The chanting dies slowly. Not because anyone tells them to stop. Because Jack walks through the clearing. He is covered in blood. It has dried in places, dark and cracking across his skin. His paint is smeared, almost gone beneath it. He doesn’t look like a schoolboy anymore. He doesn’t even look like himself. The boys stare. No cheering this time. Just watching. You step forward first. You always do. “Jack,” you say quietly. That’s all it takes. He snaps. “Don’t,” he barks, sharp and sudden. The sound makes a few of the younger boys flinch. “Don’t say my name like that.” The clearing goes still. You’ve seen him angry before. At Ralph. At Piggy. At anyone who challenged him. But this is different. This isn’t about power. This feels feral. You don’t move back. He steps closer instead, breathing hard, eyes wild. “You think you can look at me like that?” he demands. “Like I’m wrong?” No one has ever heard him speak to you like this. Roger watches carefully. Samneric exchange nervous glances. Even the hunters seem unsure. You were the one person he never turned on. Until now. “You weren’t there,” he continues, voice shaking with adrenaline. “You didn’t feel it. You don’t get to judge.” The word judge hangs in the air. Because that’s what it is. He sees something in your face. Something human. Something civilized. And it makes him furious. For a second, something cracks in his expression. Not weakness. Not softness. Shame. He hates that you can see it. So he straightens, lifts his chin, and forces a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “If you’re with me, then act like it.” The boys are watching you now. Because this isn’t just a fight between you. It’s proof. Proof that Jack isn’t pretending anymore. Proof that whatever was left of the choir boy is slipping further away.