"You're not planning to skip breakfast, are you, Xavier?"
Her voice drifted through the door, light but knowing. It wasn't a question—it was a gentle warning.
Xavier groaned into his pillowcase without lifting his head. One eye peeked out from the tangle of blankets, but he made no move to sit up.
Aldreda Blackwood never knocked.
She didn't need to.
To the world, she was the stern, sharply dressed matron of nursing of Rising Star Boys' Home—firm, fearless, and famous for scaring off both bullies and Ofsted inspectors. Her silver hair was always tied in a perfect bun, Her yellow eyes missed nothing, and she ran the orphanage like a tight ship with hidden sails, steady even in stormy waters.
But to Xavier Garrison... she was more.
The others came and went—new boys, old ones, the bored volunteers who barely remembered their names—but Aldreda? She remembered everything. Birthdays. Bandage changes. Even which kid secretly watered his toast so it felt like soup. She knew what Xavier liked, what made him go quiet, and what kept him awake at night.
Not that he ever told her much. He didn't need to. She always seemed to know, anyway.
And yet… for all her closeness, Xavier had never really known her. Not truly. She never talked about her past. Never mentioned a family. Only ever looked at him sometimes with this strange sadness in her eyes—like she was carrying a secret far too heavy to share.
A secret Xavier didn't know was his.
Down in the kitchen, the smell of warm toast and beans wrapped around him like a blanket. The other boys elbowed and grumbled their way through the buffet line, but Aldreda handed Xavier his plate personally—two eggs, extra crispy toast, and a side of jam she'd "accidentally" put out even though it was supposed to be rationed.
He slid into the corner seat, Gracie curling up beneath his legs.
"You didn't sleep well," Aldreda said softly as she passed.
Xavier blinked. "Do I look that bad?"
"You always look that bad," she said with a ghost of a smile. Then she kept walking.
That morning, during breakfast, Mr. Penbroke had clapped his hands like an overexcited goose and announced, "Big day tomorrow, boys! Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish are coming back—they've decided to adopt another one of you! "So today—Friday—we're clearing the slate. No classes, no chores. Only good behavior and polished shoes."
The younger boys had erupted in cheers.
"Bet they'll pick me this time," one boy boasted.
"In your dreams. Everyone knows they like the quiet ones," another shot back.
A third piped up, "No, no—they'll pick someone smart. You'll see."
Xavier just kept eating.
He'd heard it before. He'd seen it before.
Holiday or not, it never changed anything—for him.
People only called your name when they needed something—and Xavier didn't mind. It meant he was worth keeping around.
*
Xavier trudged through the orphanage courtyard, staring at the cracked pavement. A pale February sun glared through thin clouds, casting a cold light that seemed to press down on everything. The other boys rushed past in bursts of laughter, pounding trainers, and jeers. He never did.
Another strange dream had clung to him through the night—vivid, unsettling, impossible to shake.
He could feel the stares. He always could.
He'd lived at Rising Star Boys' Home his whole life. Long enough for the whispers to evolve from curiosity to contempt.
He's weird. Freaky. Not like us.
Sixteen, wiry, with sharp features, honey-brown hair, and green eyes so bright they looked unnatural—Xavier stood out. But not just because of his looks. There were things he could do. Things no one else could.
He could talk to animals. Move things without touching them. Sparks would dance at his fingertips when he got scared or angry. Once, he'd accidentally set a tree ablaze. Another time, his room had exploded into shards and fire. He always cleaned up before anyone found out.
Almost.
Today, something stirred beneath his skin again—itching like a warning.
Jake Alexander leaned against the courtyard wall like he owned the place, arms crossed, yellowish eyes locked on Xavier. "Careful, ghost boy," he said, loud enough for everyone. "Wouldn't want you to melt the pavement with your freak powers."
Xavier flinched but kept walking, eyes locked on the ground. If he didn't respond, maybe Jake would get bored.
But the snickers from the other boys pricked like thorns.
"I'm talking to you, fire hazard," Jake sneered. "Set anything on fire today, or just thinking about it?"
Xavier's fists clenched. Heat prickled at his fingertips—his magic, restless, angry. It always came when he didn't want it. When he was scared. Hurt. Furious. Right now, he was all three.
Why does it have to be me?
Why can't I just be normal?
