The night stretched endlessly.
Kruel shot upright from bed, heart pounding as though he had just escaped something in his dreams. He wasn't tired—he couldn't be. Sleep had never truly come to him since the alley fight with Drey. Each time he closed his eyes, strange images swirled before him. Blurry, shifting pictures. Faces without features. Flames licking at walls he didn't recognize. He tried to focus, but they dissolved before he could understand them, like smoke in the wind.
His uniform was already laid out on the chair. He had done that last night, half in a daze, knowing he wouldn't sleep. Dressing felt mechanical. Shirt, tie, bag. No breakfast. Just the lingering unease buzzing in his chest.
Yesterday had been worse when he got home. Just as he expected, his parents had been furious. He couldn't tell them the truth—that he'd fought, that something inside him had slipped loose.
So he lied.
"There was a meeting of the art committee," he had said. "We worked late."
His mom narrowed her eyes, but she accepted it… until she saw the blood stains on his shirt.
He was ready for that too.
"There was a presentation," Kruel explained smoothly, "about the use of red. We had to show we understood it. That's how I got stained."
"That looks like blood," his sister Kate had observed bluntly. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him like she was waiting for him to trip over his own lie.
"Nice observation," Kruel had scoffed, brushing past her to his room.
He had locked the door that night and sat in silence, staring at his trembling hands until exhaustion forced him to collapse onto the mattress.
Now, the next morning, he forced himself into routine.
But at school, something was off.
Mike wasn't at his desk. That wasn't just unusual—it was unthinkable. Mike always showed up early, almost annoyingly early, cracking jokes or doodling on the board before the teacher came in.
Kruel waited, half expecting him to rush in at the last second. But even after the first bell, Mike's seat stayed empty.
The unease from last night twisted tighter in Kruel's gut.
By break time, Kruel felt like his head was packed with sand. He dragged himself into his seat, determined to finally close his eyes for just a moment. But before the bell could even finish ringing, the classroom door creaked open.
Grayt Shaw walked in.
The room seemed to shift with him. He didn't belong to this class, but that never stopped him before. He stood just inside the door, scanning the room as if hunting. His face was unusually serious, no smirk, no swagger.
Kruel's knew he was here for something. But as usual, Kruel didn't want to bother himself with this bully. Kruel knew what he could do to this guy if he did what he had done to Drey the day before.
However, Kruel slipped out of his seat, planning to leave before trouble found him. But Grayt's voice caught him.
"Yo, Kurt!"
Kruel turned slowly.
"We need to talk."
Grayt shoved his hands into his pockets as he approached. His footsteps were measured, each one deliberate. Students fell quiet, watching from the corners of their eyes. Nobody wanted to get caught in Shaw's orbit.
"What is it?" Kruel asked, his tone flat.
Grayt stopped a few feet away, his expression hard. "I saw what you did yesterday."
Kruel's mind reeled.
"You what?"
"I happened to be passing by," Grayt said evenly. "I saw you fighting. You're in a lot of trouble."
Kruel kept his face blank, but his chest tightened. So Grayt really had been there. And if Grayt saw… who else did?
"They were part of a gang after all," Kruel muttered under his breath.
But Grayt shook his head. "I don't know who that guy was, but he's been on your neck, hasn't he? And if he's got a gang, you better believe they'll be after you too."
He leaned closer. "You'd need protection. That's where I come in. Why don't you join me? I want to help you."
Kruel blinked. For a second, he thought he misheard. Then he barked a humorless laugh.
"You must be kidding."
"I want you under my wing," Grayt said smoothly, a smirk returning to his lips. "I never knew you could fight. You're good, but raw. You could use a few lessons. With me, you'd be unstoppable."
"You're a troublemaker," Kruel shot back. "You're my biggest problem. Joining your gang would only mean more trouble."
Grayt chuckled, unfazed. "It's for your benefit, Kurt." He patted Kruel's shoulder lightly, but even that gesture seemed cautious, like he knew Kruel might react violently. Then he slipped something into Kruel's pocket and walked past.
"I'll give you time to think about it," he said over his shoulder.
Kruel stood frozen, the weight of the folded paper pressing against his side. His mind spiraled.
Grayt said he saw the fight. Did that mean he'd helped Drey after Kruel left? Was Drey even okay? And what about Jessica. Had Grayt seen her? She didn't seem like the type to talk to someone like Shaw.
The rest of the day crawled by uneventfully. Teachers droned. Students gossiped. But Kruel was somewhere else entirely, his thoughts looping around Grayt's words, Drey's silence, Jessica's piercing stare.
When the final bell rang, he wasted no time. He avoided the usual shortcuts, sticking to open streets, always watching his back. He couldn't risk his parents questioning him again.
Kate was already home when he arrived. Her school closed earlier than his. She was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, music leaking faintly from her earbuds.
His sister was already home when he got back. Her school always closed earlier than his, so she was usually the first one through the door. She had once said she never wanted to attend Kruel's school, not only because it was farther away but also because of the stories he told her. About fights, gangs, and the kind of chaos that made the hallways feel more like war zones than learning grounds. Their parents hadn't even entertained the idea either. Still, for reasons that baffled Kruel, they didn't seem too worried about him going there. It was almost ironic...he was attending what was widely regarded as the most dangerous school in the country, a place whispered about with a mix of fear and disbelief, yet his parents treated it as though it was just another normal school.
"You seem better," she remarked without looking up. "What did you do?"
"I've always been good," Kruel said, dropping his bag by the stairs. "I wasn't sick, was I?"
"Mm. Guess not." She shrugged and went back to her phone.
That evening, their parents came home, and the family gathered for dinner. For a while, it was ordinary. Rice, soup, clinking cutlery. But then their father cleared his throat.
"I have an announcement," he said. "I'll be leaving the country. Special assignment."
Kate's head snapped up. "What assignment?"
"It's confidential," he answered, tone clipped.
"Well, be careful," Kruel muttered, picking at his food. He hated conversations like this, ones where he never got answers.
"I sure will, Kurt," his dad said with a thin smile.
"Does this mean we're not having lunch with the Harveys?" Kate asked, her voice dipping sadly.
"Of course we are," their mother answered quickly.
"Dad never shows up anyway," Kruel said flatly.
"Well, Mike's dad doesn't either!" Kate shot back. "There's that too!"
Kruel exhaled sharply, but she wasn't wrong.
For as long as he could remember, both families had shared meals every weekend. It was tradition. Their dads had been best friends once, working at the same organization before both resigned. Then the company collapsed. Not long after, the friendship followed.
The dinners survived only because the moms insisted.
"Why don't you both come this time?" Kruel asked suddenly, looking at his father. "You were friends once. So what happened between you?"
His dad shifted uncomfortably.
"I'd prefer we don't discuss that," his mom interrupted firmly. "Kate, clear the plates."
"I just want to know," Kruel pressed. "You said you were friends. So what happened?"
"Kurt!" his mother snapped.
Their father stood abruptly, chair scraping. "I'm going to my study."
He left without another word.
Kruel stared after him, bitterness rising.
"Typical," he muttered.