Kellan Wicks woke up at 6:03 AM, like always.
His alarm was a custom soundbite—some obnoxious EDM loop he'd downloaded off a forum. It annoyed him. That was the point.
If he started the day irritated, he stayed sharp.
Or so he told himself.
He stretched in bed, ignoring the chill in the air. The heating hadn't worked properly for two years. The landlord didn't return calls anymore, and his dad had stopped bothering.
Not that his dad was around much.
The stench of cigarettes and cheap cologne still lingered in the hallway—leftovers from another nameless woman sneaking out before dawn.
Kellan's mom hadn't lived here in five years.
She left after the second black eye and never looked back.
In the kitchen, his father was already gone. Half a bottle of scotch sat on the counter. An unpaid electricity bill lay beside it, unopened.
Kellan ignored it.
He poured dry cereal into a bowl, didn't bother with milk, and shoved a spoon into his mouth while scrolling through his phone.
Notifications were down.
Only six new DMs.
One unread group chat.
He frowned.
That wasn't right.
School was his kingdom.
He'd spent years building it brick by brick—through intimidation, fake charm, carefully curated chaos. People didn't like him, but they respected him.
And that was enough.
He wore arrogance like armor.
A fresh pair of sneakers. Tight-fitted varsity jacket. The way he walked down the hallway—chin high, shoulders wide, like the school owed him something.
And in a way, it did.
He was the one who made others know their place.
Freshmen feared him. Teachers tread lightly. Girls laughed too hard at his jokes, and his friends kept their jealousy tucked behind gritted smiles.
Reese always said, "Be the noise, and no one hears the cracks."
But lately?
Kellan could feel something different.
Something off.
First, it was the sideways looks.
People whispering a little too loudly when he passed.
Then Jenna ghosted him after that fieldhouse meetup.
Blocked on every platform.
He hadn't even done anything wrong—just teased her about the stupid way she said "battery."
He told himself she was being dramatic.
Then his girlfriend exploded at him in front of the entire school.
Tears, accusations, phone in the storm drain.
Said someone had "shown her everything."
Everything.
He laughed it off.
Pretended it was just drama.
But the next day, one of the basketball captains sat on the other side of the lunch table.
Didn't even make eye contact.
People didn't DM him like they used to. The group chat went quiet whenever he messaged.
Even the freshmen started walking straighter when he passed.
No fear.
No flinch.
Then the note showed up in his locker.
No name.
No signature.
"The mask is cracking. I wonder what's underneath."
His stomach twisted.
He didn't show it, of course. Just crumpled the note, tossed it, and smirked like it was a prank.
But it stayed in his head.
Buzzed there.
Louder than any alarm clock.
He watched the halls closer now.
He tracked eyes, mouths, whispers.
Looking for someone—anyone—who might be playing a game.
But no one stood out.
Except one.
Kai Mercer.
Quiet. Calm.
Used to flinch at shadows.
Now walked like a man who'd tasted blood and found it sweet.
Kellan hadn't thought about Kai much in years.
He remembered breaking a pen over the kid's hand once during chem class. Called him "dead weight." Laughed when Reese locked his bag in the janitor's closet.
Back then, Kai had just lowered his head and taken it.
But now?
Now there was something in his eyes.
A kind of stillness that made Kellan feel small.
Like he was standing in front of a sleeping bear and didn't know if it was pretending.
He caught Kai looking at him once—just for a second.
No smile.
No hate.
Just a glance. Clean. Surgical.
Like measuring.
Like he already knew how the story ended.
That night, Kellan sat on the edge of his bed, phone buzzing beside him.
Reese had texted something about a party, but he didn't read it.
His mirror was cracked—had been since he punched it last fall. The jagged reflection split his face in half.
He looked at it now and didn't recognize the person staring back.
Was he slipping?
Was he losing control?
Or had he never had it?
His fists clenched.
He wasn't scared.
He wasn't.
But deep down…
A whisper started to curl around the edge of his mind.
What if someone was watching?
What if someone was hunting?
And worse—
What if they were already inside?