With a frustrated sigh, I turn away from the mirror, walking into the small kitchen. I don’t have much—just some leftover takeout and a half-drunk bottle of water—but it’s enough for tonight. My hands are shaking as I open the fridge, but I force myself to take a sip of water, to calm myself down.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I glance over at it. My heart skips a beat as I see a message from Delilah, her name lighting up the screen. I hesitate for a second before swiping it open.

“Hey Lach, I’m sorry about earlier. I’ve been thinking about things. Can we talk?”

I stare at the message, my chest tightening, a mix of emotions rushing through me. Part of me wants to respond, wants to know what she has to say, but another part of me... I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear it. I’m not sure if I ever will be.

I set the phone back down, trying to ignore the ache in my chest. Right now, I don’t have answers. And maybe I never will. But whatever happens, I know one thing for sure.

I need to take care of myself first.

With a deep breath, I leave my phone where it lies, and collapse onto the couch. The events of the night flood my mind again, but as I close my eyes, exhaustion finally wins. I let the darkness take me, not knowing what tomorrow will bring, but knowing that somehow, I’ll face it.

For now, I just need to rest. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out the rest.

I’m barely aware of the time passing when I hear the sound of the door creak open. For a moment, I think it’s just the house settling, but then the familiar shuffle of slippers on the worn wood floor catches my attention. I blink, slowly pulling myself out of the haze of exhaustion that’s threatening to overtake me. My body aches in all the wrong places, and my mind feels like it’s still tangled up in the mess of tonight, but my senses sharpen just enough to recognize the unmistakable sound of my mom’s voice.

“Lachlan?”

It’s soft, tentative, like she’s unsure if she’s even supposed to be waking me. Then it’s followed by the sound of her footsteps, quick and measured as she approaches the living room. I try to sit up, but my body protests, the soreness settling deep in my muscles, making it feel like I’m moving through thick mud.

I rub my eyes, trying to clear the fog from my head, but I’m still dizzy, still caught somewhere between the physical and emotional aftermath of the night.

When she walks into the room, she pauses. For a long moment, her gaze falls on me, on the state I’m in. The bruises on my face, the scrapes on my arms. She knows something’s wrong the second she sees me, and she doesn’t even need to ask. Her eyes widen, concern flooding her features.

“What happened to you?” she asks, her voice low but sharp with a mother’s worry.

I glance up at her, trying to come up with some excuse, some half-truth. But nothing feels right. The words don’t come easily. I’ve never been good at lying to her, not since I was a kid.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I manage to say, forcing a smile, but it’s weak and unconvincing. I can tell she doesn’t buy it.

She takes a step forward, eyes scanning my face, the fear she tries to mask making her voice tremble. “Lachlan, you’re not fine. Look at you,” she says, her tone rising slightly. “What happened?”

I open my mouth, but the words get stuck in my throat. There’s too much to explain, too much that’s just... too much. How can I even begin to tell her about Delilah and the way she turned cold and distant? How can I explain getting jumped in the alley, not even putting up much of a fight? How can I tell her that it’s not just the physical bruises that hurt but the weight of it all—the loneliness, the confusion, the feeling of falling apart?

“I—I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, shaking my head, hoping she’ll just let it go. But she doesn’t. Of course, she doesn’t.

She sits down on the couch beside me, her hand gently reaching out to touch mine. It’s warm, soft—comforting. The touch almost makes me want to break down, but I keep it in check, swallowing the lump in my throat. She’s here, and for all my attempts to push her away, I know she’s not going anywhere.

“Lachlan,” she says, her voice softer now, filled with that motherly compassion that always gets to me. “You don’t have to shut me out. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

I look at her then. Really look at her. Her face is worn with age and the weight of her own struggles, but there’s still something unshakable in her eyes, something I can’t ignore. She’s been through her own battles, I know that. She’s had her fair share of pain, but she’s always carried it quietly, always been strong for me.

“Mom, I... I just don’t know anymore,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. The admission tastes bitter, like something I’ve been trying to swallow for too long. “I don’t know what happened. Delilah... I thought she was different. I thought I meant something to her, but it’s like she just... turned away.”

I look down, feeling the sting of it all again, fresh like it just happened. My fingers tighten around the edge of the couch, trying to steady myself. But my mom doesn’t pull away. She just listens.

“And then...” I continue, my throat tightening. “And then I got jumped, and I couldn’t even fight back. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Her hand squeezes mine, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches between us, heavy, but not uncomfortable. She’s letting me process, letting me take my time.

When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle, almost fragile. “Lachlan, you’re not falling apart. You’re just... hurting. And I know it feels like it’s too much right now, like you can’t make sense of it. But that’s okay. You don’t have to have all the answers. You just need to know that you’re not alone in this.”

I look up at her, the weight of her words settling in. She’s right. I don’t have the answers. I don’t even know where to start. But maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to figure it all out by myself.

“Mom... I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix any of this,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

She leans in, her forehead pressing gently against mine for a brief moment, offering that quiet reassurance that only a mother can give.

“You don’t have to fix everything right now, Lachlan,” she says, her voice firm but tender. “You just need to take it one step at a time. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

I close my eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in. The world feels a little less heavy with her here, and for the first time tonight, I don’t feel so alone. Maybe I don’t have to have all the answers. Maybe it’s okay to just... be.

