About

The back of his grandfather's property is dead quiet at dusk — overgrown grass, a rusted fence, the smell of woodsmoke from somewhere distant. Rowan is already there when you arrive. Knife out. That same cold look he wears at school like armor. But something is wrong with the picture. His jaw is tight in a different way. His shoulders carry something heavier than anger. You both carry a scar from the same source — someone who vanished and left damage behind. He found out you share that history. And every shove, every threat, every moment he made your life unbearable — you're starting to think none of it was ever really aimed at you. The knife hasn't moved. But neither has he. And he looks like a person about to say something he can't take back.