Upstairs in the Mioro house, the party was a gilded cage. Martin sat passively on a chair, his fingers laced together on the tabletop, his soft smile a fixed mask. Ava watched him, her irritation growing with each passing second.

  “Don’t just sit there,” she snapped. “Make yourself useful. Help with the streamers.”

  Martin obeyed, moving to hang decorations with robotic precision, the smile never slipping.

  Emboldened, Ava and her friends began to treat him like a prop. “Actually, be a chair,” one giggled, pretending to sit on his back as he knelt. He complied, his placid acceptance fueling their cruelty.

  But it was the smile that unnerved Ava most. Why wasn’t he angry? Humiliated? Why was he smiling? It felt wrong, like a glitch in the universe where her power didn’t compute.

  The degradation escalated. One of the girls, laughing, pointed her shoe at him. “Go on. Lick it.”

  Still smiling, Martin began to bend toward the proffered foot.

  Something in Ava snapped. It wasn’t disgust for him, but for the surreal, broken spectacle. Before he could get close, her foot lashed out, not at the shoe, but at his head, a sharp kick to his temple. “What are you doing?” she yelled.

  He rocked back, hand going to the new hurt, but the smile, though strained, remained.

  “What’s he doing? He’s being a creep!” the girl with the shoe laughed. “The real question is why he’s smiling like one.”

  “He’s smiling because he is a creep,” another added.

  The girls laughed. To their shock, Martin let out a low, hollow chuckle and joined them.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “SHUT UP!” Ava screamed, her voice cracking. The laughter died. She loomed over Martin. “What do you actually want here? What is wrong with you?”

  Martin looked up, his eyes distant. “Ehhhh? It’s not like I came to lick feet. I wasn’t going to.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about!” Ava cried, frustration boiling over.

  “Ava.”

  The voice from the doorway was quiet but clear. Ava froze. She knew that voice. Slowly, she turned.

  Oliver stood there, his glasses reflecting the room’s light, his face pale. Martin, from the floor, recognized him—the timid boy, the scholarship hopeful, the one Ava had championed.

  Oh, Martin thought, a spark of bleak amusement cutting through his numbness. Drama.

  “What are you doing?” Oliver asked, his gaze sweeping from Ava to Martin on the floor.

  “Oliver… how long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to know you lied to me.” His voice was flat, final. He walked past her as if she were invisible and knelt beside Martin. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Martin said, the word automatic.

  Oliver helped him stand. “Come on. I’m getting you out of here.”

  Martin pulled his arm free. “I’m not going.”

  Oliver stared. “What do you mean?”

  Martin’s serene mask was back. “Have you ever felt… free, Oliver? Like you were on top of the world, with no more pain? Like that feeling could last forever? Have you ever—”

  SMACK.

  The slap echoed in the sudden silence. Oliver’s hand had moved faster than thought. Martin’s head snapped to the side. The smile was still etched on his lips, but surprise now widened his eyes.

  “Do you plan to ruin your life yourself?” Oliver’s voice trembled with a fury that seemed to cost him everything. “If you do, then make sure everyone who cares about you forgets you first. Do you think only you pay the price for giving up?” He took a shaky breath. “I’m sure you have people who care. So don’t you dare. Giving up doesn’t end pain. It just passes it on.” His voice dropped. “My own brother’s pain didn’t end. That’s for sure.”

  Ava flinched, her fists clenching at her sides.

  Oliver leaned closer, his words for Martin alone, yet heard by all. “Letting go won’t change anything. Change is something you fight for, consciously, even when you don’t feel like it. Now go home. Apologize to the people you’re about to break.”

  A stunned whisper passed between Ava’s friends. “Oliver has grit…”

  “What are you waiting for?” Oliver demanded. “Leave!”

  Martin’s smile finally vanished. “I don’t want to leave.”

  The defiance was quiet, absolute. Oliver searched his face, and the anger in his eyes dissolved into desperation. “Please,” he whispered, tears gathering but not falling. “Tell yourself that kind of freedom isn’t worth it. Just go home.”

  Martin said nothing. He just stared, his expression a blank wall.

  The sight broke Oliver. He sank to his knees, placing his forehead and palms on the cool tiles in a posture of utter supplication. “Please,” he begged, his voice thick. “Don’t think I’m doing this for you. Do it for the people you love.”

  The room was utterly silent. No one laughed. No one whispered. The only sound was the soft, distinct plink… plink… of Oliver’s tears hitting the floor.

  Martin looked down at the boy kneeling before him, this stranger offering a lifeline woven from his own grief. He watched for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned.

  He walked straight for the staircase, his face empty. As he descended, a single, cold thought crystallized in his mind: I’ll leave the building. But what happens to the people still inside it… that’s not my problem anymore.

  He had heard the plea, but the part of him that could be saved had already stepped into the dark, leaving only the shell to walk out the door.