I nod slowly, my mind still swirling, but I feel a small flicker of hope ignite in me. I’ve got a long road ahead of me, I know that. But with my mom by my side, maybe it won’t be so impossible.

She gives my hand another squeeze before letting go, standing up to straighten herself. “Get some rest, okay?” she says softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

I nod again, my exhaustion catching up to me, my body still sore from everything that happened. “Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “Tomorrow.”

And as she walks away, I let myself lean back into the couch, the weight of the night still heavy but somehow a little more bearable. Tomorrow. Maybe it will bring answers. Or maybe it will just bring more questions. Atleast mom is here though.

The night stretches out longer than I expect. I sit for a while on the couch, the weight of everything swirling around in my head, but it’s too quiet here. Too still. My mom’s given me some space, but I can’t shake the feeling that I need to move, to get out of my head for a bit. The apartment feels suffocating, even with the soft hum of the city outside. I can still hear my mom’s quiet voice in the other room, but I don’t know how to let her help me—not when I can’t even help myself.

After a while, I grab my jacket and slip out into the cool night air, the city streets familiar yet strangely distant as I step out into the darkness. I tell myself I’m just going for a walk, just to clear my mind. But in reality, I’m just running from everything I don’t know how to face. I walk through empty streets, the lights flickering above, but no matter how many corners I turn, I can’t escape the thoughts gnawing at me.

The alleyways I pass remind me of tonight—the fight, the chaos, and the confusion. Delilah’s face flashes in my mind, and the sting of her rejection feels raw again. I can’t stop thinking about how she just left. The bitterness rises in my chest. I push it down, focusing on the rhythmic sound of my footsteps.

As I turn another corner, I freeze. There’s a figure standing under a dim streetlight, facing away from me. Even though I can barely make out his features in the low light, I know exactly who it is. Chiron.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. The guy seems to show up out of nowhere, like he’s always lurking in the shadows, watching. I take a hesitant step forward.

“You again,” I say, my voice sounding raw in the quiet night air.

He turns, his expression unreadable, as usual. There’s no surprise in his eyes, no questioning look, just that calm, almost detached stare. He’s wearing the same dark jacket from earlier, his face partially hidden in the shadows, but his presence is as imposing as it was in the alley.

“You’re out here late,” he says, his voice low but steady.

“I could say the same to you,” I shoot back, trying to keep my tone casual. But inside, I’m still reeling from everything that’s happened. I’m not sure what I’m expecting from him. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. I don’t know.

Chiron looks at me for a long moment, studying me, like he’s trying to read something in my face. Then he nods, as if deciding something in his mind.

“You want to learn how to fight,” he says, not a question, but a statement.

I blink, caught off guard by his words. I thought we were just making small talk, but now that?

“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “I don’t need to learn how to fight.”

“Oh, you do,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re stronger than you realize, but you don’t know how to use that strength. Not yet.”

I stare at him, unsure of how to respond. He’s right in some way—I feel like I’m carrying a lot of pent-up anger, frustration, and confusion, but none of it’s been channeled into anything useful. Not until tonight, when I just let things happen to me.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” I mutter. “What would you even teach me?”

Chiron’s lips curl slightly, the faintest hint of amusement crossing his face. “I’d teach you how to harness your anger,” he says simply. “How to defend yourself. How to stand your ground when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

I blink, considering it. This guy, Chiron—he doesn’t act like anyone I’ve ever met. There's something... almost ancient about him. Something deep beneath the surface that I can’t quite grasp. He doesn’t seem like the type to offer help for free, and I can’t quite figure out why he’s even bothering with me. But right now, I feel like I have nothing left to lose.

“You think I can just... learn to fight?” I ask, still skeptical.

“You already know how to fight,” he replies, his voice unwavering. “You just need someone to teach you how to channel it properly. No more running, no more hiding.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. The thought of standing up for myself—really standing up—has always been something that felt out of reach. But there’s something in the way Chiron says it, like he’s seen this before, like it’s part of some bigger picture I don’t understand.

I glance down at my hands, still sore from the night’s scuffle, and I feel a flicker of determination deep inside. I’m tired of feeling weak. Tired of feeling like I can’t do anything about what’s happening in my life. Maybe this is what I need.

“Why would you help me?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Chiron’s gaze hardens for a moment, and then he shrugs. “Maybe I see something in you. Maybe I just want to wash myself of previous sins. Either way, it doesn’t matter. What matters is whether you’re willing to kill your old self and be rebuilt into something stronger, something greater.”

I don’t answer right away. His offer hangs in the air, and for the first time tonight, it feels like there’s something I can do to take control of all this chaos.

“Alright,” I say finally, the words coming out more decisively than I expected. “Teach me.”

Chiron nods once, a small, approving glint in his eyes. “Good. Meet me tomorrow night, at the old warehouse on Ninth Street. Be there at midnight.”

I don’t know why, but something tells me that warehouse is where everything changes. That’s where I’ll start learning. Not just how to fight, but maybe how to fight for myself.

He turns to leave, but just before he disappears into the shadows, he adds, “You’ll need to be ready for more than just physical strength. Your mind, your will—it all needs to be in sync. If you want to survive what’s coming, you need to know what you’re up against.”

And then, without another word, he walks away, disappearing into the darkness.

I stand there for a moment, processing what just happened, my pulse quickening. I feel a mix of excitement and dread, unsure of what exactly I’ve just agreed to.

But for the first time tonight, I feel like I have a purpose.

Tomorrow night, it begins.