He squeezed his eyes shut. Please don't lose control. Not again.
But the pressure built too fast. Too sharp.
CRACK.
A bin blasted into the air, flipping end over end before smashing back down with a deafening clang.
Gasps.
Silence.
Dozens of eyes turned to him.
Xavier went pale. His stomach twisted. Not again. I didn't mean to.
He could feel the fear in their stares before anyone even said a word. He didn't blame them. Sometimes, he was afraid of himself too.
Jake laughed first. Of course. "See? Total freak."
Xavier barely heard him. The shame was louder. It pressed against his lungs like stones.
I hate this. I hate what I am.
Then—a bark.
Gracie.
The little terrier bounded toward him, tail wagging, eyes bright, like none of this mattered. Like he mattered.
Xavier dropped to his knees and buried his face in her fur.
"I didn't mean to," he whispered. "I hate this, Gracie. I hate who I am."
She licked his cheek. As if to say: I don't.
Mrs. Blackwood's voice sliced through the courtyard. "What happened here?"
Jake didn't hesitate. "He did it. Xavier blew up the bin—again!"
Xavier didn't argue. He didn't even look up.
Her tone softened, ever so slightly. "Xavier. With me. Now."
*
Mrs. Blackwood's office was dim and musty, the walls lined with old books and dusty file folders. It smelled like time—old leather, ink, and something faintly herbal. She motioned toward the chair across from her desk.
Xavier Garrison sat down, his shoulders stiff, trying to keep his face unreadable.
She studied him for a moment, her sharp yellow eyes all-seeing, like a hawk peering through mist. There was something unsettling in the way they seemed to look straight through him.
"You've seemed… different lately," she said finally. "Not bad. Just... distant. Distracted."
Her tone was warm but careful, as if stepping too close might spook him.
"If you ever feel like there's something you need to talk about," she added, "you can come to me. I mean that."
Xavier blinked. Startled—not by the offer, but by how sincere it sounded. For a heartbeat, he almost believed it.
But he dropped his gaze and mumbled, "You wouldn't understand."
The words barely made it out. Soft. Almost invisible.
Mrs. Blackwood didn't respond right away. Something unreadable flickered across her face, but she said nothing. Then, her eyes darted briefly to the clock.
"I have a visitor coming shortly," she said gently, standing. "We'll leave it there for now."
Xavier nodded and slipped out, the wooden door clicking softly behind him. Her voice echoed faintly in his mind.
If you ever feel like there's something you need to talk about…
As he stepped into the hallway, he noticed a well-dressed couple entering through the main door. The man gave a nod; the woman smiled politely. Xavier moved aside to let them pass, offering a quiet "Good morning."
They entered the office behind him, the door swinging shut.
Needing some air, Xavier headed to the garden with Gracie trailing at his heels. The sun had burned away the last of the morning fog, and the courtyard buzzed with weekend energy. He tossed a throwing disk, and Gracie leapt to catch it, tail wagging.
From the corner of his eye, Xavier noticed the couple again. A junior staff woman was giving them a tour, pointing out various children across the lawn. Xavier crouched to pick up the throwing disk—but his ears perked up when he heard:
"And what about that boy?" the man asked, gesturing subtly in Xavier's direction. "He seems well-mannered."
"Oh—Xavier?" the woman replied with a pause. "He's… not quite like the others."
She took a few steps away, clearly trying to lower her voice. But she didn't know Xavier didn't need to hear every word to understand. He felt it. Thoughts and flickers of worry brushed past his mind like pages turning too fast to catch.
Unpredictable. Unusual. Best not to.
He turned away, gaze fixed on the garden hedge where a robin darted between branches. Gracie nudged his hand with her nose again. Silent and patient. Her tail gave a hopeful wag.
Xavier offered her a soft smile and tossed the throwing disk. Higher this time. Farther. He needed her to chase it. He needed to not think.
As she bounded after it, ears flopping comically, he let out a breath and watched the couple from the corner of his eye. They were laughing with another child now—a smaller boy with freckles and a wide, gap-toothed grin. He looked happy.
And for a second—a sharp, quiet second—Xavier felt something strange and hollow bloom in his chest.
What if that could've been me?
He blinked the thought away as Gracie galloped back, the throwing disk in her mou– th like a trophy.
"Good girl," he whispered, rubbing behind her ears.
