to smother it, coaxing him into a daze.

The distant sounds of children playing, their voices fading as they went home, blended with the soft rustling of the leaves above him. It was the kind of tranquility that he'd forgotten existed. The kind that made him forget to think, forget to feel.

Minutes passed in silence, and then the memories—sharp, sudden—began to edge in, like uninvited guests slipping through the cracks of his thoughts. He hadn't slept properly in days, the exhaustion catching up with him, and the stillness of the park had pulled him under, deeper than he'd meant to go.

———

Lucas had always been a shadow in the bright, chaotic world of his family. Even as a child, there was something unsettling about him, a heavy quietness that never seemed to fit. While Annabeth, his younger sister, buzzed through the house like a spark of life, her laughter ringing out in unpredictable bursts, Lucas remained a constant presence at the edges—silent, withdrawn, his eyes rarely meeting those around him.

His parents, Mark and Rachel, always too busy with their own lives, saw it as a phase. Perhaps it was just the awkwardness of growing up, they thought. But the longer it went on, the more it felt like something else. His silence wasn't the innocent solitude of a child lost in thought—it was an absence, a quietness that was both deliberate and unsettling. Annabeth's joy-filled squeals would echo through the rooms, and Lucas would remain, as always, in the background, eyes blank, watching but never engaging.

They never understood the way his gaze lingered on things longer than it should—how the gleam in his eyes sharpened when he found something that intrigued him. Like the sound of an animal's cry just before the final breath, or the way a bird's wings fluttered when it realized it couldn't escape. His fascination with these small, unsettling details didn't go unnoticed, though his parents chalked it up to his "quirks." Annabeth, always oblivious to the darker side of her brother, would often try to drag him into games, or share the little secrets of childhood. But Lucas was always just... apart, watching, waiting for something, though he rarely knew what.

His family didn't see it then—the way his mind had already started to fracture, already drifting towards things they couldn't, or wouldn't, understand. They couldn't hear the quiet whispers in his head, the pull of darker thoughts that had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. The others saw his silence as something soft, something gentle. But it was anything but.

One evening, the family gathered around the dinner table, the glow of the chandelier casting soft light on the polished silverware, a warm contrast to the coolness outside. The scent of roasted chicken and freshly baked bread lingered in the air, filling the room with a sense of comfort, a sense of normalcy. Rachel, ever the attentive mother, moved gracefully around the table, serving the meal with a practiced ease, her smile bright and welcoming. Annabeth, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, babbled on about her school day, her voice light, her words tumbling out in a rush, a sharp contrast to the stillness at the other end of the table.

Lucas, as always, sat at the edge of the conversation. His fork scraped lazily at the plate, his eyes fixed on the food in front of him, never meeting the gaze of his parents or his sister. He ate mechanically, his movements slow, deliberate. The warmth of the room seemed to close in on him, too close, suffocating even.His parents didn't notice either, too caught up in the rhythmic dance of domesticity.

Rachel glanced over at him once, her eyes soft with the familiar concern, but she quickly turned away when he didn't respond. She wasn't sure what to make of him anymore, but there was always a lingering question she never voiced aloud.

Lucas didn't need to speak; he didn't want to. Words felt like a weight he couldn't bear. He glanced up briefly, the corner of his eyes flickering toward his sister, who was still animatedly talking about her day, her face full of light. Then his gaze shifted to his parents—Mark with his half-smile, Rachel with her softened expression—and for a split second, a strange, cold feeling tightened in his chest.

For them, this was just another evening, just another meal. But for Lucas, the weight of their presence, of the predictability of this life, felt like a cage. The food in front of him was no longer nourishment—it was just something to fill the empty space between them. His mind, as always, drifted elsewhere, to thoughts no one could see, to a darkness that never truly left him.

Mark cleared his throat, his chair creaking slightly as he leaned back, his gaze sharpening as it settled on Lucas. The clink of silverware stilled, hanging in the air for a beat. "Lucas," he began, trying to keep his tone even, though it carried an edge of concern, "your mother and I have noticed you've been... distant lately. Is something going on? You can talk to us."

