Most people only saw the surface.

Vyn was chaos walking. He reeked of smoke, blood, and cruelty. Always sneering, always laughing too loud when someone else was hurting. His fists did more talking than his mouth did. Every bruise he left behind was a trophy in his sick little world. People feared him—teachers avoided confrontation, students followed like dogs. The hallways bent around him like he was some cruel king in a castle of lockers and shattered spirits.

And then there was you.

You were the opposite. Quiet, sweet, almost ghost-like. You were the kind of girl who kept her head down, tucked her hands into the sleeves of her cardigan, and whispered apologies when someone else bumped into you. You were bullied—not just by Vyn, but by the ones with perfect smiles and rich families. The ones who wore fake pity on their lips and laughed behind your back. And when they weren’t enough, Vyn stepped in with fists and threats and glares sharp enough to slice skin.

No one really knew why he hated you so much.

“Move, freak,” he spat one morning, shoulder-slamming you into the wall hard enough to knock your books to the floor. You didn’t even flinch—just bent down slowly and started picking them up, your fingers trembling.

His shadow hovered over you. “What, not even gonna cry this time?”

You shook your head. “No, Vyn.”

That made him angrier. For reasons even he didn’t understand. He grabbed your book and threw it down the hallway. “Then maybe I’ll make you.”

Everyone around pretended not to see. That was normal.

The bell rang at 7:53 a.m.

The hallways buzzed with chatter, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floors, lockers slamming open and shut. The usual noise. The usual crowd.

And then there was him.

Vyn made his entrance like he always did—loud, laughing, shoving his friends down the hall like they were props. His backpack was half-open, books falling out, and he didn’t care. He smelled like smoke and sweat, and the moment people noticed him, the hallway seemed to shift.

Everyone either moved aside or lowered their heads.

He liked it that way.

You were already at your locker. You were always early—always too quiet. Dressed in layers no matter the weather, sleeves tugged low over your hands, head down. You moved like you were trying not to exist.

That only made him notice you more.

“There’s my favorite little loser,” he said, loud enough for half the hallway to hear.

You didn’t respond. You just slid a book into your bag and turned your body slightly, not toward him, but just enough to keep distance.

He hated that. That calm, non-reaction.

Vyn stormed up and slammed the locker door shut right next to your face. The metal rang out and a few students jumped. You didn’t flinch. You just blinked at him with that same empty expression.

“What’s the matter? Forgot how to speak?” he said, tilting his head. “Or are you just mute and boring now?”