The late afternoon sun cast a drowsy golden hue across the empty school parking lot. It shimmered over the hoods of cars, dipped behind the school field, and spilled across the windshield of Kant Myers' sedan, bathing him in a soft warmth that didn't quite reach inside.
He sat in the driver's seat, eyes distant, fingers moving slowly—rhythmically—over the small brown bracelet looped in his hand. It was faded now, the woven leather fraying slightly at the edges. The kind of thing that looked handmade, worn and personal. And it was.
Sylan had given it to him.
Kant's thumb rubbed the central knot of the bracelet, over and over, as though trying to trace memories buried deep beneath the surface. He didn't know why he still kept it. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was grief. Or maybe—just maybe—it was hope. Hope that something so simple, so small, could still anchor him to a time when he was someone different. Someone better.
Someone who laughed without fear.
The quiet hum of the engine was the only sound until the sudden slam of the passenger door shattered the moment.
Marin threw her bag with casual frustration into the backseat, the motion jerky and loud. She dropped into the passenger seat with her arms crossed tightly across her chest, jaw clenched. Her face was turned away from him, but even in profile, Kant could read the storm brewing in her expression.
He quickly curled the bracelet into his palm and shoved it back into the glove compartment, snapping it shut as if it burned to touch.
"Hey," he said softly, turning to her. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Marin snapped without looking at him.
Kant studied her closely. Her voice said one thing, but her face—her face was thunderclouds wrapped in silence. Her lips pressed tight like she was trying to trap her emotions behind them. She was usually composed, cheerful even. But not today.
"You don't look fine," Kant said gently.
She finally turned her head just slightly, just enough to pierce him with a look that told him she didn't want to talk. Her eyes held an anger she wasn't ready to explain. There was something vulnerable in the way her shoulders curled inward like she was hugging herself from the inside.
"Can we just go?" she muttered. "Please?"
That cut the conversation off like a switch.
Kant hesitated for a moment, his eyes not moving from her. He wasn't sure what to say next, and maybe it wasn't his place to pry. But seeing her like this—it tugged at something inside him. It reminded him of a time in middle school, years ago, when Marin came home from school crying because of what someone in her class had said about their family—that she didn't have a mother and her dad didn't care about her. Back then, she was a little girl who always ran to him for comfort. But now she was almost grown, and her walls had become thick. Hardened by maybe age, or by the things neither of them said out loud anymore.
He remembered the last time she got this angry. It had been almost years ago—when their father had scolded her for coming home late from a supposed talent show she had gone to just to support her friend. She hadn't yelled back, hadn't cried. She just... withdrew, cloaked herself in silence, and refused to talk to him for days.
It was that same look on her now. Closed-off. Distant. Like she was in a place he couldn't reach.
Kant turned his face away and reached for the keys. The soft metallic click echoed through the stillness of the car as he started the engine.
The car hummed to life, and for a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Kant recalled what happened that day like it was only yesterd
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(Flashback)
The sky that day had already turned a soft purple hue as twilight settled over Heldale. Crickets chirped faintly in the background, and the gentle hum of the heater in the living room filled the otherwise quiet air.
Marin gently pushed the door open, colorful drawings on her face and glittery stickers glued on the side of her bag. Her sneakers squeaked softly on the polished floor as she stepped in, humming faintly from excitement. He had permitted her to go for a talent show she had told him about just to support her friend who was going to perform, which he thought would help boost her public confidence. But little did he know that it was actually a friend's birthday party.
She barely made it through the hallway when she froze.
Their father was home.
He stood in the middle of the living room, tall and severe in his dark overcoat. His face was unreadable, but his eyes… they were sharp, cold and calculating. Kant sat at the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, fidgeting. The tension in the air was so dense it was nearly suffocating.
Marin blinked, her heart thudding. "Dad? I didn't know—"
"You were supposed to be home once school was over for the day," Ronald said sharply, cutting her off. "Where were you?"
"I—I was with my friend," Marin stammered, slowly placing her bag on the floor. "There was a talent show, and I stayed behind for a bit. Just to support her. She was—"
"That isn't part of the rules, young lady," Ronald's voice rose, calm but edged with warning. "You had no permission to attend anything that wasn't on my approved calendar."
Kant stood up. "Dad, I let her go. She asked me—just for today. It was harmless."
Mayor Ronald turned to Kant, eyes narrowing. "You let her go?"
"I was the one who made her go because I thought it would be much better since she would be with her friends and their parents, Dad," Kant said, his voice firmer now. "Besides,she is home by six. It's not even dark yet."
Ronald's coat rustled as he turned his full weight toward Kant, face now contorted with quiet anger. "You don't get to decide what's harmless. You know the rules very well so I'm very much disappointed in you!".
"It was a friendly event," Kant shot back, voice shaking. "It wasn't like she snuck into the woods or something—"
"You don't argue with me about this!" Ronald snapped. "You're not just her elder brother. You're her guardian.And I trusted you to keep her in line!."
Kant took a small step back, stunned. His mouth parted like he wanted to speak again but couldn't find the words. It was rare for their father to raise his voice, but when he did, it was like being pinned under a sheet of ice—soundless but suffocating.
Marin's voice came out smaller, more fragile. "It was just one hour... I didn't even leave the grounds. Kant knew about the show and he didn't have a problem with it."
"That's not a point!" Ronald said, not looking at her. "You both don't get to make decisions about your safety. That's my job. I don't care if it's a talent show or a national choir. You stay where I say you stay."
She clenched her fists. "You never trust us to do anything."
"I trust the world less," Ronald replied coldly. "And if you are going to go against my rules,young lady—then I'm not taking any chances—not with either of you."
Marin's throat tightened. "So I can't even go cheer for my friend without being treated like a criminal?"
"If cheering means disobeying my orders, then no—you can't." His eyes finally met hers, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something—fear? Guilt? She couldn't tell. "This is the last time, Marin. Do not test me."
Silence fell in the room like a weight.
Marin stepped forward again, her jaw tight. "What is the big deal about it anyways?"
"This conversation is over". Mr Ronald said with an authoritative wave of his hand.
He simply walked to the coat hanger, removed his gloves, and headed for the study. His footsteps echoed down the hall before the door shut quietly, but definitively.
Marin groaned loudly and trudged up the stairs, slamming her feet in heavy footsteps.
Kant watched her until she was out of sight.