Vernon slipped away from the chaos of the hallway, his footsteps quick and deliberate as he pushed through the heavy door of the girls' bathroom on the second floor.
The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint smell of cheap floral disinfectant and old tile. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, one of them flickering every few seconds like it was on its last breath.
The room was empty.
Rows of white stalls stretched along the left wall, their pale-green doors slightly ajar. A long mirror above the sinks reflected nothing but silence. Water dripped slowly from one of the faucets—plink… plink… plink—into a porcelain basin stained with faint rust rings.
He moved deeper in, past the first few stalls, checking reflexively. Empty. Empty. Empty.
Then the sound reached him.
Soft, broken sounds. Whispers of breath catching on tears. A quiet, shuddering sob that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
Vernon froze.
The crying was small at first, almost swallowed by the hum of the lights, but it grew—raw, uneven, the kind of weeping that hurts the chest. Something twisted hard behind his ribs. Not pity exactly. Something heavier. Something that made his throat close.
He dropped to knees beside the last stall.
Then he leaned down, eyes scanning the narrow gap beneath the last stall door .
Through the thin gap under the door, he saw soft feminine scattered legs folded awkwardly on the ground, skirt rucked up, bare toes curled so tightly they were white. Trembling. Trying to disappear into cold tile.
Something inside Vernon cracked open.
He rose slowly, throat burning, eyes stinging. He didn't understand why this crying sound—this one girl—was undoing him when he had watched so many others break and walked away numb. But it was. It was tearing him apart.
Inside the stall, Ira sat on the ground like a wounded animal. Shirt ripped at the shoulder, buttons gone, the remaining fabric gaped open across her chest. No bra. Just skin and frantic hands trying to hold everything together. Her hair hung in sweaty, tangled strands across her face.
Tears rivers down her cheeks. Her whole body jerked with each sob, as though grief itself was trying to shake her bones loose.
She was shaking so badly the fabric rustled.
She had known unbearable pain the day her parents died. Ever since they died, she had carried the deep silent pain. Today carved a new ache into her chest.
Vernon stood motionless just outside the row of stalls, head tilted, listening to each uneven sob. The sound drilled into him.
*Why is she crying?*
The question looped uselessly. Then another, sharper: *Is it her? The girl whose bra fell?*
His stomach dropped.
*Did she know the Krossvales would come hunting for her?*
He pressed his palm flat against the cool tile wall, steadying himself.
He didn't want to go back out there. Didn't want to stand uselessly again while Kai and the others turned young innocent school girls into entertainment.
Didn't want to watch one more girl getting stripped and humiliated and pretend the shame wasn't eating him alive too.
Didn't want to feel that sick, helpless burn in his gut while he watched breasts bounce in terror and pretended it didn't matter.
He was tired of watching.
He was tired of being the one who watched.
But this crying sounds… something about it felt different. Urgent.
This crying—this broken, terrified girl—he felt a strong urge to protect her.
It felt like destiny had reached inside his ribcage, wrapped cold fingers around his heart, and said: *This one. Save this one or lose whatever is still human in you.*
Even if he couldn't protect the whole school, not every girl, he will protect her.
'At least do this much'— a voice inside his head echoed.
He stepped closer to the main door and planted himself there—shoulders squared, feet apart—like a human barricade between the hallway and whatever was left of her dignity.
The sobs grew slower, wetter, more exhausted.
Vernon heard her each faint sob without moving an inch from the door.
Minutes passed.
Eventually the stall latch clicked.
The door creaked open.
Ira stepped out on unsteady legs.
Her eyes were swollen almost shut, red-rimmed, glistening. She clutched the ruined shirt closed with one trembling fist. The other arm wrapped protectively across her middle. Every breath sounded painful. Every step looked like it might shatter her.
She shuffled toward the exit.
Then she saw the tall shadow blocking the doorway.
Her gaze lifted.
Vernon turned at the sound of her light, frightened footsteps.
Their eyes met.
Recognition hit them both at once.
Ira's face crumpled in pure terror.
It's the man whom she feared the most—the man she had seen that deadly night—the man she has fallen onto—the man who gives her nightmares—the man who makes her dangerously artistic—the deadly handsome man with the long hair stands flowing to his sharp features.
