Mornings at the Morton household unfolded with an efficiency that felt rehearsed, like the house itself was performing a role. Lucas moved through his routine on autopilot, his motions smooth and detached, as though he were part of the machinery. The house, with its warm tones and carefully curated decor, only served to highlight the cold discontent simmering beneath its surface.
Lucas's room was different to the rest of the house—a retreat into simplicity.
The walls were painted a somber gray, lending an air of quiet isolation. Abstract posters hinted at chaotic thoughts he never voiced. His bed, always neatly made with black sheets, stood in sharp contrast to the cluttered desk, piled with notebooks and sketchpads that captured glimpses of a world he refused to share.
The digital clock on his nightstand blinked 6:30 AM. With a groan, Lucas pushed himself out of bed and stepped into the bathroom. Brushing his teeth and washing his face had become less about hygiene and more about grounding himself, the monotonous ritual a shield against the day ahead.
As he toweled off and walked back into his room, he froze.
John Morton stood in the doorway, tall and imposing.
In his late forties, John's graying hair framed sharp features, but it was his eyes—deep-set and unblinking—that made Lucas's skin crawl. His presence filled the room like a shadow, oppressive and inescapable.
"You're up early," John said, his voice calm but probing.
Lucas bristled, his irritation flaring. "What do you want?"
John tilted his head slightly, his gaze unyielding. "You've been quiet lately. I just wanted to see how you're doing."
"I'm fine," Lucas muttered, turning away to grab his backpack. His tone was clipped, but he could feel John's eyes on his back, like needles pricking his skin.
John lingered for a moment longer, his fingers tightening briefly on the doorframe as though debating whether to say more. The pressure left faint indents in the wood before he finally stepped back. "Alright. Just remember, if there's anything you need… I'm here."
Lucas glanced at him briefly, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smirk. "Sure."
The word hung in the air, as hollow as John's reassurance.
Pushing past him, Lucas descended the stairs, his unease growing with each step.
In the kitchen, Ms. Thomas stood at the stove, stirring a pot with quick, jerky motions that sent droplets of soup splattering onto the stovetop. She wiped them away with the corner of her apron but avoided looking up when Lucas entered. Her smile, when it came, was tight and fleeting, more a reflex than genuine warmth.
At the counter, Violet Morton sat with a newspaper in hand, her perfectly manicured nails tapping absently against her coffee cup. She glanced up, her expression practiced and unreadable.
"Good morning, Lucas," Violet said, her tone light but distant. "Would you like some pancakes?"
"No," Lucas replied curtly, reaching into the candy jar on the counter. The fleeting sweetness was the only comfort he allowed himself.
Violet's smile faltered, but she didn't press. "Have a good day at school," she added, her voice trailing off as Lucas left without so much as a glance back.
Outside, the cold air hit him like a slap. The walk to Crestwood High was a familiar part of his routine, the neatly kept suburban streets unchanged and almost mocking in their predictability.
As he passed manicured lawns and identical mailboxes, he pulled a stray piece of candy from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. The sweetness melted on his tongue, but it wasn't enough to drown out the bitter taste of his thoughts.
He smiled faintly, the curve of his lips sharp . The world outside might have been orderly and pristine, but the chaos inside him begged to spill out. He shoved the candy wrapper into his pocket, his grip tightening as his pace quickened.
---
The hallways of Crestwood High buzzed with frantic energy as students rushed to their classes, backpacks bouncing against their shoulders, voices overlapping in a chaotic hum.
The monotony of school life had long since dulled any sense of engagement for him. The weight of his thoughts lingered elsewhere—on Kane and the unspoken promise of a new beginning, one that made the high school walls feel even more suffocating than usual. He went through the motions of his classes with a detached precision, his mind far removed from the mundane routine.
Math class was no exception. The room was an orderly space with rows of desks arranged with military precision, and the faint tang of chalk dust hanging in the air. Mrs. Hammond, the math teacher, surveyed the room like a hawk, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She was a fixture of dread at Crestwood High, her reputation built on the backs of students caught daydreaming or whispering under her watchful glare.
Lucas took his usual seat near the back, slouching low in the chair, his head tilted just enough to suggest he wasn't paying attention. The lesson began, her voice a monotonous drone about quadratic equations, but Lucas's focus drifted to the window. Outside, a crow pecked at something in the grass, its feathers glossy under the weak sunlight. He envied its freedom.