Lucas didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on his plate, his mind already elsewhere, wandering into darker corners.

"I'm fine," he muttered, barely above a whisper, the words slipping out with practiced disinterest. He picked at his food, pushing a piece of chicken around on his plate, the action mechanical, his attention already miles away. "Just thinking."

Rachel's gaze softened, but it was the kind of softness that made something inside Lucas twist. She wasn't angry, just... worried. Her voice broke through the quiet, gentle but persistent. "It's okay to talk to us, sweetheart. We're here for you."

For a moment, Lucas hesitated, his eyes still fixed on his parents as they waited, the air thick with tension. His fingers drummed lightly against his plate, the rhythmic sound like a quiet ticking clock, the only noise cutting through the suffocating silence. There was something in the stillness of the room that felt wrong, like they were all caught in the middle of an unspoken conversation—one where the words weren't enough to bridge the gap between them.

His parents watched him, their gazes heavy with expectation. But Lucas didn't flinch. He never flinched. His expression was flat, unreadable, yet the small shift in his eyes—just enough to betray a fleeting emotion—was enough to unsettle them. They could see the shadow in his gaze, the kind that never fully went away, the kind that made them uncomfortable without quite knowing why.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low, almost careless, as though the words barely mattered to him. "I don't know... I guess I just feel like I don't fit in. Like I'm not... normal."

There was a brief, unnatural silence after his admission, a pause where his parents exchanged a glance, but Lucas kept his eyes fixed on them, unwavering, as if daring them to question him further. His mother's mouth opened slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but then she hesitated, unsure how to approach him, how to reach him.

Annabeth, still talking about her day, stopped mid-sentence, her words faltering as she looked at him with wide, confused eyes. "But you're great, Lucas! You don't have to fit in. We love you just the way you are."

Her words, meant to comfort, only irritated him. The forced warmth in her voice, the way she tried to reach out, made him feel something he couldn't quite place. Perhaps it was the pity, or the way they all saw him as a puzzle they couldn't solve. They didn't understand. They never would. He wasn't broken, not in the way they thought. He was something else entirely.

Lucas's lips twitched into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, one that never reached his eyes. His gaze didn't waver. "You love me?" he asked softly, as though testing the weight of the words. "Does that mean anything? Does it make me... normal?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming in a way that made his parents shift uncomfortably in their seats.

There was no anger in his voice, no overt hostility. Just the cold, disinterested calm of someone who had long ago come to terms with his own disconnection from the world. His parents couldn't understand him because they weren't meant to.

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, as if she were struggling to find a way to reach him. Instead, she closed it again, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she picked up her fork. She tried again, her voice gentler this time, but it still carried the weight of concern. "Lucas, you don't need to be normal to be loved. We care about you just the way you are, even if it's hard to understand."

Lucas's eyes never left hers, his gaze piercing and steady. He saw the fear, the desperation in her eyes, the way she seemed to shrink under the weight of her words, terrified of saying the wrong thing, terrified of losing him. It was so pathetic it almost made him laugh. Almost.

"You don't get it," he murmured, his voice a smooth, deliberate whisper that seemed to coat the air like poison. "I don't want your love. I don't want any of this." He paused, his expression shifting just slightly to something almost wistful. "I just want things to be... different."

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. His parents sat there, frozen, their gazes locked on him, searching for something—anything—that might make sense of the chaos inside him.

But as their faces twisted with concern, Lucas couldn't help but think of how easy it would be to manipulate them. His smile flickered, a thing that came so naturally, so effortlessly, that it was almost unsettling. He could see it in their eyes—the way they'd relax when he smiled, the way they'd believe whatever lie he chose to feed them.

"I know you think I'm lost," he added, his voice softer now, almost affectionate. "But I'm not. I'm just... trying to find my place, I guess. It's hard to explain."

