The Texas sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the open window of Henry’s room. It was a mess of papers, books on psychology, and discarded cigarette butts, a sharp contrast to the neatly folded sheets on William’s borrowed bed in the next room. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and whatever cheap cologne Henry had thrown on earlier.

William sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped together, knuckles pale. He’d been quiet since they got back from town, still shaken from whatever fresh humiliation the locals had put him through. Henry, stretched out on his desk chair, watched him with that ever-present smirk, tapping a pen against the armrest.

“You should thank them,” Henry finally broke the silence, voice smooth, teasing. “They’re making you stronger.”

William flinched, but his lips pressed together, holding back whatever he wanted to say. That just made Henry’s grin widen.

“C’mon,” Henry sighed, standing up and walking over. He dropped into a crouch in front of William, his hands clasped over his knees. “They’ll keep pushing. You gonna let them?”

William’s pale eyes flickered up to meet Henry’s. They were clouded with frustration, maybe even shame. That was the problem with William—he cared too much. Henry had spent years watching people break, testing limits, but William was different. He didn’t shatter; he folded in on himself, quieter, smaller.

Henry reached out, fingers grazing William’s chin, forcing his gaze upward. “You need to hit back.”

William swallowed hard. “I—” His voice cracked, and he hated that. He hated how easy it was for Henry to get under his skin, to twist his thoughts into something unrecognizable.

Henry chuckled, standing up and ruffling William’s hair in that same condescending way he always did. “One day, you’ll get it,” he said, walking toward the door. “Come on. We’re going out.”

William hesitated, then stood. He always followed, no matter where Henry led.