Tick.
The steady rhythm of a clock echoed through the small gray room. A black, one-way mirror stared from the far wall, unblinking. In the center sat a metal table, two chairs, one occupied by a young boy.
He was filthy. Dirt clung to his skin; grime embedded in his fingernails. His clothes hung awkwardly, too tight in some places, too loose in others, stretched by sudden, uneven growth.
Across from him, a large man in a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, leaned forward. His mouth moved rapidly, irritation etched across his face, but the words were muted, distant, underwatered.
Tick.
A black silhouette stepped through a doorway. She moved with authority, presence unmistakable. On the floor, a boy played quietly, too young to know what was coming, but she watched, protective.
Tock.
An older white woman, late fifties, struck another woman repeatedly. The younger had tried to sell a baby to a man. The older woman's fists were a combination of fury and justice. Then she scooped up the infant, carrying him home, arms wrapped tight, sealing a promise: You will be safe.
Tick.
A man's shadow passed through an apartment. Aiden watched as he walked toward the bathroom. The air was heavy, and every step he took made the room feel smaller, darker.
Tock.
A head slammed against tiles. Blood spread across the bathroom floor, pooling around a figure whose eyes were glazed, distant, a hint of high or despair marking the moment. Young Aiden, powerless, absorbed it all, heart hammering, chest tight.
BANG.
The present hit him again. A hand slammed onto the table. The boy flinched.
Tick.
The small gray room was silent except for the steady rhythm of the wall clock. Tick. Tock. A metal table sat in the center, flanked by two chairs, one occupied by a young boy, filthy and trembling.
Dirt clung to his skin; grime lodged under his nails. His clothes hung oddly, too tight in places, too loose in others, stretched by rapid, uneven growth.
Across from him, a large man in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, leaned on the table. His jaw was tight, irritation cutting deep into his features. "Where are your parents, kid? What's your address? Anyone we can call?" he barked. His voice was sharp, his Chicago accent thick, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.
The boy didn't answer. He stared at the ticking clock, eyes wide but vacant, hands fidgeting in his lap.
The officer's frustration grew with each passing second. He muttered under his breath. "Jesus… if he doesn't start talking, we're just sending him to the boys' home and be done with it."
Before he could reach a boiling point, another officer entered, the sound of heels against linoleum sharp in the room. She was a woman, middle-aged, professional, clipboard in hand.
"What's going on here?" she asked, scanning the boy.
"He won't talk. We've been at this for twenty minutes, and I'm about ready to toss him to the boys' home," the man snapped, voice tight with annoyance.
The female officer sighed, stepping closer to the table. "Maybe he's scared. Or maybe you're scaring him more than you realize."
He threw his hands in the air. "Scared? He's a kid, sure. But we're just trying to do our job. I've got better things to do than babysit a mute street rat."
The boy shifted in his seat, small trembles running through him, but still no words came.
Tick.
Suddenly, the door burst open. A small, older woman hurried in, handbag clutched tight. Her eyes were sharp and commanding, yet soft beneath the steel.
"I'm Mrs. Palpanini," she announced firmly. "Aiden Wells' legal guardian. And I've come for him."
The male officer groaned, irritation overtaking him. "Great. Just what we need. Another adult spouting useless cop rules."
"And who are you to barge in here?" he muttered under his breath.
Mrs. Palpanini ignored him. She knelt beside Aiden, brushing his dirt-streaked hair from his face. "Mon petit… are you hurt? Are you alright?"
The boy couldn't respond. His body shook. Then, finally, the dam broke. Tears streamed down his face, sobs catching in his throat. He buried his face against her chest, wracked by months of fear, neglect, and unresolved trauma.
The female officer stepped back quietly, clipboard lowered, realizing she couldn't interfere with this display of care.
The male officer exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "Well… looks like our job's done here, huh?"
Mrs. Palpanini tightened her embrace around the boy, murmuring softly. "Shh… it's alright. You're safe now. You're safe."
Aiden's cries echoed in the small room, trembling and raw, but for the first time in a long time, he felt someone was there to hold him, someone who would not let him go.
Tick. Tock.
The clock continued its relentless rhythm. Each second marked the persistence of time, of memory, of protection.
And as the sobs gradually slowed, a quiet settled in—the calm after a storm, the first hint of safety threading into Aiden's frayed world.
The next moment.
The classroom came alive again. The gray walls, the low hum of students, the ticking clock. Each tick drew him back to memories of ice, blood, violence. And just behind those memories, a presence stirred, the dark entity, patient, observing, feeding off fear and trauma.
The bell rang, and Aiden gathered his stuff, heading out the door. But right before he walked out.
Jessica bounced in front of him, bright and insistent. "There's a party this weekend. In the woods. Eric's DJing. Tents, music, dancing, fun stuff."
Aiden's skepticism flared. "A Black guy like me doesn't go into the woods at night. That's how people get killed in movies. And I don't know you all that well."
Angela stepped beside him, calm, steady. "We'll have lights, a couple of bonfires. It'll be safe. We'll watch out for each other."
Jessica leaned closer. "And some party favors. Nothing crazy, just fun."
Aiden crossed his arms, eyes scanning, senses alert. The tick of the clock in his memory merged with the present. Each second echoed the ice water, the blood, the helplessness—the dark entity watching, learning, waiting.
"I… I'll think about it," he said finally, voice tight, measured.
Angela squeezed his arm. "That's all anyone asks."
Angela and Jessica walked away, their laughter light, casual, carrying on as if the world hadn't been grinding him down for years, as if life hadn't left him bruised and raw. Their steps echoed down the hall, carefree, unburdened.
But Aiden was not light. He was burning, tangled in the weight of realization, caught in the gravity of his own history.
They didn't have these problems. They had never had to wonder where the next meal would come from, never had to sleep under the open sky, cold and aching, or hide in alleys when danger prowled too close. They had never known hunger as a constant companion, or fear as a shadow stretching long across every waking moment.
They had always had love. Care. Stability. Warmth that wrapped around them naturally, effortlessly. Aiden had none of that. He had scraped together life from fragments, from scraps tossed aside, fighting for moments of comfort that rarely lasted.
And yet here they were, smiling, joking, offering him a glimpse of normalcy he had never been allowed to touch, and he was supposed to step into it?
His chest tightened. His hands curled into fists. The weight of everything he had endured pressed down, a heaviness that no casual gesture of friendship could reach, no reassurance could lighten. He wanted it, wanted the laughter, the music, the fires, but he was also painfully aware that he was not like them. He would always carry the darkness, the hunger, the ghost of every injustice he had suffered.
And somewhere, deep in the shadows of his mind, the entity watched. It sensed his pain, his anger, the smoldering ache of isolation. It waited, patient, ready to feed on the fear and grief that no one else could see.
Aiden took a slow breath, exhaling against the tightness in his chest. He followed, steps careful, eyes forward, but his mind was elsewhere, wandering the memory-laden corridors of his past, the ice, the blood, the screaming, the silent promises of protection he had clung to.
He was burning. And the world, just as it always had, would keep on walking by.