The walk home from Hawthorn High was a quiet one. Victor kept his gaze fixed on the uneven pavement, his thoughts wandering as he wove through the familiar streets. He carried the weight of the day in his shoulders, the buzz of the school still echoing faintly in his ears—the laughter of students, the click of lockers, the fragments of conversations that had swirled around him like distant static.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been the new kid, but it didn’t make it any easier. Meeting Rhea and Nate had been a welcome reprieve, yet their easy camaraderie had only highlighted how detached he felt. They had their quirks, their laughter, their banter. And he? He had nothing. Just a name that felt too big to carry and a past he couldn’t leave behind.

The Campbell house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, its peeling paint and sagging fence a stark contrast to the well-kept homes around it. The curtains in the living room window hung unevenly, one side bunched up as if tugged in a hurry. Victor hesitated on the cracked sidewalk, staring at the place that should’ve been a sanctuary but had long since stopped feeling like one.

With a slow breath, he climbed the steps and pushed the door open.

Inside, the house was still, the kind of stillness that comes not from peace but neglect. The air carried a faint, stale smell, and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was the only sound. Victor’s sneakers squeaked softly against the warped floorboards as he closed the door behind him, his movements careful, practiced. His eyes darted toward the living room, where the old recliner stood like a throne of defeat.

There, slouched and half-asleep, was his father.

Colonel Daniel Campbell had once been a man of unyielding discipline and pride, his uniform pressed and boots polished to a mirror shine. Now, his uniform had been traded for a stained undershirt and wrinkled sweatpants, and the only gleam in his eyes came from the bottle of whiskey resting on the side table.

Victor froze in the entryway, unsure if he’d been noticed. His father stirred, his bleary gaze flickering toward him. For a moment, recognition fought through the fog.

“You’re late,” Daniel muttered, his voice rough and slurred. “School run long?”

Victor didn’t answer. It wasn’t a question that required one. He shrugged his bag off his shoulder, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud.

Daniel straightened slightly, his movements sluggish. “Your mother wouldn’t’ve liked you coming home late. She—she hated lateness.”

The mention of her name was like a slap, even when unspoken. Victor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. He never did. The ghost of her presence haunted these walls more than his father ever could.

“You’re just like her, you know,” Daniel continued, his words tumbling together. “Always in your head. Always... thinking you’re better.”

Victor clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he turned away and headed for the stairs. He had nothing to say to a man who had buried his grief at the bottom of a bottle and left his son to carry what was left of their family.

“Don’t turn your back on me, boy!” Daniel barked, the sudden force in his voice making Victor stop. “I’m still your father!”

Victor didn’t look back. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for his father to hear.

Behind him, the recliner creaked as Daniel shifted, but no more words followed. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as Victor ascended the stairs.

His room was small, its walls bare except for a single framed photo on the nightstand. It was from years ago, when the Campbells had been a family. His mother’s smile was bright, her arms wrapped tightly around a much younger Victor. His father stood beside her, straight-backed and serious, but his eyes held a warmth that Victor barely remembered.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the photo as the evening sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting slanted shadows across the room. The weight in his chest grew heavier, pressing against his ribs like an iron cage. He thought of Hawthorn High, of Rhea’s easy confidence and Nate’s effortless charm, and he felt the chasm between himself and the rest of the world widen.

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Pulling his bag onto the bed, Victor rifled through its contents, his hands shaking slightly. He took out his notebook, flipping through the neatly written pages of equations and notes, the corners dog-eared from use. The words blurred as his mind wandered, replaying the day in fragments—the way the students had stared, the questions about his family, the lie about his Affinity that had tumbled from his lips without thought.

The truth weighed heavy on him. In a world defined by Etherion, he was an anomaly, a failure of nature. Born without an Affinity, without the spark that made everyone else extraordinary. He was a genius, sure, but genius meant nothing when you lacked the power to make a difference.