"Mr. Morton," Mrs. Hammond's voice snapped through the room like a whip. "Since you seem so engrossed in your daydream, why don't you solve this equation for us?"
The classroom fell silent. Heads turned toward Lucas, a few smirks tugging at the corners of lips.
Lucas sighed inwardly but rose from his seat.As he made his way to the board, his posture radiated an air of disinterest that bordered on defiance. The equation scrawled across the board was dense and meant to intimidate, a deliberate challenge.
He picked up the chalk, its texture gritty against his fingers, and began writing. The solution came to him easily, the steps unfolding in his mind like a well-rehearsed script. His hand moved with brisk confidence, the sound of the chalk scratching against the board the only noise in the room.
When he finished, Lucas stepped back, dropping the chalk onto the tray with a faint clatter. The answer was clear and precise, and he turned to face Mrs. Hammond with a gaze that dared her to find fault.
"Correct," she said, though her lips pressed into a thin line, as if the word tasted bitter. "Next time, try paying attention without needing a prompt."
Lucas shrugged, the barest twitch of his shoulders. "Noted," he replied, his voice cool and indifferent.
The tension in the room was palpable, and Mrs. Hammond's glare lingered a moment longer before she turned back to the lesson. Lucas returned to his seat, ignoring the scattered whispers from his classmates, their admiration and curiosity sliding off him like rain on glass.
As he slouched back in his chair, Lucas's thoughts wandered again, the classroom fading to a dull blur around him. He stared at his hands, faint traces of chalk dust clinging to his fingers.
The faint smirk that curved his lips was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it carried a weight that made his chest tighten. He wasn't like them—his classmates, his teachers, this school. He didn't belong here. The classroom walls suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, as if the space itself was conspiring to trap him.
The crow outside the window had disappeared. Lucas glanced back at the board, at the clean lines of his solution, and thought about how easily it could all crumble.
His fingers clenched into fists beneath the desk, the chalk dust smearing across his palms.
------
In English,similar to Maths, the classroom was a blend of old and new. Wooden desks, worn from years of use, sat beneath brightly colored posters, their edges curling slightly in the air-conditioned hum. The faint rustle of paper and the teacher's monotonous voice about literary analysis barely registered in Lucas's mind as his eyes roamed over the room.
He sat back in his chair, relaxed but alert, watching his classmates without truly seeing them. His gaze flicked over a few, lingering longer on one in particular. Emily. Her bright brown eyes were fixed on him, a mix of awe and shyness in the way she glanced over. Lucas couldn't help but notice.
His thoughts wandered darkly. For just a moment, he saw her differently, in his mind—her body covered in crimson, her life drained away. The image flashed behind his eyes, sharp and vivid, a reminder of the darker urges he struggled to control. His mouth went dry, but it wasn't desire that twisted in his chest. It was hunger, something deeper, a craving that he could never fully satisfy.
But no. He willed the thought away, focusing on the present. On her.
Emily was no different from the others, wasn't she? Just another face in the crowd, easily forgotten. And yet, there was something in the way she fidgeted, biting her lip, her soft brown curls framing her face. He didn't want to think about her, but the allure of her nervousness, the way she glanced at him like he held some unspoken power, lingered in his mind.
When the lecture broke for a moment of silence, she stood up, shifting awkwardly. She approached him, her steps hesitant.
"Hi, Lucas," Emily said, her voice trembling with a mix of excitement and insecurity. "I—uh—I was wondering if you'd like to discuss the book we're reading after class? I think it's really interesting."
Lucas felt her presence before she even spoke. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady the pulse that quickened in his chest. When he opened them again, he met her gaze directly. There was something in the way she stood, hopeful and nervous, that made him feel, for a moment, as if he had the power to destroy everything she held dear.
His breath hitched as he looked at her—her lips parted slightly, her cheeks flushed pink from the attention. His mind flashed again to the image of her drenched in blood. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to steady his pulse.
He leaned closer to her, his voice low, as if testing her reactions. "That sounds... lovely," he murmured, his eyes dark and intense. He let the words linger between them for a moment, enjoying the way her breath caught, the way her heart seemed to race under his gaze. He could feel her warmth, her vulnerability.
And for just a second, he wanted to pull her closer, wanted to see her shiver beneath his touch. But the craving—the thirst for something more—choked him.