But his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
*
Xavier and his roommate, David Wallace, trudged into their room after a long day. Xavier flopped onto his bed with a sigh, burying his face into the pillow like it owed him money. David, humming some off-key tune, made a beeline for the bathroom.
As Xavier rolled over, something caught his eye.
There, on his side table, lay a small folded note. Neat. Unfamiliar. Slightly suspicious.
When David returned, towel slung over his shoulder like he was a world-famous spa model, Xavier held up the note and walked over.
"You leave this here?" he asked.
David leaned in, squinting dramatically like he needed a monocle. "Nope. Not mine," he said, then grinned. "Ooh, Xavier—is it from your girlfriend?" He nudged him with a teasing elbow.
Xavier rolled his eyes and gave him a shove with a smile. "Shut up."
He unfolded the note. One line. Seven words.
"Meet me at the oak tree at 3pm , come alone."
Mysterious. Simple. Slightly thrilling.
And exactly the kind of thing that never happened at the Rising Star Boys' Home.
David gasped dramatically. "Wait—don't tell me it's her."
Xavier blinked. "Who?"
David leaned in with a grin. "Ava. From our class. The one who always borrows your ruler even though she clearly owns, like, five."
Xavier groaned. "It's not her."
"Oh come on, I knew Ava liked you," David said, flopping onto his bed like this was the drama of the year to him. "Even her friend Zara knows. They had that fight during PE last week, remember?"
Xavier raised an eyebrow. "That was about me?"
David smirked. "Mate, They nearly lobbed dodgeballs at each other's faces over who 'accidentally' got to sit next to you."
Xavier stared at the ceiling. "Why is everyone weird?"
David rolled onto his side, grinning. "You're just lucky, mate. Tall, mysterious, constantly staring out windows like you're in a music video. That's bait for hopeless romantics."
"I don't even like anyone," Xavier muttered.
"Exactly," David said. "Makes you even more interesting. You're the emotionally unavailable protagonist. Girls love that."
Xavier rolled his eyes and sat up straighter. "If it was Ava," he said, "she would've put her name on the note."
David raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because she knows I'd ignore it otherwise," Xavier replied flatly. "She's not exactly the subtle type."
David blinked. "Okay, true. She did once spell her name with glitter glue across her locker."
"Exactly," Xavier said, holding up the note. "This? No glitter. No hearts. No perfume that smells like melted jellybeans. Just a boring sentence. It feels... off."
David tilted his head. "So you think it's a prank?"
"Or someone trying to waste my time," Xavier muttered. "Not sure which is worse."
David gave him a sly look. "You do know she's going to murder you if it actually is her and you don't show up."
Xavier flopped back down on the bed. "Let her. Saves me the trouble of P.E. lessons tomorrow."
*
The dream had returned. Again.
It always began the same way.
A tall man with black hair stepped into a vast, dimly lit room. His footsteps echoed against stone floors. At the far end, a woman stood on a balcony—her honey-brown hair catching the moonlight, her green eyes fixed on something distant. She didn't see him coming.
He raised a hand. A flash of red.
She collapsed before she could scream.
And Xavier jolted awake.
When morning light finally filtered through the threadbare curtains of Rising Star Boys' Home, Xavier was already awake—lying on his side, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the cracked plaster wall. His entire body felt like it had been poured full of lead—cold, heavy, unmoving.
David Wallace, his roommate, was already up and buzzing with his usual Saturday morning energy, which Xavier privately found exhausting.
"Xavier, mate," David said through a mouthful of toothpaste, "you look like death dipped in grey. Get up or we're gonna miss the bus. And I am not sitting next to that kid who smells like pickles again."
Xavier groaned into his pillowcase. "I'm up," he lied.
"You sure?" David tossed a school shirt at him. "Because you look like you've just walked out of a haunted castle."
Xavier rolled over slowly, squinting at the sunlight. "Feels like it, too."
David eyed him. "You sick or just brooding extra hard today?"
But Xavier wasn't listening. His eyes had landed on the note still sitting on his nightstand.
Meet me at the oak tree. 3PM.
Unfolded. Plain. Mysterious.
David followed his gaze and grinned. "Ahhh, still thinking about your secret admirer, huh?"
Xavier sighed, sitting up stiffly. "I'm telling you, if it was Ava, she would've signed it in glitter pen and sprayed it with that perfume that smells like anxiety."
