A THIEF?

Luke turned the corner, eyes scanning every alley, every shadow. He wasn't even sure what he was chasing—just that he had to.

Then he saw him.

The guy was a few paces ahead, walking fast. Shoulders hunched. Hands shoved in his jacket pockets. Luke picked up speed.

"Hey!" he called out.

The guy turned his head slightly—and then did something that stopped Luke cold.

His foot hit the edge of a bench. Then the railing of a low balcony.

And then—he jumped.

Too high. Too fast.

He landed clean on a rooftop like it was nothing, barely breaking stride. Not clumsy. Not desperate. Just... practiced. Like the city had been made to fit his steps.

Luke skidded to a halt.

"What the—"

Before he could finish, the guy was already sprinting. Leaping from roof to roof like it was nothing. Like he'd done it a hundred times.

Luke's chest tightened.

But he didn't stop.

He ran.

Tried to keep the guy in sight as best he could, ducking through narrow walkways, cutting through empty lots and fences. The city blurred around him until—

He saw him again.

Not running this time.

Just sitting.

On a swing.

In an empty park, old chains creaking.

Luke slowed.

The guy sat there, silent, legs still. Like he'd never run at all.

And around him—

Luke saw it.

A thread.

Pale blue. Wrapped around boy's arms, tied to nothing.

No one.

It just hung there.

Lonely.

Luke stepped closer, slowly.

"Why are you following me?" the guy asked, voice low. Bitter.

He didn't turn around.

"I swear I didn't do that. I didn't steal anything. Why is everyone blaming me for things I didn't do?" His voice cracked. "Why can't anyone believe me?"

His hands curled into fists.

Then—

A single tear slipped down his cheek. He didn't bother wiping it away.

Luke didn't move.

Didn't rush.

"I believe you," he said.

The guy's head dropped. He gave a short, bitter laugh.

"You're lying."

Luke shook his head. "I'm not."

"You're all the same," the guy snapped, finally turning toward him. His eyes were red. "You're here because you want to catch me. You're just buying time. You probably already called the cops, right? Trying to act nice so I don't run again?"

"No," Luke said. "No, I didn't."

"Then what? Why are you here?!"

Luke met his eyes. "Because I know what it's like to feel like no one's listening. To feel like something's tearing you up and all people see is the part they want to blame."

The guy didn't say anything.

The thread around him pulsed, faintly.

Still pale. Still lonely.

Luke stepped closer.

"I don't think you're lying," he said. "I think you're carrying something no one else sees. And I think... you're just trying to breathe through it."

The boy didn't answer at first.

He just stared ahead, the swing creaking beneath him.

Then, quietly—

"You know nothing."

His voice was hollow. Stripped of heat. Not angry—just tired.

His eyes didn't meet Luke's. They were distant. Hollow. Sinking into something Luke couldn't see.

The swing slowed.

Then stopped.

He let the silence hang a little too long before finally saying, almost in a whisper:

"Not even my parents believe me."

Luke didn't say anything.

He just walked forward and sat on the swing next to him.

The chains creaked once.

"I'm trying," the boy said, staring at the dirt. "I swear, I'm trying my best. But it's never enough. Doesn't matter what I do. No one cares if I get things right. They only remember what I did wrong."

A bitter laugh slipped from his throat.

"I win awards, top my class, I try to be better—but it's like... all they see is Kyren, the mess-up. The delinquent. The walking headline. The one who always gets into fight."

His voice broke.

"I'm the black sheep. The one never get things right. And I never even did half the things they think I did."

Luke's chest tightened.

Kyren wiped at his face roughly.

They sat in silence again.

Then Luke spoke, softer this time.

"You know what I saw today?"

Kyren didn't answer. His hands were clenched in his lap.

Luke turned to him, voice steady.

"I saw a guy pick up a wallet and run after the girl who dropped it. I saw someone try to do the right thing—even if he could've just ignore it and do nothing."

"You could've walked away, Kyren. But you didn't. You ran after her. You tried."

Kyren looked away, jaw trembling.

Luke kept going.

"That says more about who you are than anything they've ever accused you of."

He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees.

"Even when the world keeps slapping you down… you still try to be kind. That's not weakness. That's strength. That's you."

"You just can't see it. But it's real. And that's you."

Kyren's throat worked around a word he couldn't say.

Luke's voice dropped.

"You're not a burden. You're not a problem. You're not what they say you are.""

He reached over, hand steady on Kyren's shoulder.

"You're not what they say you are. You're more than the noise they made out of you."

"You're someone who's still here. Still trying. Even when it's hard. Even when no one thanks you."

He pulled him into a hug.

"You just can't see it yet. But someone does. I do."

There was a long pause.

Kyren froze for a beat. Then folded.

Like every muscle in his body had been waiting for permission to let go.

"I didn't do anything wrong, I'm trying my best." Kyren choked. "But why does it feel like it was all my fault?"

Luke held him tighter. "Because they weren't trying to see the real you. All they see is your outside self."

"I'm tired."

"I know."

"I tried…"

"I know," Luke whispered. "And that's what matters."

He didn't speak. He just cried—quiet, ugly, grateful tears. Like someone had finally reached the part of him he never let anyone touch.

Luke held on.

Waited.

Kyren buried his face in his shoulder, barely getting the words out.

"Thank you…"

Luke smiled.

"Told you I wasn't lying."

 | For once, the silence didn't feel like punishment.It felt like peace.