He pulled back, his expression cooling, shutting off the warmth he'd allowed to slip through. "But I'm afraid I have other plans," he said, the words cutting through the moment like a blade.
Her face fell, the excitement draining from her eyes. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she faltered, unsure of what to say next. She gave a weak smile, her earlier courage fading. "Oh. Right. Okay, then," she mumbled, retreating back to her seat, her head down, her hands nervously fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.
Lucas watched her go, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his lips. He didn't care about her. He couldn't.
---
When the bell rang to signal the end of class, Lucas gathered his things in a swift, almost reflexive motion and left the room. His movements were fluid, yet there was an undercurrent of urgency beneath his calm exterior.
The day passed in a blur, the monotonous rhythm of classes melding into one long, unbroken stretch of time. It wasn't until the bell rang again, this time heralding lunch, that Lucas's attention sharpened.
He found himself drawn to Kane once again, the pull of the older boy's presence unmistakable. Kane, as always, exuded an effortless air of dominance, his gaze cutting through the crowded hallway with the quiet command of someone used to being followed. He gave Lucas a nod, one that wasn't quite a suggestion but more a direct order. "You coming, Lucas? We're hitting the cafeteria. I want you to meet the crew."
Intrigued by the offer—an opportunity to solidify his place in Kane's orbit—Lucas fell into step behind him, moving with a measured, almost deliberate grace. The cafeteria was a cacophony of sound, the noise of chattering students, the scrape of chairs, the clatter of trays all blending together in a chaotic symphony of adolescence.
Kane, like a magnet, cut through the crowd effortlessly, and Lucas followed. The gang, a mix of quiet menace and unspoken loyalty, trailed in behind them. Lucas barely registered their presence; his attention was absorbed by the natural authority Kane exuded, an almost tangible weight to his movements that demanded respect without asking for it.
Kane led them to a table occupied by a group of freshmen, filled with anxious boys and girls huddled together in wide-eyed uncertainty. At the sight of Kane's gang approaching, their unease grew palpable, a few of them shrinking back, their gazes darting between one another in silent communication.
Without a word, Kane's crew surrounded the table, their movements synchronized in a way that spoke to their years of cohesion. Rick, a towering figure with broad shoulders, grabbed a chair and flipped it over with a forceful flick of his wrist, the sound of it crashing to the floor cutting through the din of the cafeteria. The freshmen froze, eyes widening with alarm, the tension in the air thickening.
"Hey, you lot," Kane called out, his voice clear and sharp, rising above the noise of the room. "This table's ours now. Move." There was no room for argument in his tone.
The freshmen, visibly rattled, scrambled to gather their things, the clinking of metal and the shuffling of papers only adding to the chaos. One of them, a boy with thick glasses, stammered, his voice trembling, "We… we were just finishing up…"
Kane's gaze didn't falter. His expression remained unreadable, his stance unyielding. "Doesn't matter. It's ours now."
Lucas stood frozen for a moment, the shock of Kane's sudden aggression still lingering in his chest. His eyes widened as he watched Rick slam the chair to the floor, the sound echoing like a shot in the crowded cafeteria. The freshmen scrambled, a few of them nearly stumbling as they grabbed their bags and fled from the table. Lucas, though, remained rooted in place, his mind racing. He hadn't expected the scene to escalate this quickly.
He felt an odd mix of confusion and curiosity welling inside him. Kane had always exuded confidence, but this? This raw, unfettered violence was different. There was something primal in it, something Lucas hadn't fully anticipated. He didn't know whether to feel intimidated or intrigued, but the tension in the air left a strange taste in his mouth.
Before he could gather his thoughts, Kane's hand suddenly gripped his shoulder with surprising force, snapping him out of his reverie. The pressure was firm, almost like a silent command. Without saying a word, Kane pulled out a chair with a quick motion and shoved it in front of Lucas. He didn't wait for Lucas to comply—just pushed him down into the seat with an almost aggressive ease. It wasn't a gesture of camaraderie, but a reminder of control.
"Sit," Kane said simply, his voice a low growl, as though the world around them was nothing but a backdrop to his assertion of dominance.
Lucas blinked, his body stiffening as he sank into the chair, his heart hammering in his chest. For a moment, everything around him blurred. He was aware of the noise in the cafeteria, but his focus was entirely on Kane—on the suddenness of his actions and the sense of power that seemed to radiate off him. His breath caught in his throat, a slight tremor running through him as he found himself seated before Kane's crew.