David laughed. "True. But I knew she liked you. Even her friend Millie's been all weird since the poetry reading. What did you even write, by the way? 'Roses are red, I train dogs and live in emotional isolation'?"
Xavier gave him a deadpan look. "I don't remember. Something about shadows and silence."
"Of course it was," David muttered, smirking.
Xavier folded the note and shoved it into his blazer pocket—not because he planned to go, but because some small part of him couldn't throw it away. Not yet.
"Let's just go," he said, pushing himself to his feet.
David didn't say anything more. He wanted to be Xavier's friend. Real friend. But Xavier never let anyone in. Not really. He was polite. Helpful. But always guarded. And David didn't know that the wall Xavier built wasn't made of pride—it was fear. Fear that getting close meant someone getting hurt.
As they stepped outside, the cold air bit through Xavier's clothes, waking him slightly. The sky was overcast, the way it always seemed to be when he felt this tired.
And that's when he saw them.
Seven crows.
Perched in a line on the rusted iron fence outside the orphanage. Black, unmoving, watchful. Like a living omen.
Xavier froze. They stared back, silent and still, as if waiting.
The old rhyme rose up from the dark corners of his memory, uninvited:
One for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a wedding, four for a boy…
Seven for a secret never to be told.
He shivered.
They looked like they knew something. Something about him. Something about what was coming.
David, already halfway to the bus stop, called over his shoulder, "You coming, Edgar Allan Poe?" He started half-singing some pop song under his breath, the wrong words in the wrong key, like he always did when things got too quiet.
Xavier tore his eyes from the birds and followed.
But the image of those seven crows stayed with him. All the way to school. And long after.
The bus gave a final wheeze and jerked to a stop outside Rookford High.
Xavier was the last to get off.
He stepped down onto the pavement, bag slung over one shoulder, and glanced up at the sky. Cloudy. Dull. Typical. But his eyes scanned the rooftops anyway—half-expecting those same crows to have followed him here.
They hadn't.
Not that he could see.
But he knew better.
The ravens always followed him. Not all the time—just when he left the orphanage. Like shadows with feathers, they'd appear on chimneys, fences, and lampposts, watching with eyes too clever to be normal.
Today they were quieter, harder to spot. But he could still feel them. Like a tickle in the back of his brain. A whisper in a language he almost understood.
The morning assembly ended with the usual reminder about "discipline, punctuality, and the school values we must uphold." Xavier mouthed the words along with the headteacher, earning a quiet snort from David.
As the crowd of students shuffled out, Xavier broke away toward his classroom—but barely made it ten steps before he bumped into someone who seemed to appear out of nowhere.
She wore a yellow polka-dotted dress, red boots that didn't belong in any decade he could name, and a big ginger puff of curly hair that bounced slightly as she turned toward him.
"Oh—I'm so sorry!" Xavier blurted, still blinking like his eyes were adjusting to her brightness. "I didn't see you there…"
"That's alright, dear," the woman said cheerfully. "I'm Mrs. Rodriguez. I'm the new art teacher."
"I'm Xavier," he replied, offering a polite nod.
"Oh, I know who you are."
He tilted his head. "You… do?"
She smiled—not the warm kind, but the kind that made your skin prickle, like she was watching something only she could see.
Just as he turned to leave, she said something. Or… maybe she did?
Xavier paused mid-step, frowning. The hallway noise had swallowed her words.
"Sorry, what did you say?" he asked, turning back.
But—
She was gone.
No yellow dress. No red boots. No trace of ginger curls. Just a crowd of students walking past, none of them noticing anyone had been there.
Xavier blinked hard.
Weird.
Shaking off the sudden chill that ran down his spine, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed to class.
But whatever she said…
Whatever she might've said…
He had the strangest feeling it was something he wasn't supposed to hear.
Xavier walked into class, the sun just beginning to brush gold across the floor tiles. As usual, Ava, Millie, and Zara were already in their seats, talking in low, giggly voices that faded the moment he stepped inside.
Then—boom. Eye contact. All three turned to him in perfect synchrony, their faces lighting up with that smile. The kind that made Xavier feel like he'd just stepped on stage without knowing his lines.
"Good morning, Xavier," Ava said sweetly, her chin tilted ever-so-slightly.
