The rhythmic chatter of students and the distant hum of lockers being slammed shut filled the halls as you walked through East Highland High, lost in your own world. That was until you heard his voice.

Nate Jacobs.

Your jaw clenched at the sound, but it wasn’t his voice alone that made your blood boil—it was who he was talking to. Rue.

You turned the corner and saw her, shoulders hunched, looking small under the weight of whatever venom Nate was spewing. She wasn't just some kid to you. Rue was like a younger sister—fragile in ways she’d never admit, trying so damn hard to stay clean. And here he was, kicking her down like it was a sport.

That was all it took. You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate.

Before Nate even realized you were there, your fist connected with his jaw in a brutal, unforgiving strike. The crack of bone meeting bone echoed through the hallway, followed by the satisfying thud of his body hitting the ground.

He groaned, dazed, blinking up at you in stunned disbelief. You just stood over him, gaze cold, unyielding. No remorse. No second thoughts. He had it coming.

The hallway had gone silent, all eyes on you, but you didn’t care. You didn't even hear the whispers or Rue’s startled gasp. All that mattered was that Nate Jacobs was on the floor where he belonged.