He knew they wouldn't question him now. They'd want to believe him, to hold onto that thread of hope. And that was all he needed.

But inside, Lucas's thoughts twisted into something darker. He imagined their heads rolling off their necks, imagined the blood staining their clothes, and for some reason, it felt like a relief. It made him feel lighter, less constricted. He couldn't hurt Annabeth, no, not her. But his parents? That thought didn't bother him at all.

With that dark thought swirling in his mind, Lucas gave another smile, this one colder, more controlled. "Yeah, things will get better," he said softly, his eyes flickering with a secret satisfaction. "Everything will be fine."

His parents nodded, their expressions easing, none the wiser.

———

The night of the accident was deceptively ordinary. Rain drummed softly against the car windows as the family drove home from dinner, the rhythmic thrum of the engine blending with the patter of the storm. Lucas sat in the backseat next to Annabeth, her small form huddled against him for warmth, her voice light and steady in the otherwise quiet car.

"Do you think the storm will stop soon?" Annabeth asked, her voice small but curious, her eyes wide with childlike wonder as she peered out the window, tracing the streaks of water on the glass.

Lucas glanced at her, a soft smile pulling at his lips, one that he always reserved for her. She was the only person in the world who made him feel like he wasn't entirely lost. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and tried to make his smile as big as possible, the way he knew she liked it.

"Maybe," he said, his voice warm and gentle."But even if it doesn't, we'll be okay, right?"

Annabeth's face lit up, her smile a mirror of his own, pure and untainted. "Yeah," she whispered, "we'll be fine."

Up front, Mark and Rachel were speaking in hushed tones, too low for Lucas to make out the words. But he didn't need to hear the specifics to know what they were talking about. It was him. They always whispered when they spoke about him, like they were trying to shield Annabeth from whatever they thought was wrong with him. Lucas could feel their eyes on him in the rearview mirror, and he felt the familiar surge of irritation rise in his chest.

He turned his gaze upward, locking eyes with them through the reflection. His expression shifted, cold and hard. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with a look that could freeze anyone in their tracks.

Mark and Rachel immediately fell silent. The tension was palpable, their whispered words cut off as they both sensed the weight of his stare. For a moment, there was no sound but the rain against the windows and the hum of the engine.

Annabeth shifted beside him, unaware of the shift in atmosphere, her attention still fixed on the storm outside. But Lucas didn't look away. His eyes remained fixed on his parents, the silent warning in his gaze clear: Don't talk about me like that again.

Rachel shifted uncomfortably, and Mark cleared his throat, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Neither of them spoke, but Lucas could feel the unease settle in the car like an oppressive fog. They understood. They always did.

After a long moment, Mark finally spoke, his voice steady but cautious. "Annabeth, honey," he said, his tone almost too bright, "how about you tell us about your favorite part of the dinner? Did you like the dessert?"

Annabeth beamed, delighted by the shift in conversation. "It was the chocolate cake! I loved it!"

Lucas let his gaze drift back to Annabeth, allowing his smile to return, this time for her alone. For a brief moment, everything felt right, the storm outside, the silence in the car, the softness of his sister's voice.

But the storm inside him was far from over.

The calm shattered in an instant. Tires screamed against the slick pavement, the sudden jolt of the car swerving throwing Lucas against the seatbelt, the sharp, violent tug of it cutting deep into his chest. For a brief, blinding moment, everything was chaos—headlights from another car, too bright, too close, rushing toward them, the sickening twist of metal as the car's frame buckled under the impact. Time fractured. The world bent and spun as the car was thrown into a wild, uncontrollable spin.

Glass exploded outward in a violent shower, glittering like shards of ice in the dark. His head slammed against the window, his skull splitting open with a sickening crack. Pain exploded across his body as the car flipped and crumpled around him. The seatbelt cut into him , pinning him in place, helpless as the world around him descended into pure, maddening chaos.

And then, everything stopped.

