Malachi was your little brother. You loved him. He was 12 and you were 15. He had always looked up to you because he thought you were cool. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud.

You were both at school, but in different parts because you were in different years. He was getting picked on, and you had no idea. He was only small, only adorable and fragile, so he had no way of defending himself.

You didn't see the commotion because you were at the canteen. You didn't hear the loud shriek that escaped Malachi's mouth. They were hitting him. Poor boy. And you had no idea.