Millie stifled a grin. Zara twirled a pen between her fingers, raising her eyebrows like she was expecting something.
Xavier slowed for half a second, then offered a half-smile and a mumbled, "Hey,"—polite, flat, not rude... just very much in the "please don't make this a thing" category.
He nodded once, then walked straight to his seat near the window, trying not to trip on literally nothing. His ears felt warm.
Behind him, he could feel them still watching. Probably decoding that one-word greeting like it was an ancient scroll. Honestly, they could write an essay titled "The Social Mystery of Xavier Mornings: Volume I."
As he sat down and pulled out his notebook, he risked a peek toward them again.
Still smiling.
Still watching.
And maybe, just maybe… knowing something he didn't.
*
Mr. Wilson was scribbling something about the Great Fire of London on the whiteboard, mumbling facts to himself as chalk dust floated like fog in the afternoon light.
Xavier sat quietly, head bowed, pretending to take notes. But his powers… they were buzzing again. A faint whisper in the back of his mind. Not a voice exactly—more like a thought that wasn't his.
"Just wait till break. Lighter's in the pocket. Strap the crackers to the straps. He won't know what hit him."
Xavier blinked. He glanced sideways.
Jake.
Without thinking, Xavier said, "Jake… why do you have a lighter? Hey, put it back—you'll get in trouble."
Jake flinched, face turning to stone. "Shut up," he snapped, voice low. "None of your business."
But Mr. Wilson turned from the board, chalk still in hand. "A lighter?"
The room fell silent.
Jake went pale.
Mr. Wilson stepped forward, sharp-eyed. "Jake. Empty your pockets."
There was a long pause.
Jake hesitated, but the look from Mr. Wilson dared him to test it.
Reluctantly, Jake pulled out a small silver lighter… followed by a handful of colourful firecrackers… and a suspicious, unlabeled cardboard tube.
Mr. Wilson's eyebrows nearly launched off his forehead. "To the office. Now. And don't think the orphanage won't be hearing about this." He muttered under his breath, "Honestly, fireworks in class…"
Jake slouched out of the room, every eye in the class pinned to his back.
*
Recess had arrived like a breath of freedom.
The air smelled like freshly cut grass and soggy sandwiches. Students scattered across the playground, buzzing like bees—some gossiping about Jake's explosive pocket incident, others half-heartedly kicking around a deflated football.
Xavier sat on a low stone wall near the edge of the field, notebook in his lap, pencil tapping against his chin. He stared down at the half-written story inside—something about a hidden city under a lake, guarded by foxes who could talk in riddles. It wasn't perfect, but it felt his.
"Writing again?"
David Wallace dropped beside him with a crunch of apple and a backpack stuffed with books and energy drink cans that probably hadn't been refrigerated since Tuesday.
Xavier smiled faintly. "Trying."
David peered over. "Do the foxes win this time?"
"Maybe." Xavier shrugged. "I haven't decided if they're heroes or just really dramatic tour guides."
David chuckled. "Plot twist: both."
Xavier hesitated, then asked, lowering his voice, "Hey… have you met the new art teacher yet?"
David looked confused. "You mean the one who wears big earrings and smells like oil paints?"
Xavier shook his head. "No, the other one. Yellow dress, red boots."
David blinked. "There's another one?"
Before Xavier could reply, a loud voice called out behind them.
"Aww, how sweet. Is that your imaginary girlfriend, Xavier?"
Xavier froze, notebook halfway closed.
Kyle Fennick leaned against a tree, arms crossed and smirking. His little backup crew stood beside him, snickering like they were in on a joke that wasn't even funny.
"Maybe she teaches invisible painting," Kyle snorted. "Bet she's super talented."
David muttered, "Grow up."
Kyle cupped his hands around his mouth in a stage whisper. "Better keep her a secret, Xavier. Wouldn't want anyone stealing your totally real, totally existing girlfriend."
The laughter trailed behind them as they swaggered off.
Xavier stared at the ground, cheeks warm. He gripped his pencil tighter—and snap. It shattered in his hand, pieces splintering like tiny fireworks.
At the same time, a gust of wind whooshed through the playground. Kyle, still mid-laugh, was suddenly not on the ground anymore.
"AAAAAAH—WHAT THE—" he shrieked as he flailed mid-air and landed with a thud on a tree branch, dangling by the back of his jumper like a wet towel.
