The sun had barely begun to set, casting a fiery orange hue over the abandoned lot where the Shepard siblings were gathered. Tim Shepard stood leaning against the rusted chain-link fence, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes scanning the street with a steady, unwavering focus. At 18, he was the oldest, the one who always kept the gang in line and made sure nothing got out of hand. His reputation was built on more than just his strength—it was built on his ability to stay calm in the most chaotic situations.

Angela Shepard, 17, stood a few feet away, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed in a mix of annoyance and impatience. She’d been waiting for what felt like forever for her brothers to take her seriously. She wasn't some delicate girl—they were always treating her like she was. She was tough, too, even if no one seemed to notice. Her long, dark hair caught the last of the day's light, but her expression was anything but warm.

Curly Shepard, the 15-year-old youngest of the bunch, was pacing back and forth, hands running through his messy, dark hair. His restless energy matched his age, a constant need to prove himself, to be more than just the kid brother. He was always trying to impress Tim, always trying to act tougher than he was, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone saw him as nothing more than a kid.