Every step was a negotiation with his own body.
Phei walked out of AP Literature, bag slung over one shoulder, trying not to wince visibly with each movement.
His thighs burned from the squats, a deep, grinding ache that radiated up into his hips.
His core felt like someone had taken a cricket bat to his midsection and swung for the fences. His arms—Christ, his arms were the worst—hung at his sides like dead weight, the triceps and shoulders screaming their displeasure at being forced to do fifty push-ups when they'd never done more than ten in their entire miserable existence.
But underneath the pain, something else hummed.
The memory of Brett's face. That flicker of uncertainty. Anderson and Kyle moving before their brains caught up with their bodies. The whispers that had followed him into first period—his voice though, when did he get hot, those eyes—still echoing in his skull like a song he couldn't shake.
First blood.
He'd drawn first blood this morning, and the whole school had seen it.
Which meant retaliation was coming. He knew that. Had known it the moment Brett stepped aside instead of shoving him into the lockers. Pride like Brett's didn't take wounds quietly. It festered. It plotted. It struck back.
The question was when.
Phei turned down the hallway toward his locker, weaving through the between-class chaos—students rushing to their next period, conversations shouting over each other, the general entropy of teenagers in motion.
And the girls. Still looking. Still glancing his way with those quick, evaluating looks that said who is that instead of who cares.
A brunette in a skirt hemmed dangerously short caught his eye as he passed, held it for a beat, then looked away with a small smile playing at her lips. A blonde walking the opposite direction let her gaze linger on his face, his shoulders, before her friend tugged her arm and whispered something that made them both giggle.
Charisma 75. Dominance Aura pulsing outward. The new uniform that actually fit.
He wasn't invisible anymore. The morning had proven that.
But being visible came with costs.
Phei rounded the corner toward his locker—
And stopped.
Brett. Anderson. Kyle.
The holy trinity, standing right where they'd been this morning. Same spot. Same formation. Same locker they'd been blocking four hours ago.
Except this time, they weren't alone in spirit.
Phei's eyes caught movement further down the hall. A figure leaning against the wall near the water fountains, arms crossed, watching the scene with the casual interest of someone attending a show they'd already seen rehearsed.
Danton.
His step-brother. His tormentor-in-chief. The golden boy of the Maxton household, here at school where he usually pretended Phei didn't exist because acknowledging the charity case publicly was beneath him.
But he wasn't pretending now. He was watching. And when his eyes met Phei's across the crowded hallway, his lips curved into a smile that said enjoy the show, cousin.
He'd orchestrated this. Had to have. Brett was his mate—they ran in the same circles, went to the same parties, shared the same contempt for anyone below their station. This morning's humiliation had probably reached Danton's ears within the hour, maybe within minutes. And Danton, being Danton, couldn't let something like that stand unchallenged.
Phei felt the shift in the air. The hallway noise dimmed around the edges, like the world had decided to pay attention. Students slowed, sensing the tension the way animals sense a storm. Phones were already out, angled discreetly.
"There he is!" Brett's voice rang out, loud enough to draw attention from half the hallway. "The man of the hour. How was first period, Maxton? Learn anything useful? Like how to keep your fucking mouth shut?"
Students were slowing down. Stopping. The between-class crowd sensing drama the way predators sensed weakness. Phones appearing in hands. This was going to be recorded, whatever it was.
Phei kept walking. Steady pace. No hesitation. He could feel his Dominance Aura pulsing outward, that invisible pressure filling the space around him.
"I need my books for second period," he said, voice level, letting the Charm Speech do its work. Smooth. Unhurried. Like he wasn't walking into an obvious trap. "You're blocking my locker. Again."
A girl nearby—dark hair, pretty face, shirt unbuttoned one too many—turned at the sound of his voice. Her expression shifted from bored curiosity to something more focused. More interested.
"Yeah, about that." Brett's smile was all teeth, no warmth. "We left you something. A little welcome-back gift. Since you've been so confident today."
Anderson snickered. Kyle had his phone angled for the perfect shot.
Phei glanced down the hall at Danton. His step-brother raised an eyebrow, that smile widening slightly. Go on. Open it.
He knew what was coming. Could smell it, actually—faint but present, something rotten lurking behind the metal door.
But backing down now would undo everything from this morning. Would prove to everyone watching—and there were a lot of people watching now—that his earlier defiance had been a fluke. A one-time malfunction in the natural order.
Phei stepped past Brett, close enough to feel the heat coming off him, and reached for his locker.
The combination clicked. The door swung open.
The smell hit him like a physical force.
Garbage. Actual garbage. A plastic bag stuffed into his locker, now split open and spilling its contents across his books, his folders, everything he'd stored there. Food scraps brown with rot. Coffee grounds. What looked like the remains of several lunches left to fester over the weekend. Something wet and unidentifiable that might have been banana at some point in its miserable existence.
The stench was overwhelming. Students nearby recoiled, covering their noses, making sounds of disgust. Someone gagged audibly.
"Oh my God, what is that?"
"That's fucking rank—"
"Did someone die in there?"
Laughter erupted behind him. Brett's voice, loud and triumphant: "Looks like someone left you a present, Maxton! Thought you might be hungry. Heard charity cases eat whatever they can get."
More laughter. The crowd was growing, drawn by the commotion, phones definitely recording now. This was going to be all over social media within the hour.
Phei stared at the mess pooling in his locker, dripping down onto his new books, soaking into the bag Melissa had bought him. Rotting food smeared across everything. The smell so thick he could taste it.
He could see it playing out in his head—the old version of this. The version where he'd stammer and apologize and clean it up while everyone laughed. Where he'd take the humiliation quietly because fighting back only made things worse.
Where he'd be the joke, the punchline, the reminder to everyone watching that some people existed to be stepped on.
That version of him was dead.
Phei turned around slowly.
Brett was grinning, flanked by Anderson and Kyle, basking in the attention. Down the hall, Danton had pushed off from the wall, moving slightly closer, wanting a better view of the charity case's breakdown.
The crowd had formed a loose circle around them. Thirty students, maybe more. All watching. All waiting to see what the weird kid with the purple eyes would do.
The charity case making his friends look weak? Making them back down in public? That reflected on Danton by association. That disrupted the natural order of things.
So he'd arranged a response. Quick. Efficient. The holy trinity as the delivery system, Danton as the architect watching from a safe distance where he could deny involvement if needed.
Plausible deniability. The Maxton specialty.
Brett Castellano stood there—tall, athletic, with the kind of face that got away with everything because it was handsome enough for people to make excuses. Flanked by Anderson Park and two other guys whose names Phei had never bothered to learn.
Mrs. Adriana's son. The hot rude neighbor's precious boy.
"What's the matter?" Brett's grin was all teeth, no warmth. "Not happy with your care package? We thought you might be hungry. Heard charity cases eat whatever they can get."
More laughter. A crowd was forming now, drawn by the commotion, phones already appearing in hands.
Phei looked at Brett. Looked at the garbage at his feet. Looked at the gathering audience waiting to see him humiliate himself.