The world shifted around Elian in small, invisible ways.
At first, he thought the worst had passed.
After the cafeteria humiliation, after Mason's cruel attack, after the rooftop — he believed he had survived the storm.
But Saint Eden High didn't operate with violence alone.
No.
Now came the real war.
The silent war.
The war of whispers.
---
It started with missing homework.
Assignments he had submitted — gone.
Teachers frowning in confusion.
Zeros staining his record.
Then it was his locker.
Graffiti scratched into the metal:
"Orphan trash."
"Stay in your lane."
"You don't belong."
Personal items vanished:
His jacket.
His cheap earbuds.
A battered wallet holding two crumpled dollars and a photograph of his mother he never showed anyone.
Gone.
He reported it.
No one cared.
The administration smiled politely, filed meaningless reports, and did nothing.
The rules at Saint Eden were clear: only the strong deserved protection.
---
Meanwhile, the students sharpened their weapons.
"Accidental" spills in the hallway.
"Forgotten" invitations to school events.
Cold shoulders.
Glares.
Laughter behind his back that grew louder every day.
Even the teachers — once indifferent — seemed to watch him with weary, resigned eyes.
As if they were waiting for him to break.
As if they were betting on it.
---
Only Mina remained.
She didn't talk much.
She didn't pity him, either.
Sometimes they met in the abandoned music room during lunch — a dusty place where broken instruments lay forgotten.
She would sketch strange, sad things in her notebook.
He would read whatever battered novel he could steal from the library.
It was enough.
Small mercies.
Small rebellions.
Two broken kids pretending the world outside didn't exist.
---
But peace never lasted long at Saint Eden.
One afternoon, as Elian sat hunched over a history assignment, a piece of folded paper fluttered onto his desk.
He glanced up.
No one nearby looked at him.
Suspicious, he unfolded it.
One sentence.
One chilling sentence written in thick, black marker:
"THE HUNT BEGINS AT MIDNIGHT."
Beneath it, a crude drawing:
A wolf circling a lamb.
His fingers tightened on the paper.
A cold chill slithered down his spine.
---
That night, the trap was set.
---
Location: The Old Gymnasium
It was supposed to be condemned — a relic of Saint Eden's past.
Peeling paint.
Broken windows.
Rusty bleachers.
The smell of mold and forgotten blood.
Elian knew he was walking into a trap.
He went anyway.
What choice did he have?
If he didn't show up, they would find new ways to punish him — and Mina.
They might even drag her into this.
He wouldn't let that happen.
Not to her.
Not to the only person who looked at him like he was more than garbage.
---
Inside the gym, shadows moved.
Dozens of them.
Students wearing hooded jackets, faces masked with bandanas.
Phones out, cameras rolling.
A ritual.
A spectacle.
The "Hunt" was an ancient, secret tradition among the top students — one not even the teachers dared to acknowledge.
They chose a target.
They broke them.
Publicly.
Utterly.
---
A figure stepped forward from the mob.
Mason.
Of course.
Flanked by his friends, grinning like jackals.
In Mason's hand gleamed a gold chain — Elian's stolen wallet dangling mockingly from it.
"Welcome to your coronation, King of Trash," Mason sneered, voice booming through a stolen megaphone.
"Tonight, you prove whether you deserve to crawl among us... or if you should just disappear."
The crowd roared approval.
Someone threw a rotten apple.
It struck Elian's shoulder, splattering pulp across his worn jacket.
He didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Inside, he built walls higher and thicker than ever before.
They wanted a show?
They would get one.
Just not the one they expected.
---
Mason tossed something onto the ground in front of Elian.
A battered school pennant.
Saint Eden's flag.
"So here's the deal, orphan," Mason said, grinning viciously.
"Pick that up.
Kiss it.
Swear loyalty to Saint Eden — to us — and maybe we'll let you stay."
Elian looked at the flag.
The symbol of everything that had spit on him, crushed him, tried to erase him.
Slowly, he bent down.
The crowd leaned forward eagerly, phones raised.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Wanting to capture his defeat.
Elian picked up the flag.
Straightened.
Held it high.
Then —
Tore it clean in half.
The fabric ripped with a sound like thunder.
Gasps exploded.
Mason's face twisted with fury.
"You little —"
But Elian wasn't done.
He dropped the torn pieces at Mason's feet.
Spat on them.
And turned away.
Walked straight toward the gym doors.
Shoulders back.
Head high.
Unbroken.
---
The first blow caught him between the shoulders.
He stumbled, crashing to his knees.
The mob surged forward.
Kicks.
Punches.
Shoves.
Pain blossomed in every limb.
Blood filled his mouth.
Still, he didn't cry out.
Still, he didn't beg.
Somewhere in the chaos, he heard Mina's voice — a scream, thin and desperate.
Then silence.
And darkness.
---