“Hey, One-Hand!”
The nickname scraped against Aaron’s nerves, but he didn’t react. Reaction was currency, and he had stopped paying that price years ago.
Caleb blocked his locker path, flanked by two boys who laughed too quickly, too loudly, desperate to stay aligned with strength rather than underneath it. A teacher passed by, eyes flicking over the scene and then away.
“Move,” Aaron said calmly.
Caleb blinked, surprised.
“What was that?”
“I said move.”
There it was again—that tone. Not fear. Not defiance. Something worse. Indifference.
The moment passed, but it didn’t dissolve. It fermented.
By lunchtime, the entire school felt it humming beneath the surface, anticipation tightening the air, waiting for correction.
Continue on the next page:
