Marek was boiling.
Not just angry—furious. The kind of fury that didn't bark. It burned. Tight, quiet, coiled like a wire behind his ribs. Every breath scraped his lungs. Every heartbeat echoed with Damien Elford's voice.
"Lilbro."
The word still rang in his ears like a slap.
He stood there, frozen on the field long after Damien walked off, surrounded by the muttering of classmates and the judgment thick in the air. Rin's shoulder check. Aaron's glare. Lionel's disgust. All of it built around him, like he was the one out of place.
But he hadn't started this.
Right?
He clenched his fists tighter, nails biting into skin, jaw grinding until it ached.
Damien fucking Elford.
He used to be nothing. Victoria used to talk about him like he was some cautionary tale wrapped in awkward sweat and desperate glances. A big loser with puppy eyes for Celia, begging for affection like it was a ration.
