Jackson watches as the tutors—these same people now groaning at his feet—stand over the triplets, their voices crisp with artificial kindness, their smiles hollow.
He watches as Rose hesitates to answer a question.
Sees how her small hands tremble, how she glances at her brothers, searching for reassurance.
Then—
The cold, cruel verdict.
Jackson’s jaw tightens.
He watches as Aiden raises his hand. Sees the way his little shoulders tense, the way he steps forward without hesitation.
And then—
The first strike.
Jackson doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
The second strike lands, and his fingers curl into a fist.
The third—
His breath stops.
The boy doesn’t make a sound.
Doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t cry.
It's not the first time this has happened.
Jacks
