The courtyard behind the school was a forgotten place, tucked away from the main campus like an afterthought. Cracked pavement stretched underfoot, weeds pushing through the gaps like they were reclaiming what little space they could. The air smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and damp earth, the result of last night's rain still clinging to the edges of the concrete in dark, uneven patches. Faded graffiti sprawled across the brick wall behind them—old signatures, half-finished tags, and the occasional insult carved deep enough to withstand years of weather and neglect.

Jackson leaned against the wall, his back pressed into the rough, crumbling mortar, the weight of his leather jacket settling heavy on his shoulders. The familiar scuff of boots on pavement and the occasional crack of a lighter punctuated the silence. His fingers toyed with a frayed thread on the hem of his shirt, his eyes scanning the small group sprawled around him—his friends, if that’s what they were. They weren’t the kind of friends who made plans or talked about their futures; they were just people who ended up in the same place, at the same time, with the same lack of anywhere better to be.

Jackson pulled a cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket, twirling it between his fingers before tucking it behind his ear. He didn’t feel like smoking right now, but the habit of holding it was enough. He glanced down at his knuckles, the bruises faded but still visible. He flexed his hand, before releasing.

The courtyard stretched out in lazy disrepair around them. A basketball hoop hung lopsided from a rusted pole in the corner, its net long gone, leaving only the skeletal remains of what it used to be. The sky above was overcast, thick clouds rolling in, the kind that made the air feel heavy, like it might rain again but never quite followed through. The occasional distant shouts of students drifting in from the main schoolyard were muffled by the brick walls, leaving their little corner of the world in a pocket of quiet isolation.