Shadows That Bleed

Something hung in the air that Friday morning, heavy and invisible. The cold in Durham hadn't changed, but the tension had. It clung to students' backs like damp clothing, wrapped itself around conversations that trailed off mid-sentence, and coiled tightly around Ethan's chest. People weren't just walking more cautiously, they were waiting.

Ethan knew exactly what for.

Bones had been quiet all week. No loud outbursts, no shows of dominance, not even the usual cocky laughter from his crew echoing through the halls. And that silence? It wasn't peace. It was pressure, building with every tick of the clock. He hadn't forgotten what Ethan did. He hadn't forgiven it either.

Ethan sat near the far corner of the schoolyard during break, his back against the chipped brick wall, watching. Sierra sat beside him, her sketchbook open but untouched. Her pencil hovered above the page, but the lines never formed. Her attention was elsewhere, on him.

"You feel that?" Ethan asked, eyes scanning the courtyard.

She didn't even look up. "Yeah. Like the school's holding its breath."

"He's planning something," Ethan said, voice calm, but cold. "He'll need to hit back soon. It's the only way he knows how to stay in control."

Sierra's lips pressed into a thin line. "You think he'll come after you again?"

"No," Ethan said, finally glancing her way. "I think he'll come after someone close to me."

Her face tightened. Just a little. But he caught it.

"You need to be careful," he said.

"I already am," she replied quietly. "But don't treat me like I'm fragile, Ethan. I chose to stand beside you. I knew what that meant."

He wanted to tell her that wasn't the point. That it wasn't about strength. It was about what he could lose. But the words wouldn't come out right, so he said nothing. Just gave her a short nod and turned his gaze back to the crowd.

That afternoon, something new arrived.

It was after fourth period. Ethan was walking back from the restroom, his thoughts moving in circles, when he noticed his locker had been tampered with. The vents looked slightly bent inward. He opened it slowly and found a folded photograph inside.

The paper was old and creased, like it had been handled too many times before being delivered.

Ethan opened it.

It was Sierra.

Someone had taken it from across the street, just outside her house. The angle was distant, slightly out of focus, but her face was unmistakable. Her sketchbook clutched to her chest, head tilted down. She was alone.

He flipped the photo over.

One word, written in all capital letters with a thick black marker.

WATCHING.

He stared at the word for a long time. His heartbeat slowed. His grip on the edges of the photo began to tighten until the corners curled inward. The message was clear. This wasn't a scare tactic. It was a declaration.

Ethan closed his locker and left the hallway without a word.

He texted Sierra immediately.

"Meet me by the back gate. Do not walk home alone."

She didn't question it. She knew something was wrong.

By the time the final bell rang, Ethan was already waiting near the gate. The street was quiet. The shadows were long and sharp, cast by the early winter sun dipping behind the buildings. When Sierra arrived, she looked at him with concern, her pace quick.

"What happened?"

He handed her the photograph without speaking. She stared at it, blinking as her breath caught in her throat.

"Where did you get this?" she whispered.

"It was shoved in my locker."

Her grip on the paper trembled. "Someone followed me?"

"Yes. And they're letting me know that they can reach you."

Sierra looked around, like someone might be watching them even now. "You think it's Bones?"

"It's not a guess," Ethan replied. "He's warning me. Trying to make me back down by threatening you."

She looked up at him, her voice low but firm. "Are you going to run from this?"

He didn't hesitate. "No. I'm going to end it."

She nodded slowly, then gave the photo back. "Then we do it together."

He looked at her, uncertain.

"I told you before," she said, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not afraid to stand in the storm if you're the one beside me."

Ethan didn't have the words to respond, not properly. He just nodded again, and they walked together down the street, footsteps slow and quiet.

That night, he went to the warehouse.

The gym was dimly lit, its lights buzzing faintly above. Vane wasn't there. The space was empty, the kind of empty that makes your skin feel exposed. Ethan stood in the middle of the floor, unwrapping his hoodie and letting it fall onto the bench. His fists were already clenched.

He walked over to the punching bag and stared at it for a long moment before throwing the first strike. It landed hard. His knuckles popped with the impact. He didn't stop.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The bag shook violently, swaying on its chain. Sweat began to roll down his temple. His chest heaved. The air grew hotter, tighter. He kept swinging, picturing Bones' smug grin, the image of Sierra in that photo, the word scrawled across the back like a slap to the face.

The noise of his punches echoed through the gym. It wasn't about form. It wasn't about training.

It was rage.

Pure and controlled.

When his hands finally dropped to his sides, they were red and sore. His breath came in short bursts. His shirt clung to his back. He stared at the floor, blood and sweat dripping onto the mat.

No more warnings.

No more waiting.

Bones had crossed a line.

He would not be forgiven for that.

The next day, Ethan found Jordan behind the library again. His jaw was tight. His voice even tighter.

"I need a name. Someone Bones trusts to do his dirty work."

Jordan narrowed his eyes. "You got one in mind?"

"Jaylen. But he's not alone. He's been meeting someone."

Jordan's expression didn't change. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through something. "You mean Amari."

Ethan nodded. "Yeah. What do you know about him?"

"Used to play both sides. Told Bones what people were saying about him. Kept his hands clean by staying useful."

"Is he still feeding Bones now?"

Jordan leaned against the wall. "Word is they're planning something. Meeting up tonight. Abandoned lot by the old textile plant. Midnight."

Ethan didn't blink. "I'll be there."

That night, he arrived before anyone else. The parking lot behind the textile building was surrounded by broken fencing and overgrown weeds. One single light flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt.

He found cover behind a rusted-out car shell. Stayed low. Waited.

Jaylen arrived first, hoodie up, checking his phone like he was bored. Five minutes later, Amari showed. He walked with the swagger of someone who thought he was safe in the dark.

Ethan stayed silent.

Their voices floated across the empty lot.

"You sure he won't find out?" Amari asked, his tone quiet but cocky.

"He's focused on other things," Jaylen muttered. "Once we hit her, he'll break. Bones said don't touch her, just scare her."

Amari laughed. "Smash her stuff. Rough her up just enough to send a message."

"You think he'll let it slide?" Jaylen asked.

"No. He'll crack. He's still soft when it comes to her."

Ethan heard enough.

He slipped back into the night, heart pounding, not from fear but from clarity. His face didn't twitch. His thoughts didn't race.

They had made it personal.

Now it was his turn.

The shadows had reached into the part of him that still held on to something good.

And they would pay for that.

Every single one of them.