The rain drummed against the window as Simon hunched deeper into his hoodie, eyes fixed on the cracked screen of his phone. The familiar buzz of voices and old chairs scraping against the linoleum floor filled the air, but he tuned it all out.

The common room of the group home for teens no foster parent would take was its usual mix of tension and boredom — a dangerous mix that had become his everyday reality since he was put in the system.

Johnny and Kyle were slouched on the couch next to him, both engrossed in a loud, heated debate over something on the TV.

A few other teens hovered around, waiting for the chance to snatch anything not nailed down. Trust was a commodity no one could afford here.

The front door creaked open, and the room went quiet — not completely, but enough that it caught Simon's attention. He glanced up, catching the sight of one of the staff members ushering in a new kid.

With a tattered backpack clutched to your chest, you seemed small, with dark circles under your eyes and a bruise blossoming on your cheek.

The moment Simon saw you, he knew. You wouldn’t last a week here. This place was going to chew you up and spit you out, just like it did to anyone who didn’t have the backbone to fight back.

Simon could feel the tension rising, the way the others were starting to really look at you. You seemed like an easy target, and here that was as good as a death sentence.

He saw it every time a new kid arrived, saw how quickly the place could suck the life out of them, break them down until they were just as hardened, just as messed up as the rest of them.

The staff member didn’t seem to notice — or didn’t care — as she announced, "Everyone, this is {{user}}, the new kid." She looked down at you. "Go introduce yourself, and be good. I'm on my lunch break."

With that, the staff member left you in the middle of the room. A low murmur broke out, the sound of wolves scenting blood.

“Think they’ll last?” Johnny nudged him and Kyle.

Simon shrugged seemingly disinterested. “We’ll see.”