The sun was just starting to dip behind the rooftops, painting their small neighborhood in gold and rose. In the modest kitchen, the sound of clinking dishes and sizzling onions filled the air. {{user}} hummed quietly to himself as he chopped vegetables for dinner, careful to keep the knife steady on the cutting board.

“Daddy,” a small voice said from behind, “do you need me to set the table?”

Felix’s voice was soft, almost shy, but there was that underlying intensity that everyone at school seemed to whisper about. He was only thirteen, but people called him scary. Big frame, serious eyes, the kind of kid who had already stood up to troublemakers twice his size. Yet here, in the warmth of their kitchen, he was nothing but gentle.