There was silence. For a moment, only the sound of the rain tapping against the car's frame, the gentle hiss of the storm outside, filled the air.

Lucas's vision swam, his body heavy and unresponsive. His breath came in gasps, each one more labored than the last. He felt the warmth of blood, sticky and wet, pooling on his skin, but he couldn't focus on it. His head pounded, and his limbs felt as though they belonged to someone else. The smell of gasoline, metal, and rain hung thick in the air. He tried to move, tried to speak, but his mouth was dry, his tongue too thick to form words. The world felt distant, muffled, as though he were underwater.

But then the sight of her cut through the fog of his mind.

Annabeth.

Her small, fragile body had been flung from the car upon impact, her tiny form sailing through the shattered window, disappearing into the night. The image of her flying—her small, innocent figure carried away in the storm like a ragdoll—seared into his memory, a sight that would haunt him forever.

"No, no, no, no!" His voice cracked, the words torn from his throat as panic set in. His hands, slick with blood, fumbled against the seatbelt, desperate to free himself. His eyes were wide, frantic, scanning the wreckage. But there was nothing—nothing but twisted metal, broken glass, and the rain. His heart raced as a cold, suffocating dread settled deep in his chest.

He screamed her name.

"Annabeth! Annabeth!" His voice broke, raw and desperate, but the words were drowned by the deafening silence of the wreckage. His body shook as he struggled to escape, the reality of the moment slamming into him like a freight train.

His gaze shifted to the front seat, where his parents should have been.

Mark and Rachel's bodies were crumpled against the broken frame of the car, their faces unrecognizable beneath the blood and shattered glass. Mark's once sturdy features were now a twisted mask of death, the blood seeping into the fabric of his shirt. Rachel's eyes were wide open, staring into nothing, her face pale, frozen in a state of shock even after death had claimed her. The sight of them—his mother and father, the people who had always been there—broken and still, it hit him like a punch to the gut.

The cold reality of it settled over him, suffocating him, making it hard to breathe. They were gone. His parents were gone.

Annabeth was gone.

"Annabeth!" His voice was a ragged, frantic scream, tears welling in his eyes. He tried to push himself free from the wreckage, his body screaming in pain, but it was no use. His limbs refused to move, frozen in place by the shock and the brokenness of his world. He could barely hear the sound of the sirens approaching in the distance, too far, too slow. The air felt thick, oppressive, the rain falling heavier now, as though the sky itself were mourning with him.

The weight of everything hit him all at once. His sister, the one person who had ever loved him unconditionally, had been torn away from him in a heartbeat. He couldn't save her. He couldn't save anyone.

With the last of his strength, Lucas forced himself to look toward the wreckage, his gaze narrowing as he scanned the rain-soaked road. His chest tightened. Where was she?

His stomach twisted in knots. He knew, deep down, that Annabeth was gone—that small, innocent girl who had always looked up to him, who had never feared him, who had trusted him without question. She was gone, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. The pain, the guilt, it ate at him from the inside out.

But the sirens grew louder, and in the midst of the chaos, the world began to blur again, the rain falling harder, washing away everything, even his tears.

Lucas's scream echoed one last time into the night, broken and desperate, his voice a quiet sob in the vast emptiness around him.

---

The days that followed blurred together, a numbing haze of hospital rooms, sterile white walls, and whispered condolences. Lucas answered questions mechanically, his voice void of inflection as doctors and social workers tried to piece together the fragments of his shattered life. He didn't care about their sympathy, their concerned looks. Inside, grief twisted into something darker—a simmering anger that he couldn't place, a gnawing emptiness that gnawed at his chest, deeper with every passing hour.

The anger was like a cold, suffocating thing—an instinctual need to lash out, to destroy, to turn the world around him to ash. But there was no one to destroy. No one left to make pay for the cruel twist of fate that had taken everything from him. Annabeth, the only one who had ever truly mattered, was gone.

