Several years had passed. Thomas was fifteen now.
He had always tried to avoid trouble. Quiet streets, quiet footsteps, keeping his head down. But trouble had a way of finding him anyway. And in the last few years, the whispers had grown. People called him a villain. Not because he sought fights, but because they didn't understand him.
That afternoon, he walked home from school. His bag slung over one shoulder, eyes scanning the streets—not suspicious, just aware. He preferred routes that avoided crowds, corners that let him see everything at once.
A couple of stray dogs barked at a delivery cart. Two younger children ran past, nearly colliding. Thomas sidestepped both with a small shrug, thinking silently: People are clumsy.
And then he noticed them.
Two figures trailing behind him, keeping their distance but following steadily. Their movements were careful, but deliberate. Thomas observed calmly. He didn't panic. He didn't rush. He simply noted their size, pace, and the way one of them glanced at him when they thought he wasn't looking.
He turned a corner. Quick thinking and careful steps allowed him to slip into a narrow alley unnoticed. When he emerged on the other side, the two followers were gone—or at least, he couldn't see them.
He exhaled slightly, the tension leaving him, when a sudden crash startled him. A small cart carrying fruit had tipped over in the street, spilling apples and oranges everywhere.
People screamed, some tripped, and a young boy froze in the middle of the chaos. Without thinking, Thomas stepped forward. He guided the child out of the way, grabbed the larger pieces of the cart, and held them steady until the owner could recover.
It should have been simple. Helpful. Quiet.
It did not go that way.
By the time the police arrived, the witnesses were frantic. People pointed at Thomas. They shouted that he had knocked over the cart on purpose, that he had shoved the boy. The truth meant nothing.
Thomas stood silently, hands in his pockets. Calm. Collected. Watching as people argued, waving their arms, blaming him.
"Did you see what he did?" someone yelled. "He started it!"
"No!" another shouted. "He shoved the cart!"
Thomas said nothing. He never did.
By the time he walked the rest of the way home, the whispers had multiplied. The story had already changed. He was no longer just the quiet boy who defended himself and others. He was now something else: a villain in the eyes of everyone who had seen him that day.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Thomas noted quietly that this was only the beginning.
That evening, Thomas sat on the edge of his bed, finishing his homework quietly.
He suddenly heard a knock which came from the entrance door.
He stood up and walked out of his room and down the stairs. Before he could answer, the door opened and their neighbor stepped in, looking concerned. Gerald, his adoptive father was reading a newspaper while his adoptive mother, Marlene, was in the kitchen.
"I'm sorry to bother you," she said, glancing at Gerald and Marlene, "Something happened this afternoon. Thomas… he was involved in a scene near the deputy's house. The police were called."
Thomas' parents froze.
"Excuse me?" Gerald asked sharply. His eyebrows drew together.
"The boy… the cart, the other children," the neighbor continued, "it looked bad. I realized he was trying to help, but no one saw this. They thought he was the aggressor."
Marlene's lips pressed together, the couple didn't listen to the other half of the neighbor's words.
After the neighbor had went away. Marlene turned to Thomas who was still standing by the stairs."I can't believe this. Again, Thomas?" she said, her voice tight.
Gerald shook his head. "That's enough. Come here."
Thomas came down silently and walked into the living room. Marlene stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes cold.
"You're grounded for the rest of the week," Gerald said, voice low but sharp. "No dinner privileges. No going out. Think about what you did."
Marlene added, "I don't want excuses. We've heard enough. You should know better than to get yourself in situations like this."
Thomas stayed quiet, his face calm. He did not argue. He did not explain.
He had acted to protect others. He had tried to stay calm.
And yet, the adults who were supposed to care had already decided he was wrong.
He returned to his room, closing the door behind him. Leaning against it, he exhaled quietly.
Fairness was not something to expect. Not here. Not anywhere.
Thomas sat on his bed and looked out the window. He didn't feel angry. He didn't feel sad. He only felt the quiet certainty that the world would judge him first and understand him never.
The morning sun sparkled on the waves. A teenage girl laughed as she ran along the shore, her sandals kicking up tiny sprays of water.The salty breeze tangled her hair, and the mountains behind them stood calm and green.
Her parents, Helen and Marcus, walked behind her, holding hands and teasing each other. "Liora, you'll trip if you run like that," Helen said, smiling.
"I'm careful!" Liora shouted, spinning to face them, arms outstretched.
Her father laughed. "Careful? You call that careful?"
She giggled, running toward a small cliff overlooking the beach. She stood at the edge, marveling at the sparkling waves below.
Then something happened.
A loose rock—shifted beneath her feet. She slipped.
Time slowed. She flailed for a moment, heart racing, and her parents screamed.
"Liora!"
"Moom!!! Dad!!!"
But before she could fall further, something—fast and unseen—grabbed her gently and lifted her back onto solid ground.
She gasped, blinking, as she looked around. No one was there. Nothing seemed to explain how she was safe.
Her parents rushed forward, panic in their eyes. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
Liora's chest heaved. "I… I'm fine. I don't know what happened!"
Her mother hugged her tightly. "We almost lost you!"
Her father looked around, unsettled. "We should be more careful…"
Liora nodded, but a strange calm had settled over her. She didn't feel fear anymore, not fully—not like she should have.
Somewhere, unseen, a shadow watched from the trees above, calm and silent, ensured she remained safe. Only the faintest hint of movement betrayed their presence.
Liora turned back to the shore, brushing sand from her hair. She smiled, not fully understanding why she felt strangely protected, as if something had saved her without her asking.
The day went on. The laughter returned. The teasing from her parents, the sunlight, the waves—all of it.
Nothing seemed wrong...