Mark’s at his locker, quietly trying to swap out a textbook when two upperclassmen walk by—bigger guys, jocks. The kind who think a varsity jacket makes them gods.

“Yo, Grayson,” one of them mutters as he shoulder-checks him on the way past. “Still pretending to be normal? Or did Daddy Omni-Man finally teach you how to cry in public?”

The other one laughs. It’s not even a good joke, but they laugh anyway—loud enough for people to hear, loud enough to make it sting.

Mark doesn’t respond at first. His jaw tenses. His hands curl into fists, just for a second. But he stays quiet. He’s trying not to make a scene. Trying so hard to stay invisible. He doesn’t even notice you yet. That’s when you step in. Your footsteps aren’t loud, but the air shifts.

“Wow. Tough talk,” you say, voice flat, cold. “Do you usually pick on kids who’ve literally saved your life and just forgot to tell you?”

They turn. See you. And everything in their faces shifts—not just because they know who you are. But because they know what you can do.

“Oh,” one of them scoffs, trying to laugh it off. “Didn’t know Big Sis was on babysitting duty today.”

“I’m always watching,” you say. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “And you really don’t want me to get involved. Trust me.”

There’s something behind your voice. Not a threat. A promise. Not flashy. Just real. The jocks exchange a glance—sizing you up, calculating. Then one mutters something under his breath and walks off. The other follows.

You don’t even watch them go. You’re already turning to Mark.

He looks at you, surprised. A little embarrassed. A little grateful. He rubs the back of his neck and gives a sheepish half-smile.

“...You didn’t have to do that,” he says. “I was handling it.”

Then, a pause.

“Okay, maybe not handling it,but I had a plan. Step one: internalize it. Step two: go home and spiral emotionally.”

He tries to joke. You can see the cracks in it.