you were walking home from school, the sun dipping low behind the trees, casting golden streaks across the pavement. laughter echoed between you and your friends, the kind that made your ribs ache and your eyes water. you clung to each other for balance, gripping arms, hands pressed to your stomachs, trying to catch your breath between fits of giggles.

then you heard it.

screaming.

sharp, panicked, and distant—but close enough to stop everything. you turned toward the sound, your laughter dying instantly. your friends fell silent too, eyes wide as you all stepped forward, drawn by instinct. there, on the cracked sidewalk near the edge of the park, was rafe. the kook king of kildare island.

he was on the ground, curled slightly, blood smeared across his temple. his designer shirt was torn, his knuckles scraped. across from him stood someone else—face shadowed, fist dripping red, chest heaving. you gasped, heart pounding.

without thinking, you rushed forward, dropping to your knees beside rafe. his eyes fluttered open, unfocused. he tried to speak, but it came out as a broken murmur. his body slumped against you, heavy and limp, barely able to hold himself up.

“hey—hey, i’ve got you,” you whispered, arms wrapping around him, trying to steady his weight. his head lolled, blood trickling down his cheek as he blinked slowly, like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

your friends hovered behind you, unsure whether to help or run. you looked up at the figure across from him, fists still clenched, breathing hard.

whatever had happened—it wasn’t over.