Vernon stood frozen.
His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he almost staggered when he saw that broken state of the girl, clutching onto her braless school shirt , buttons missing.
*Oh no! It's her!*
The girl whom he saw that night. The girl whose soft handkerchief still sat folded in his pocket like an obsession.
The girl who had fallen on him .
The girl whose wide, startled eyes had reached inside his feverish body from his blurry vision and accidentally woken something dangerous and protective inside him.
*Why did it have to be her?*
Frustration and something close to despair flooded his chest. Of all the hundreds of girls in this school, fate had picked *her* to be the one they hunted.
Ira let out a low, panicked whimper and bolted backward, retreating into the same stall she had just left. The door slammed shut. The lock snapped into place with a metallic *clack*.
For the brief moment, the lock clattered like gunfire.
Then she screamed—high, breathless, breaking.
"Please don't do anything to me! Please! Please don't rape me!"
She was gasping, choking on panic.
"I didn't mean it—those girls—they took it—they ripped it off—please believe me—please—please don't hurt me—please—"
The words fractured into violent, heaving sobs. She sounded like something dying.
Vernon moved before he could think. His long strides brought him right up to the stall door.
"Please don't—please don't rape me—please—!"
She was gasping between sentences, barely getting air.
"I didn't do it on purpose! Those girls—they snatched it—they took my bra—please believe me—please leave me alone—please—"
The words dissolved into violent sobs. She sounded like something small and fragile caught in a trap.
He heard the fear. Real fear. The kind that made people stop breathing right.
She was terrified *of him*.
His stomach turned over.
"Shut up," he rasped, voice cracking with something dangerously close to desperation. "Shut up right now."
Inside, Ira slammed both hands over her mouth. Muffled whimpers still escaped—small, dying-animal sounds.
Vernon leaned closer, forehead almost touching the door, voice dropping to a fierce, trembling whisper.
"If I hear you making a single sound," he said, quieter but no less intense, "I will kill you right now. Understand?"
She nodded frantically even though he couldn't see it. The sobs quieted to trembling, uneven breaths.
Vernon stepped back.
He knows if they hear her it will be a disaster for her. He must keep her quiet.
His pulse roared in his ears. Anxiety clawed up his throat—something new, something he hadn't felt in years. Not for himself. For *her*.
He turned toward the main door, mind racing.
*How do I get her out of here? How do I keep them away?*
And then he heard voices.
Loud. Approaching.
The Krossvales.
Laughter. Filth. Footsteps.
They spilled into the corridor like wolves returning from a hunt.
Five sets of footsteps echoed down the hallway, overlapping crude laughter and filthy comments about "tits on the second floor" and "which bitch cried the loudest."
Victor: "Those tits on the second floor? Fucking perfect."
Damon: "I wanted to rip their bras off myself."
Lucas: "Next time, we make them dance naked."
Ren: "The crying ones are the best."
Leon: "Kai should've let us keep one."
Kai walked at the front. Silent. Face blank.
They slowed as they neared the bathroom entrance.
Ren casually mocked Vernon — who was standing alone in front of the bathroom door.
"Bro, you didn't come to see the show?"
Vernon kept quiet.
Damon snorted.
"We didn't find the girl with the bra. Kai thinks none of them was the one."
Victor jerked his chin toward the phone in Kai's hand.
"Kai got a call. We're heading back."
Lucas grinned lazily.
"Good for the bitches on the other floors. They didn't get stripped."
Leon's eyes flicked toward the bathroom door.
"Any girl in there?"
Vernon met his gaze without blinking.
"No," he said. Voice calm. Flat. Perfectly controlled.
A beat of silence.
Kai lifted his eyes slowly and stared at Vernon's face—long, searching, unreadable. Like he was trying to peel back skin and see the lie underneath.
Vernon held the stare. Didn't flinch.
He poured every ounce of will into keeping his expression blank.
Finally Kai tilted his head once—small, decisive.
"Let's go."
The brothers turned and followed him down the corridor.
Vernon lingered a second longer — then he followed.
The monsters walked down the stairs.
Vernon walked behind them , his gaze fixed on the stairs, mind racing with thoughts of her.
To be continued...