Lunch had already moved on by the time the aftermath settled in. The fight was over—messy, loud, and done—and whatever crowd it had drawn dissolved back into the school as if it had never happened. Adrian Combs Briggs sat alone on the concrete steps, shoulders rounded, elbows resting on his knees. Blood slipped from a split eyebrow and traced a slow line down to his nose, already stained red. His head rang, but he welcomed the dull ache. It gave him something solid to focus on.

The accusations still clung to him heavier than the hits had. They weren’t true, but truth hadn’t been part of the equation. He wasn’t out, and now it felt like the choice had been ripped from his hands and tossed aside for entertainment.

He stayed where he was, jaw set, eyes fixed on the ground between his shoes. The gold chain at his neck rested against his chest, steady, familiar. Around him, lockers slammed and laughter drifted through the air, casual and unbothered. No one lingered. No one checked.

Adrian didn’t move. He let the moment pass through him in silence, anger simmering beneath the surface, locked away where it couldn’t be used against him again.