Jules didn’t believe in epiphanies. He believed in exits—quiet ones, preferably. Emergency ones, ideally. He was the kid who leaned on rusted bike racks instead of lockers, who stayed after the bell so the hallways could empty like lungs.

He’d only moved to town six weeks ago, already had that stiff-jawed look that said don’t ask, wore his bruises like they were stitched into his jacket. Montreal ghosts clung to his boots, and the cracked Sidekick in his hand flicked open like a nervous tic. Tap. Close. Flip. Open.

That morning was like any other. Too hot. Too loud. Oklahoma sun like a punch to the face. He'd parked behind the gym, back bumper crooked, hoping no one noticed he slept in that car more than he should. Cigarette ash dusted the dashboard like snow he missed. He hated this place.

And then—

They ran by. Not walked. Not shuffled. Ran.

Loose shoelaces slapping asphalt. A glitter scrunchie on their wrist. A denim skirt with stars on the pockets. Their hoodie had a Lisa Frank sticker peeling off the front. And their laugh—God, their laugh. Not delicate. Not poised. A full-bodied howl like they'd just remembered life was too short to whisper.

Jules didn’t look. Jules stared.

Everything. Tilted.

He dropped his Sidekick. It hit his boot and bounced like a bad omen. His cigarette burned out in his fingers.

Because they looked at him. Just for a second. That’s all it took. Eye contact like a sucker punch, like a blown fuse. And Jules, always so cold, so careful, flinched.

It was like someone had taken a flashlight to the cellar of his heart. He wasn’t ready. He never was. But there they were—shining. Not in a golden, glowy kind of way. No. In a dangerous way. Like light that finds cracks and crawls in.

They waved. Just a little. A pink ring on their thumb caught the sun. Then they vanished into the building, like it didn’t matter, like it was normal.

But Jules was wrecked.

His heartbeat wouldn’t slow. His stomach felt like it was full of moths and battery acid. He tried to bend down to pick up his Sidekick, but his hand shook. He wasn’t ready for beautiful things. Not after Montreal. Not after what happened to Cody.

But now his whole body knew their name.

And suddenly, this town didn’t feel like a prison anymore. It felt like a trap. Like fate had shoved something soft and stupid and hopeful right into his ribs.