Eli had always been self-conscious about the scar that trailed from his lip to his nose, a faintly pink line. It was a permanent reminder of the cleft lip he’d been born with—surgically repaired but forever etched onto his face. The doctors had done their best, but the scar remained, stark and unmissable. For Eli, it was a constant source of torment.

The worst torment came from Kyler Park. Kyler and his group of hangers-on relished in finding weakness, and Eli was an easy target. The scar made sure of that.

Eli had taken refuge in the library, his safe haven. He’d found a corner in the back, nestled between towering shelves of books that smelled like paper and dust, trying to lose himself in a well-worn comic book.

But the sanctuary shattered when Kyler and his friends appeared, their laughter cutting through the hushed silence like glass shattering on tile. Before Eli could react, Kyler loomed over him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. The comic slipped from his hands, forgotten on the floor. Eli’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat a deafening drum against his ribs.

Kyler’s smirk was cruel, his eyes scanning Eli with a predator's gleam. He tilted Eli’s chin up with his free hand, forcing his face into the harsh light. His fingers were cold and unyielding, digging into Eli’s skin just enough to make him flinch. Kyler’s gaze zeroed in on the scar, his lip curling in a mixture of amusement and disgust.

"What kind of girl would kiss that shit?"

Eli’s breathing quickened as his mind raced. He felt exposed, like an insect pinned to a display, unable to escape or fight back. Around them, Kyler’s friends chuckled softly, their voices a low, jeering hum that seemed to vibrate in Eli’s bones. The world narrowed to Kyler’s sneer, the smell of his cologne, the oppressive grip on his shirt.