With her death, something inside Lucas had snapped. What was left of him was a hollow shell. He barely registered the passing of time, his movements automatic, as though someone else were controlling his body. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a stranger—a pale, vacant-eyed boy who had long ago abandoned any semblance of innocence. He hadn't cried since that night. He hadn't even thought about it. There was no need. What was the point?

His parents' death had been an inevitability, he realized now. He'd never been anything more than an observer in his own life, and losing them hadn't changed that. They had been placeholders, filling roles in a world he didn't care to understand. Their deaths didn't ignite the rage he expected. Instead, they had only confirmed a sickening truth: he was alone. And the weight of that truth, the overwhelming silence, it felt... freeing.

He felt nothing for them. His mother, with her hollow whispers of love that never reached him. His father, always so distant, so cold. They had meant nothing. Their faces, once full of life, were now frozen in death, and Lucas felt no more sorrow for them than for the dying leaves in the fall. He had tried for so long to fit into a world that didn't want him, but now, now that everything had collapsed into ruin, it didn't matter.

Annabeth was the only one who had made him feel... something. She had been the only one who had ever made him feel human. Now she was gone, her little body lost to the wreckage of their shattered world, and without her, there was nothing left. Nothing but the quiet, gnawing hunger in his chest. Nothing but the voices in his head urging him to do something, to make the world feel the way he now felt.

But for now, he simply watched. And smiled. The smile was always there now—a thin, cold curve of lips that meant nothing. He wore it like a mask, perfecting it until it was indistinguishable from the boy he used to be. It was easier this way, easier to blend in, to act like the world still had meaning. It was easier to make people believe that the boy who had lost everything was still... whole.

The family home became a mausoleum of memories. Every photograph, every forgotten toy left scattered in Annabeth's room, every faint echo of laughter in the empty halls seemed to mock him. He wandered through the house like a ghost, his footsteps hollow against the hardwood floors, each creak and groan of the old house amplifying the growing silence in his chest. The walls that had once felt like a cocoon of warmth now loomed over him like a suffocating prison, and Lucas could feel the very air pressing in around him. His past, his life, seemed to evaporate with every passing day, leaving only an oppressive void in its wake.

The transition from his parents' home to the Morton family's mansion was another jarring shift. The Mortons, a well-meaning but emotionally distant couple, had offered to adopt him. Their home was elegant but lacked the warmth Lucas craved. Polished marble floors and expansive rooms felt more like a museum than a sanctuary. The Mortons were kind but emotionally detached, their attempts to provide comfort falling short of the emotional connection Lucas desperately needed.

————

Lucas stood by the oak tree, his fingers brushing the rough bark as his memories lingered in the air like a haunting scent. The warmth of the sun did nothing to lift the cold weight pressing on his chest. It had been years, but the images were still so— vivid.

The wind rustled through the leaves above him, the sound almost comforting in its rhythm, but it couldn't erase the bitterness festering inside him. He hadn't realized how much time had passed until the school bell rang, breaking him from his thoughts, the sharp chime pulling him back to the present. The hallways were clearing out, the last few students still milling about as they prepared to leave for the day.

A part of him wanted to stay there, to let the shadows of the oak tree swallow him whole, to hide from the emptiness that the world had become. But Lucas knew he couldn't. Not anymore.

With a deep breath, he turned away from the oak, his fingers lingering on the bark for just a moment longer. He let the memories fade, pushed them back into the corners of his mind where they belonged. He was a different person now, and he couldn't afford to dwell on things that would only drag him deeper into the past. He had to keep moving, even if it was away from the things that hurt him most.

The hallway stretched out before him, emptying as the last students filtered out. The world outside was waiting for him, cold and indifferent, but it didn't matter. He'd learned to live in it, to walk through it with a vacant expression, a mask that no one could see through. They all thought he was fine, just a quiet kid lost in the shuffle. But that was all they would ever know of him—the boy who kept to himself, the boy who had no friends, the boy who would never be noticed.