School had become worse.
Thomas noticed it the moment he stepped through the gates.
People still talked. Still laughed. Still argued about homework and lunch. But the sound shifted when he walked past, like a radio being turned down just a little.
Some students moved aside without realizing it. Others stared too long, then looked away. A few whispered, thinking he could not hear them.
He heard them anyway.
Thomas walked calmly, his hands in his pockets. He did not hurry. He did not slow down. Drawing attention in either direction felt dangerous.
In class, the teacher avoided calling his name. When she did, her voice became careful, like she was handling glass.
"Thomas… would you like to answer?"
Not can you. Not please. Just would you like.
He answered correctly. He always did.
The teacher nodded quickly and moved on.
Thomas noticed something strange. The rules became very clear around him. Talking was stopped faster. Arguments were ended sooner. When someone pushed another student, the teacher reacted instantly—unless Thomas was nearby.
Then everyone watched him.
It was almost funny.
Almost.
At lunch, the table near him stayed empty. Milo was not there that day. Thomas ate alone, slowly, watching the way people pretended not to watch him.
A group of boys laughed too loudly across the room. One of them glanced at Thomas and stopped laughing at once. The others followed.
Thomas looked down at his food.
He did not feel angry.
He did not feel sad.
He felt… alert.
When the bell rang, he stood up and left without a word. No one stopped him. No one followed. And yet, he felt as if eyes were still on his back.
The next day, Thomas stayed out of the way.
He arrived early and took a seat near the window. From there, he could see most of the room without being seen too much himself. He liked that spot. It felt safer.
During break, voices rose near the lockers.
A boy had dropped his books. Papers scattered across the floor. Another student laughed and nudged the books farther away with his foot.
Thomas saw it happen.
He paused.
In the past, he would have stepped in. Calmly. Politely. He would have told them to stop. And somehow, things would still turn against him.
So this time, he stayed where he was.
The boy on the floor hesitated, then started picking up his papers alone. Someone else laughed. A teacher passed by without noticing.
Thomas watched, his face unreadable.
It felt strange.
Not good. Not bad. Just… wrong.
At lunch, the same boy sat at a table nearby. His eyes flicked toward Thomas once, then away. There was no anger in the look. Just disappointment.
That stayed with Thomas longer than it should have.
Later, in class, the teacher talked about rules and responsibility. She glanced at Thomas twice while doing so. He wondered if she even realized it.
Interesting, he thought. I didn't do anything today.
The idea almost made him smile.
Almost.
By the end of the day, Thomas understood something new.
Doing nothing did not make him safer.
It only made him invisible in a different way.
Home was quiet when Thomas returned.
Too quiet.
Gerald sat in the living room with the television on low volume. Marlene stood in the kitchen, washing dishes that were already clean. No one greeted him. No one asked about his day.
Thomas removed his shoes and placed them neatly by the door. He had learned that small order prevented large problems.
He walked past them without a word.
Dinner was simple. The three of them sat at the table, eating in silence. The sound of cutlery against plates felt louder than usual.
Marlene glanced at him once. "School was fine today?" she asked, not looking directly at him.
"Yes," Thomas replied.
That was all.
No follow-up. No interest. The question felt like a formality, something expected rather than meant.
After dinner, Gerald cleared his throat. "You'll finish your chores before going to bed."
Thomas nodded.
There was no mention of yesterday. No accusation. No forgiveness either. Just rules, laid out like walls.
He swept the floor, wiped the counter, and took out the trash. He did everything carefully, evenly. When he finished, no one noticed.
In his room, Thomas sat on the edge of his bed and looked around.
The room had never changed. Same walls. Same furniture. Same window facing the street. It was clean. It was quiet. It was… temporary.
He realized then that this house was not a place that protected him.
It was a place that contained him.
Thomas lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He thought about school. About the boy picking up his books alone. About the way people watched him, even when he did nothing.
He did not feel anger toward Gerald or Marlene.
He felt distant from them.
That distance felt safer.
Outside, a car passed. Somewhere down the street, someone laughed. Life continued without him.
Thomas closed his eyes.
If he wanted safety, he would have to build it himself.
And this house would not be part of it.
The next morning, Thomas walked to school with his usual quiet steps. The streets seemed ordinary—children running, cars humming, birds chirping. But something felt… off.
