[Salvo's Pov]
They say time heals.
But time doesn't heal.
It just teaches you how to bleed quieter.
I remember the first time I punched someone. Really punched. Fist to jaw. Bone to bone. Not some childish scuffle. No. This was different. It was personal.
He was older—maybe sixteen. Bianca had just changed schools. She still wore pink clips in her hair and smiled like she didn't know the world had already ended.
And then he pushed her. Hard. Right off the wheelchair.
She hit the ground. And when she came to me with a cry that split something open inside me.
I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. I just moved.
By the time they dragged me off of him, his nose was bent at the wrong angle, and two of his teeth lay in a puddle of spit and blood on the floor. I stood there, fists raw, chest heaving, but calm.
The matron shrieked at me. Called me a monster.
I looked her dead in the eye and said—"If protecting my sister makes me a monster… Then I'm proud of it."
