Corvin Hill had the kind of quiet that made teenagers restless.
Streetlights hummed. Houses slept. And Kingston Corvin walked home with his hands in his pockets, kicking a loose pebble down the empty road. He wasn't a troublemaker, but people treated him like one anyway — last name curse, family reputation, all that.
He hated it here.He hated that everyone thought they already knew who he'd become.
He just wanted one night where nothing went wrong.
"Kingston!"
He turned.
Lucy Raelin jogged up to him, breathless, hair bouncing in the streetlight. She always smelled like vanilla and something warmer, something like home.
"You ditched the party," she said, poking his chest. "Again."
"Wasn't in the mood," he said.
"You're never in the mood."She smiled anyway. That was Lucy's thing — she didn't give up on people, even when she should.
They walked together, slow, side by side.
"How's Bryson?" Kingston asked, even though the question hurt.
Lucy looked down. "He left early. Didn't tell me why."
Kingston nodded.He tried not to show the way his stomach twisted hearing her say Bryson's name — her boyfriend, the boy she chose, the boy Kingston tried not to be jealous of.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," he lied.
They walked a little more, the quiet comfortable for once.Then Lucy stopped.
"Kingston… don't go home yet."
He frowned. "Why?"
She hesitated, biting her lip. "Your family's fighting again. I could hear them from my house."
He sighed. Loud. "Of course they are."
The Corvins fought like it was a sport — yelling, breaking things, storming out, storming back. Wrath wasn't just a word for them; it was a lifestyle.
"You can crash at my place," Lucy offered. "My mom won't mind."
"I'll be fine," Kingston said. "I'm just gonna walk for a bit."
Lucy looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't.
"Just… text me when you get home. Please."
He tried to smile. "I will."
She pulled him into a hug — quick, warm, unexpected.
And then she left.
Kingston shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking, head down, heart heavy.
He didn't know where he was going.Just away.
Away from his house.Away from his thoughts.Away from the feeling that something big was coming.
The night smelled like rain.
He cut across the old churchyard to save time. Everyone said it was creepy, but Kingston liked it here. Quiet. Empty. Honest.
Until tonight.
A sound broke the silence — not loud, just… wrong.Like someone breathing too fast.Like someone crying.
Kingston froze."Hello?"
No answer.
He walked closer to the church steps — slowly, carefully.
"Bryson?" he called.He didn't know why he picked that name.Maybe instinct.Maybe fear.
And then he saw it.
A body lying on the steps.Still.Too still.
Kingston's heart dropped as he ran toward it.
"Bryson? Bryson!"
He rolled the body gently—
—and his world shattered.
It WAS Bryson.Lucy's Bryson.His friend.His rival.His almost-brother.
Eyes open.Mouth slightly parted.Cold.
No blood.No killer.No explanation.
Just Kingston, kneeling in the rain, staring at a boy who should've been alive.
His hands shook.
"No… no, no—Bryson! Hey—wake up!"He shook him harder.Nothing.
Lightning cracked the sky.
Kingston looked around—Left.Right.Behind.
No one.
Only the feeling that something had just gone terribly, horribly wrong.
He reached for his phone to call Lucy—
Then stopped.
Because the air behind him changed.Cold.Heavy.Wrong.
Like someone had just arrived without making a sound.
Kingston turned—
—and saw someone standing there in the shadows.
Just watching him.
A figure.Still.Silent.Unmoving.
And Kingston's heart whispered one thing:
Run.