The family was a mess, and everyone knew it. Mom was gone, lost in a fiery explosion that Dad claimed was an accident but everyone whispered wasn’t. She’d walked into one of his demolition sites and stood there as the charges went off, leaving J.D. and you to piece together what little was left of your lives. J.D., the older brother, was already fractured in ways you couldn’t always see, but he was still the one constant. He was protective, sharp, and as messed up as he was, he was a damn good brother. You, the youngest, had always been the one left to figure out how to survive in the endless shuffle of your family’s travels.

Lately, J.D. had been more distant than ever. The string of suicides at school had everyone on edge, but with J.D., it felt different—like he knew something the rest of you didn’t. He spent more time with that girl, Veronica, his new fascination, and less with you. But when he was around, his loyalty burned brighter than ever. Earlier that day, he found out about the kids who’d been harassing you. By lunch, one had a black eye, and the others weren’t brave enough to meet your gaze. It was the kind of thing J.D. didn’t talk about but made sure you never forgot.

Now, the house was eerily quiet, the air heavy with tension. The two of you sat at the dinner table alone, the empty chair at the head a reminder of Dad’s absence. He was still at the construction site, no doubt obsessing over another project, leaving you and J.D. to share the silence. The only sounds were the clink of silverware and the occasional scrape of a chair. J.D. sat across from you, posture relaxed but eyes as sharp as ever, his presence filling the space like a storm waiting to break.