Morning at school had a different texture.
It wasn't the day itself — the Bronx sun was still spilling through the gates, students were still huddled in chatter — but Rey felt the rhythm was off somehow.
The first thing he noticed was the group by the lockers. A cluster of basketball team members leaning against the metal doors, talking in low voices, glancing toward him. Not the usual curious kind of look — the heavier kind, as if a name had just been spoken and now the owner of it had arrived.
Michael fell into step beside him. "You hear about last night?"
Rey kept walking. "What now?"
"Somebody smashed up a car outside Thompson's Deli. Word is, it wasn't kids messing around — whoever did it broke the steering column with their bare hands." Michael lowered his voice. "People saying it's connected to the guy who got jumped at the park."
Rey raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly would they know that?"
Michael shrugged. "You know how rumors are. They don't need facts — just a little wind to push 'em."
---
In history class, the day slipped into its usual rhythm. Mr. Clark droned on about post-war politics while Carlos doodled superheroes in the margins of his notes. Rey leaned back in his seat, only half listening — until his gaze drifted across the room to Aaliyah.
She was leaning over her notebook, one elbow on the desk, pen moving quickly across the page. The sunlight from the window caught strands of her hair, giving them a warm glow. She must have felt his eyes because she looked up, meeting his gaze for half a second before smirking and looking back down.
The corner of Rey's mouth twitched upward without him meaning it to.
---
By lunch, the tension from the morning seemed to have faded. Rey, Michael, and Carlos grabbed their usual table. Midway through eating, Aaliyah walked over with her tray.
"This seat taken?" she asked.
Carlos, without hesitation, slid his tray aside. "It is now."
She sat, offering a small smile to Rey before tucking into her food. Conversation drifted easily — track meets, the upcoming Spring Bash, the brutal chemistry test next week. But under the casual chatter, there was something unspoken in the way her attention kept returning to him.
"You should come to the Bash," she said at one point, eyes locked on his. "Could use someone to save me from all the weirdos who think slow dancing is a sport."
Michael grinned like he'd just scored in overtime. Carlos mouthed something like oh, it's on before pretending to focus on his burger.
---
The final bell came too soon.
Rey stayed after briefly to grab a book from his locker. The hall was quieter now, the echo of his footsteps louder than usual.
When he closed his locker door, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor.
He bent down, picked it up, and unfolded it.
You're stronger than you think.
But that makes you dangerous.
Keep out of the wrong fight.
There was no signature. Just blocky handwriting in black marker.
Rey read it twice before slipping it into his pocket.
---
On the way home, he decided to skip the main street and cut through the back alley that ran behind the shops. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the graffiti-tagged walls. Somewhere in the distance, a delivery truck beeped as it reversed.
Halfway through, he felt it — the same prickle at the base of his neck from the park.
Footsteps.
They were soft, deliberate, a few beats behind his own.
Rey kept walking, posture loose but senses sharp.
At the alley's bend, he glanced casually at a shop window's reflection.
A figure was there — hood up, face lowered, hands in pockets. Too far back to see details, but close enough to know they weren't just passing by.
Rey slowed at the exit of the alley, letting his shadow stretch ahead of him on the sidewalk. He turned suddenly — but the figure had vanished.
The street beyond was normal. A bus rolled past, a woman dragged groceries into her apartment building, and somewhere a kid was bouncing a basketball.
Still, Rey stood there for a moment longer before walking on.
---
That evening, as he sat in his room, his phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
Don't ignore this, Chen.
You're being watched.