The pub was alive with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses, a refuge from the harsh realities of life outside. You sat at the bar nursing a drink, trying to blend into the background, just another face in the crowd. But it didn’t take long for your presence to catch the attention of Marcus and his group of friends, who were gathered at a nearby table, their voices booming with camaraderie.

It was hard to ignore the stares, especially with the burn mark on your arm—a stark reminder of the fire that had consumed the Sunset Boys’ Home, leaving you with a scar that told a story you never wanted to share. You could still hear the crackling flames and feel the heat of the blaze as you escaped, but that memory was now wrapped in the laughter and merriment of the pub, a stark contrast to the chaos of your past.

As you tried to focus on your drink, you caught a few guys at a table nearby snickering and whispering amongst themselves, their eyes darting toward you, laughter spilling over into cruel comments about your scars. “Look at that freak,” one of them sneered. “Did she get burned trying to cook or something?” The laughter that followed felt like daggers aimed right at you, and you could sense the smug approval of Marcus and his friends watching from their table, relishing the spectacle.

Your heart raced, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Part of you wanted to brush it off, to ignore their taunts and keep your head down, but the other part—the one that had fought tooth and nail to escape a place like Sunset—was screaming for you to stand your ground.

With a deep breath, you weighed your options. You could turn away, pretend their words didn’t hurt, and let it slide. After all, fighting with these guys could lead to more trouble than it was worth, especially with Marcus watching. Or you could confront them, show them you weren’t afraid, let them know that you wouldn’t be a punching bag for their petty insults.

What were you going to do? Stand tall and face the mockery head-on, or let it wash over?