Riven didn't go home right away.
He wandered.
The city near Blackridge Academy was all cracked sidewalks and flickering signs, places where people learned early not to look too closely at anyone else. His phone buzzed twice in his pocket. He ignored it. Whatever Jax had to say would sound like concern, and Riven didn't have the patience to swallow that right now.
Lucien's words kept replaying instead.
I don't want you.
You're a liability.
Children playing at obsession.
Riven laughed under his breath, sharp and humorless, as he ducked into a convenience store that smelled like dust and old oil. He bought cigarettes he didn't need and a small plastic bag the clerk slid across the counter without looking him in the eye.
Routine.
Outside, he dry-swallowed a pill, chasing it with smoke and anger. The edge inside his chest dulled, just slightly — not relief, but distance. Like standing far enough away from a fire that it couldn't burn you anymore.
He hated that Lucien had done this to him.
He hated more that Lucien was probably calm about it.
⸻
Blackridge Academy felt smaller the next morning.
The halls were louder, faces blurring together, everyone pretending they didn't track everyone else's misery like sport. Riven shoved past a group of freshmen near the lockers, shoulder-checking one of them hard enough to send him stumbling.
"Watch it," the kid snapped.
Riven turned slowly.
The hallway went quiet.
"You want to repeat that?" Riven asked.
The kid shook his head immediately. Apologies tumbled out fast and incoherent. Riven watched him shrink, something bitter and satisfied settling in his gut.
Fear worked.
At least fear stayed.
Jax found him by the stairwell before third period, eyes too sharp, mouth already twisted in worry.
"You didn't come home," Jax said.
Riven leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I wasn't invited."
"Don't do that," Jax muttered. "You look like hell."
Riven smiled thinly. "Then stop looking."
Jax lowered his voice. "Was it him?"
Riven's jaw tightened. "Drop it."
"Riv—"
"I said drop it."
Jax hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Fine. But people are talking."
Riven raised a brow. "They always do."
"Not like this." Jax glanced around. "You got suspended once already this semester. You keep pushing, they'll expel you. And then what?"
Riven thought of Lucien's car pulling away. Of the calm certainty in his voice.
This ends today.
"Then it ends," Riven said.
⸻
The fight happened after lunch.
It always did.
Elias Moore was standing by the vending machines, shoulders hunched, pretending not to exist. Too quiet. Too neat. Too untouched by the rot that lived in Riven's chest.
Riven didn't even plan it.
He just... redirected.
"Nice shoes," Riven said, stopping in front of him. "How much did they cost? More than my mom makes in a week?"
Elias flinched. "Leave me alone."
Riven smiled wider. "You think money makes you safe?"
A hand grabbed Riven's arm.
"Back off," a senior snapped.
Riven turned and punched him without thinking.
The hallway exploded.
Teachers shouted. Someone screamed. Riven tasted blood again — not his — and felt something inside him finally snap loose. When it was over, he was dragged into the principal's office, knuckles split, shirt wrinkled, eyes bright and empty.
Suspension.
Again.
They talked. He didn't listen.
⸻
That night, Riven sat on the fire escape outside his apartment, knees pulled to his chest, the city humming below. His phone buzzed once.
An unknown number.
He stared at it, heart stuttering.
Then a message appeared.
You look worse when you don't sleep.
Riven froze.
He typed back without thinking.
Who is this?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared.
Then:
Someone who noticed you stopped waiting at 4:17.
Riven's breath hitched.
Another message followed before he could respond.
You shouldn't let men like him decide your worth.
Riven's fingers trembled.
Lucien hadn't texted.
Lucien wouldn't.
Riven stared out over the city, jaw tightening, something dark and electric stirring under his skin.
Whoever this was—
They were watching.
And for the first time since Lucien walked away, Riven didn't feel completely alone.
That should have terrified him.
It didn't.