17-Caden tenses beneath me.
And then—
I’m not in the room anymore.
⸻
I’m in the backseat of a rusted car, bouncing over potholes on a road made of dirt and broken promises.
He’s thirteen.
Too old to be picked up from school, apparently. His dad grumbles at the wheel, venom thick in his voice.
“You’re not a prince, Caden. Walking home won’t kill you. Spoiled little brat.”
Caden stares out the window. Says nothing. He’s learned by now: silence is safer.
The heat presses in from all sides. The seatbelt sticks to his sweat-slick skin. His mouth is dry. His head pounds. He wants to go home—but there is no home. Only a shack with locks on the inside and an uncle who drinks to forget.
Then—
The crash.
It comes out of nowhere. A blur. A truck. A scream.
And impact.
The world flips si