Victor’s stomach growled, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to go back downstairs, didn’t want to face the emptiness that had swallowed his father whole. Instead, he buried his face in his hands, the ache in his chest spreading as the memories of his mother’s voice and the warmth of her hugs surfaced unbidden.

The night stretched on, and Victor didn’t leave his room. When sleep finally came, it was fitful and restless, haunted by fragmented dreams of a past he couldn’t return to and a future he couldn’t see.

The next morning arrived sluggishly, the sunlight creeping through Victor’s blinds with an almost apologetic warmth. He groaned, dragging himself upright as the weight of the previous day settled onto his shoulders like an old, unwelcome coat. The air in his room was heavy with the faint smell of dust and the distant waft of coffee brewing downstairs.

Victor hesitated, sitting on the edge of his bed, his fingers tracing the frayed edges of his blanket. He wasn’t eager to leave the room, to face the inevitable tension waiting for him downstairs. Yet, the low rumble of his stomach reminded him that skipping breakfast would do little to help his already thinning patience.

The kitchen was quiet when he entered, save for the soft hiss of the coffee maker. His father was at the table, hunched over a mug like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. Daniel didn’t look up as Victor poured himself a bowl of cereal, the clink of the spoon against the bowl the only sound between them.

Victor ate quickly, avoiding the awkward silence that hung like a dense fog. He felt his father’s gaze flicker toward him once or twice but refused to meet it, focusing instead on the muted rhythm of his spoon against the ceramic.

“School today?” Daniel finally said, his voice gruff and hoarse from what Victor guessed was a night spent drowning in whiskey.

Victor nodded. “Every day.”

His father grunted, taking a slow sip from his mug. “Stay out of trouble.”

The words were so hollow, so routine, that they barely registered. Victor finished his cereal and rinsed the bowl in the sink before grabbing his bag and heading for the door.

Outside, the cool morning air was a welcome change from the stifling tension inside the house. The quiet streets of the cul-de-sac felt oddly serene, the soft rustle of leaves and distant hum of a passing car the only interruptions to the calm.

Victor made his way toward school with brisk, purposeful steps, his mind already wandering to the day ahead. He thought about Rhea and Nate, their laughter and easy banter. Would they greet him the same way today? Or would the novelty of the new kid wear off, leaving him adrift once more?

As he approached the school gates, he spotted them near the entrance—Rhea leaning against the wall, scribbling furiously into a small notebook, and Nate effortlessly holding court with a small group of giggling girls. The sight made Victor pause, a small pang of envy and admiration stirring in his chest.

“Victor!” Nate’s voice cut through the air, and he waved enthusiastically, his grin as wide as ever. He said something to the girls that made them laugh before jogging over to meet Victor. Rhea glanced up from her notebook, tucking it away as she pushed off the wall and joined them.

“Morning,” Rhea said, her tone casual but friendly. She tilted her head, studying him briefly. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Victor shrugged. “Rough night.”

Nate clapped him on the back, his energy annoyingly infectious. “Well, you’re here now, and that’s what matters. Come on, let’s get to class before Ms. Bennet has a meltdown.”

Victor followed them inside, their chatter filling the air around him. Despite himself, he found it oddly comforting, a welcome distraction from the weight he carried.

The classroom was already buzzing when they entered, students milling about and chatting before the first bell. Victor took his usual seat near the window, Rhea sliding into the desk beside him while Nate claimed a spot toward the back, immediately striking up a conversation with the nearest group of girls.

As the lesson began, Victor let the steady rhythm of the teacher’s voice wash over him, the equations and diagrams on the board providing a temporary escape. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to focus, his thoughts kept drifting—to his father’s distant gaze, his mother’s absence, and the unspoken weight of his own secret.

He didn’t belong here, not really. Not in a world where Affinities defined everything, from strength to purpose. He was an anomaly, a flaw in the system, and no amount of genius could change that.

But as he glanced at Rhea, who was furiously taking notes, and Nate, who was doodling absentmindedly in his notebook, Victor felt a flicker of something unexpected. Maybe he didn’t need to belong. Maybe, for now, just being here was enough.