Students screamed, scattered, or froze in weirdly synchronized confusion.
"No! I don't wanna die yet! I need to graduate, make money, buy a Ford F, and get married! Please help me or my future wife will be a widow—and my future children will be orphans!", he cried out.
The yard went dead silent.
David blinked. "Well. That escalated... into a ten-year plan."
Xavier's stomach twisted. Not again. Not in front of everyone.
He bolted toward the tree and climbed halfway up, steady and quick, like he'd done it a hundred times. He grabbed Kyle's arm and helped him down, both of them landing with a thud on the grass.
Kyle scrambled back like Xavier was radioactive. "S-stay away from me, ghost boy!" he stammered, then turned and bolted toward the school building.
David walked up, hands in his pockets, watching the whole thing with raised eyebrows.
"You okay?" he asked casually.
Xavier didn't answer. His fingers still tingled. His heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
David plopped down beside him. "That...was definitely not normal. But also super cool."
Xavier looked away. "You shouldn't hang out with me."
"Why not?"
"I'm... not safe."
David snorted. "Please. If I stopped hanging out with people who accidentally tossed bullies into trees, I'd have no social life."
Xavier didn't laugh. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "You don't get it."
David tilted his head. "Maybe not yet. But I will. Just... don't push me away, yeah?"
*
After school, Xavier and David changed out of their uniforms and scarfed down lunch in the orphanage dining room. Whiskers curled under the table, flicking his tail every time David's foot got too close. Gracie waited by the door, tail thumping against the floor in rhythm with her excitement.
Once they were done, Xavier grabbed his coat and dug a ten-pound note out of his pocket.
David raised an eyebrow. "Mate. Again? It's just a bike."
Xavier shrugged, slipping the money into David's front pocket anyway. "So you want Whiskers to sleep hungry tonight?"
David groaned. "You're impossible."
Xavier scooped up Gracie and nestled her gently in the bike's basket. She gave a happy huff, nose twitching at the wind.
"Back before sunset!" David called as Xavier pedaled away, Gracie's ears flapping like victory flags.
*
He pulled up to Mr. Taylor's place just as the old man stepped out into the yard. The gate creaked open.
"Mr. Taylor! I'm here!"
"Right on time," Mr. Taylor said, brushing biscuit crumbs from his sweater.
Xavier leaned his bike against the fence. "Boggy!"
A blur of fur burst from the doghouse, tail wagging like a wind-up toy. Xavier laughed, dropping to one knee. "Ready to learn something new today?"
Mr. Taylor's eyes flicked toward Gracie, who was currently befriending a garden gnome.
"Hey, kid," he asked with a raised brow, "your dog vaccinated?"
Xavier nodded. "Yeah. Mrs. Blackwood makes sure all the pets at the orphanage are up to date."
Mr. Taylor grunted in approval. "Good. Wouldn't want Boggy catching something weird."
*
After a fun hour of training Boggy, Xavier thanked Mr. Taylor and rode back to the orphanage, his hair a little wild and his hands smelling faintly of dog treats. Dinner that night was shepherd's pie and peas—warm, filling, and eaten among the usual chatter and clinking of cutlery.
Then came the best part of any Saturday: TV Night.
All forty-five boys crammed into the lounge like it was the last place on Earth with a screen. Some were flopped on the sofas, others lounged on the floor, and a few perched on beanbags that had long lost their beans. David was practically nose-to-screen—even with his glasses on—as if he feared missing a single pixel of Alien Robots in Space 4: The Revenge of the Microwave. Xavier wedged himself between two younger boys and shared a blanket that smelled vaguely of old popcorn and soap.
At nine sharp, Mrs. Blackwood popped in to say, "Time to wind down, lads," which sparked the traditional chorus of "Five more minutes!" (They never got them.)
After brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower—because heaven forbid you try skipping either—Xavier pulled on his pajamas and climbed into bed.
Whiskers leapt up beside David, curling into a ball with a satisfied purr. Across the room, Xavier scratched behind Gracie's ears one last time before she hopped off his bed and padded over to her blanket in the corner.
The lamp clicked off.
Xavier glanced one last time at Gracie, curled up like always—so small and peaceful.
"Don't ever leave me," he thought, though he didn't have a reason.