It started small. A news report on the radio in a nearby shop: scientists puzzled by unusual lights in the sky, dismissed as a storm or satellites. Thomas glanced up. The sky was clear. Nothing obvious.
A man on a corner shouted about a missing delivery drone. People laughed nervously, glancing at the sky as if expecting it to move again. Thomas passed them without slowing, but he noticed their tension.
In school, whispers followed him down the hall. Not about yesterday or the playground fight—something else. Teachers were distracted. Students were uneasy. He couldn't place why.
At lunch, a TV in the cafeteria showed a report on unexplained disappearances in other countries. Nothing violent, nothing dramatic—just strange, unsettling facts. The colors on the screen were off somehow, and the reporter's tone was unusually urgent.
On his way home, everyone was rushing to and from and the air was tense. He couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching his every movement. His pace increased and in no time, he reached home. He entered and quickly locked the door behind him. His heart thumping..
Later that afternoon, Thomas was alone at home.
And then what he had never expected happened.
At first, it was quiet. Too quiet.
Then came a loud blast from outside. Boom! The windows rattled. He froze. Another one followed—boom! boom!—closer this time. His heart thumped in his chest.
"What… what's happening?" he whispered to himself.
He moved to the window, peeking through the curtains. Smoke curled above the rooftops. Screams carried across the streets. Some houses were burning, others looked like they had been hit by something heavy. Chaos was everywhere.
Before he could think, a sharp crash came from the entrance. The front door slammed to the floor, splintering wood everywhere. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. Someone was inside.
Thomas's stomach dropped.
He pressed himself against the wall and crawled toward the small hole in his door—the one he always used to peek when he wanted to be careful.
A figure appeared in the hallway. The man moved slowly, deliberately, almost like he was stalking something. His coat was long, dark, reaching his knees. Heavy boots clicked on the floor. Gloves covered his hands, black and smooth, and the high collar of his coat shadowed most of his face. A faint gleam came from his eyes—they glowed slightly, cold and calculating, scanning every corner as if the house itself might be hiding a secret.
Thomas's eyes widened.
The man stopped. His head turned slowly, sniffing the air. Every movement was precise. Every step was careful.
Thomas's heart raced. His mind spun with questions.
Who is he? What does he want? Am I supposed to hide? Run?
Then their eyes met.
The intruder's gaze locked on the tiny hole in the door. Thomas jerked back, hitting the wall behind him. His breath caught. Fear froze him in place.
The man smiled faintly, a cruel curl of his lips. Cold, sharp, and knowing.
Thomas pressed himself closer to the floor, trying to make himself disappear. His mind scrambled, but no thought came fast enough.
Why is he here? Why now?
The footsteps grew louder again. The man was moving closer. Every step sent shivers down Thomas's spine.
His wrist burned suddenly. The band around it glowed bright, almost painfully so. A sharp light filled the room, forcing him to squint.
And then… someone appeared.
A figure stood in the center of the chaos, solid and calm. He was tall, cloaked in a long, dark tunic that rippled like water with each movement. Boots made no sound as he moved, and a hood shadowed his face, though a faint glow from his eyes seemed to pierce the darkness. A belt with intricate designs ran across his chest, and long gloves covered his hands. There was a weight to him—silent, controlled, impossible to ignore.
Thomas's heart raced. He did not recognize him. He thought… this must be another enemy.
He lunged, fists raised, swinging wildly.
The figure moved faster than he could react. With one swift motion, Thomas was lifted from the floor, pulled outside to a small corner of the yard. The glow from his wrist faded slightly, but the band continued to hum softly against his skin.
"Relax," the figure said, calm but firm. "I'll tell you everything later."
Thomas froze. He wanted to speak, to demand answers, but words stuck in his throat. Fear and confusion made him silent.
And then he saw him.
The intruder. The man who had broken into his house. He landed just a few meters away, as if leaping from the sky itself.
The figure's stance shifted slightly, still calm, still unreadable. "Run," he told Thomas, voice low but urgent. "Run now! I'll handle him."
Thomas didn't hesitate. Adrenaline propelled him forward, and he ran without looking back.
Behind him, he heard the enemy move, but the figure was faster. With a blur of motion, the cloaked man intercepted, blocking, striking, and forcing the enemy back.
Thomas's legs carried him to a safer corner of the yard, chest heaving. He didn't understand what had happened.
He only knew one thing: he was alive.
And the man in the tunic—the stranger—was not like anyone he had ever seen.