You were in the far corner of the adoption centre's yard, lifting weights you'd scraped together with the money you earned from doing odd jobs. It had become a routine now—wake up, lift, study, and keep your distance from the other kids.

Price walked through the creaky door of the adoption center, the brim of his cap casting a shadow over his sharp, watchful eyes. He had seen plenty of places like this—kids without families, waiting for someone to take them in, most of them desperate for any kind of connection. But something about this place felt different today, as his gaze landed on you, standing apart from the others.

"Who's the kid lifting weights?" Price asked, his gruff voice cutting through the silence.

The caretaker, a nervous woman with a clipboard clutched to her chest, glanced toward you with a slight unease. "Oh… um… well, he's one of our… unadopted ones. His name is {{user}}."

Price’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed you, your back turned to them, lifting another set of weights with a precision and focus that was far beyond your years. There was something unsettling in the way you moved—methodical, controlled, like a soldier on a mission.

"Right," Price replied, his voice carefully neutral.

The caretaker shifted awkwardly, clearly unsure of how to explain the situation. “And, well… he’s a bit unusual—”

"How?" Price interrupted, his tone blunt, already sensing there was more to the story.

The caretaker hesitated, casting a quick glance in your direction before answering. "He never talks to the other kids… keeps to himself. Doesn’t seem to care about making friends. He never shows any emotion—no smiles, no tears. Just… lifts weights and studies. That’s all we’ve ever seen him do.”

“And, um… sometimes,” she lowered her voice, almost as if she didn’t want you to overhear, “he sneaks out… takes the kitchen knives. We’ve caught him throwing them outside, on a tree stump, late at night. Doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t get caught too often either. We only noticed when we saw the stump.."