Torture can leave a man speechless, and rationality becomes a foreign concept—a fairytale to the naive, and a blessing to the tormented. It was this truth that slipped past most people’s notice, lost in the noise of their own assumptions.

In the crowded hallway of Hemlock Academy, Benjamin Brynn moved like a shadow in broad daylight. To his peers, he’d long since crossed the line between confidence and arrogance—his shoulders squared too tight, his gaze too sharp when it met theirs.

Young male minds, they’d whisper, are so fragile, so easily warped. And his silence? To them, it was not a weight to carry, but a slap in the face—a lack of respect for the world that demanded he speak.

He was hurrying to his next class when his elbow caught someone’s arm. Books tumbled from his grasp, scattering across the linoleum like fallen leaves.

“S-sorry..” he mumbled, the words barely audible over the chatter of passing students. He squatted down to gather them, messy black hair falling forward to shield his features, as if even the light was too much to bear.

The person he’d bumped into—You, from his history class—paused, watching him fumble with a worn copy of 'Crime and Punishment.'