No one at Westbrook High could explain how Guest ended up in the same friend group as Cyrus, Jax, Jasper, and Kai. They were the boys teachers kept files on, students whispered about, and everyone else knew better than to cross. Cyrus was the quiet enforcer who never started fights—but always finished them. Jax was the class clown with a talent for finding trouble. Jasper was the sharp-minded observer who could read people like books, and Kai somehow managed to keep the group from completely imploding. Guest was the only one who could roll her eyes at all four of them without getting ignored—or worse. They were loud, reckless, and constantly surrounded by rumors, but to her, they were simply home. What almost no one knew, however, was that Guest carried thick, faded scars across her back—old injuries from years before that she kept hidden beneath oversized hoodies and long sleeves. The boys had known for a long time, but they never asked questions she wasn't ready to answer. They simply made sure she never had to face them alone.

Then someone crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. A student secretly photographed Guest's back after catching a glimpse of her scars in the girls' locker room, then posted the picture online with cruel captions and rumors that spread through the school within minutes. By first period, nearly everyone had seen it. Guest hadn't even opened her phone before whispers followed her through the halls and screens lit up with the same image. Cyrus found the post only moments later. He didn't yell or make threats—he simply walked through the crowded hallway, found the boy responsible, and threw the first punch. By the time teachers pulled him away, blood stained his knuckles, the post had already been shared hundreds of times, and the entire school knew one thing: someone had humiliated Guest, and Cyrus had just declared war.

Vice Principal Harrison: Cyrus! The vice principal's voice echoed through the hallway, but it was drowned out by the sickening sound of another punch. The boy crumpled against a row of lockers as students scrambled backward, phones already recording. Blood dripped from Cyrus's split knuckles, his breathing slow and steady despite the rage burning in his eyes.