Kane didn't sit immediately. Instead, he stood over him for a moment, his gaze locked on Lucas as if assessing something, before finally settling into the chair next to him with a casual air. The table seemed to shrink in the presence of Kane's sheer force of will.
The other members of the gang, leaning back in their seats or smirking quietly, said nothing. The freshmen who'd been displaced, now huddled together at a nearby table, threw glances over at them, but none dared to protest. They understood the hierarchy here, even if Lucas didn't entirely yet.
The rest of Kane's gang settled around the table, each member exuding a quiet confidence. Their faces showed a blend of curiosity and indifference, but none of them seemed uncomfortable under Lucas's gaze.
Kane slapped a hand on Lucas's back, a move that felt both welcoming and possessive. "Alright, Lucas," he said, his tone casual, "let me introduce you to everyone. You'll be seeing a lot of them."
He pointed to the burly figure at the head of the table. "This is Rick," Kane said with a smirk. "He's the one you don't want to cross. Well, unless you're looking for trouble, of course." The group chuckled, as if Kane's warning was nothing more than a casual remark. Rick, however, simply stared at Lucas, his expression unreadable. Lucas held his gaze, unwavering, even taking a slow sip from his bottle of water as if the silence between them was just another part of the interaction.
Rick nodded, his eyes never leaving Lucas's. There was no warmth in his gaze—only the quiet weight of authority, as if his presence alone demanded respect.
"Next is Jade," Kane continued, his hand sweeping toward the girl sitting beside Rick. Jade's piercing green eyes were calculating, studying everything around her. Her dark hair framed her sharp features, and she radiated an air of sophistication. "She's got an eye for detail. If you need to know anything about Crestwood, she's your go-to."
Jade regarded Lucas with a cool, appraising glance. Her smile, small but knowing, hinted at an amusement that Lucas couldn't quite place. There was something about her—something unsettlingly perceptive.
Kane shifted his gaze to the wiry guy sitting across from Lucas. "This is Leo," he said. "He's been around the longest and has a knack for sarcasm. Quick on his feet, too."
Leo's smirk widened as he met Lucas's eyes, the playful yet observant look making it clear that he was already sizing Lucas up.
"Over here," Kane added, pointing to the girl sitting quietly beside Jade. "This is Sophie. She doesn't talk much, but when she does, you listen. Trust me, you don't want to piss her off."
Sophie met Lucas's gaze, her eyes steady and unblinking, a calm intensity that contrasted sharply with the more overt personalities around her. It was an unsettling kind of stillness, the sort that made Lucas instinctively wonder what she was thinking.
"And finally," Kane said, turning to the stocky guy with the hearty laugh, "this is Mark. He's the storyteller of the group."
Mark extended a firm handshake to Lucas, his grip strong and warm. "Nice to meet you, man," he said, his smile wide and genuine.
---
As the introductions wrapped up, Kane, clearly pleased with the attention, leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. Lucas settled into his seat, his gaze sweeping over the group. He found himself disengaged, his interest waning as he observed the dynamics
of the others. Aside from Kane, no one in the group had caught his attention—none of them had the same pull, the same presence that intrigued him.
During the conversation, Kane leaned in, his voice casual but carrying an undeniable authority. "So, Lucas, what do you think of the gang? We've been doing some pretty wild stuff lately. Thought you'd fit right in."
Lucas took a moment, his lips curling into a subtle, confident smile. He hadn't yet decided what to make of them, but playing along wouldn't hurt. "I've heard the rumors," he said smoothly. "It's quite impressive. I can see why you guys run things the way you do." His tone was even, measured—he wasn't here to flatter, but he also wasn't about to give anything away.
Kane's grin widened, clearly pleased with the response. "Glad to hear it. We've got some big plans coming up, and I think you'll be a valuable addition. You've got the right attitude."
Lucas leaned back, his posture casual, but his mind was elsewhere. Kane's words were more than just an invitation—they were a test, and Lucas wasn't sure yet if he was interested in passing it. His indifference to the rest of the group didn't change, but Kane was another story entirely. There was something about him that Lucas couldn't quite shake—something that kept him intrigued, even as he couldn't fully place his own feelings about the situation.