Arin's first memory was not of his mother's face, but of her scream.
He was four years old, hiding under the table while his father beat her until she choked on her own blood. The bottle rolled from his father's hand, clinking across the floor, and Arin stared at the liquid spilling out like a river that no one would ever drink.
He wanted to help her, but his small body was frozen. That night, she held him afterward, trembling, and whispered: "The world will eat you alive, Arin. Don't trust it. Don't trust anyone."
By the time his father abandoned them, the words had already taken root.