?? The Unseen ??

03 ? Dead end ?

“I’m good,” Raven said, his voice soft but even. “Not that hungry.”

She paused mid-step. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to mean something.

His father’s voice came next, light but laced with a thin thread of concern. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little... tired.”

Raven forced a chuckle, tilting his head just enough to make it look playful. “Soccer, basketball, track team.. it’s just kicking my ass, that’s all.”

His father nodded slowly, eyes narrowing, but he didn’t push.

And neither did his mother.

They didn’t ask if he was sleeping. Or why his eyes looked duller than usual. They didn’t mention the way his shoulders drooped or how he hadn’t touched his phone once since he came downstairs.

They didn’t need to.

The silence between them spoke loud enough.

And Raven hated that silence. It made things more.. pronounced.

Instead, his mom returned to the fridge. “If you change your mind, the toast won’t bite.”

Raven smiled again. This one smaller. Thinner.

“Got it.”

He stayed there a few more minutes, watching the morning sunlight stretch across the grass, before finally grabbing his bag and standing. He stifled a wince as the bag's weight weighed down on his shoulder, sending an intensified jolt of pain down his arm.

“I’m heading out.”

“Alright,” his dad said. “Have a good day.”

“Love you,” his mom added, turning just slightly to look at him.

“Love you too.”

He didn’t look back when he left the house. If he had, he might’ve seen the way both his parents stood still for a beat too long, worry etched quietly into their faces. But they didn’t call out to him. They knew him better than to do that.

They just let him go.

Because even though they knew something was wrong... 

They also knew Raven, their only surviving son.

And he wasn’t ready to talk. Not yet. They could see it.

But what they couldn't see was that Raven wasn't ever planning to talk.

Ever.

____

The hallways were buzzing—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices rising in waves of conversation and laughter. Everything was moving too fast, too loud for him, like the world had turned its speed and volume up while Raven’s body begged it to slow and quiet down.

He pushed open the main doors and walked in with his hoodie half-zipped, bag slung over one shoulder, a forced ease in his stride. But every step jarred his shoulder joints, already tense and tender. His head pulsed behind his eyes—left side mostly—like a tiny drummer was declaring war with a drum bugle call, right on his skull.

As he reached his locker, he leaned against it and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temples, slowly working circles into them. It didn’t help. The ache wasn’t going anywhere. If anything, it was spreading and multiplying.

“You good, man?”

It was Jace, one of his.. numerous teammates, swaggering up with a grin. He offered a lazy fist bump, and Raven responded instinctively, knuckles tapping against his.