(Steven's POV)
My room felt too quiet.
Normally, I liked silence.
I needed it.
It helped me think, organize, control.
Tonight, it pressed on my chest like weight.
I sat at my desk, the soft glow of the lamp outlining the open physics manual in front of me. I wasn't reading it. I hadn't turned the page in twenty minutes.
I could still hear Lara's voice.
"She opened her legs for Anthony—"
"You flirted behind my back—"
"You took him—"
And Michelle's face.
The way she froze.
The way her hands shook.
The way she kept trying to breathe quietly like she didn't deserve to gasp for air.
The way her eyes darted anywhere except at the people staring at her — judging her — because of me.
Because I wasn't fast enough.
Because I wasn't protecting enough.
Because I brought her into this storm.
My fingers curled slowly into fists.
I didn't make a sound.
Anger, in me, never exploded outward — it sank deep, condensed, like lead forming in the bloodstream.
