Rory slouched in the last period of the day, pencil tapping absently against her notebook as the teacher's voice droned on, a distant hum she barely registered. Her phone vibrated in her hoodie pocket, and she froze. Nobody ever texted her during school.

Sliding the screen toward her, she squinted. One notification glowed back.

Scar ❤️: I need to talk to you after training tonight.

Her stomach pitched. Scar never texted like that—not in all the years she'd known him.

Taekwondo didn't start until six, lasting an hour and a half. That left three long, suspense-filled hours at home to spiral. Had she done something wrong? Was he in trouble? Every option twisted in her gut. She bit the corner of her pen, pretending to follow equations that meant nothing to her.

The bell rang, shaking her from her thoughts. Chairs scraped, chatter swelled, and Rory shoved her phone deeper into her pocket, as though avoiding it could undo the dread gnawing at her.

Their meeting at her locker was ritual, ever since Scar got his license two years ago. He always picked her up afterward, their tiny tether in a world where they didn't exactly belong together—him popular, her just beside that orbit.

"Hey."

The voice behind the locker made her jump.

"You do this every time, Stephen! Can you not sneak up on me?" Rory snapped, slamming the door shut.

Scar grinned, harmlessly smug. "Where's the fun in that?"

Rory rolled her eyes, but her lips betrayed a twitch of amusement. Scar had that uncanny way of pushing her buttons and dissolving her defenses simultaneously.

"Fun for you maybe. I'm going to have a heart attack before senior year."

"That's next year," he said lightly, as if nothing mattered more than teasing.

She glared. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Scout's honor—no more sneak attacks."

"You were never a scout."

"Details," he said, smirking. Rory nearly forgot the text burning a hole in her pocket. Nearly.

By the time they reached his car, the school parking lot had emptied. Scar unlocked the passenger side door for her without a word, the car's metallic shine drawing attention as usual. Rory slid inside, ignoring the glances.

"Dinner tonight?" she asked as he tossed his backpack onto the backseat.

"Dinner?" His brow arched, seatbelt halfway across his chest.

"At my place. Thursday dinner. Mum's making lasagna."

Scar drummed his fingers against the wheel, a distracted rhythm. "Right. Thursday dinner. How could I forget?"

"You almost did," Rory said, narrowing her eyes.

His sideways smile didn't reach his eyes. Something was off. Scar didn't look unsettled—ever.

The ride home was quiet. The radio hummed softly, but Rory's thoughts overpowered it. Twice she tried to ask about the text, twice she closed her mouth. If he wanted to tell her, he would.

Pulling into her driveway, Scar didn't move immediately. He leaned back, jaw tight, staring at the dashboard like it held all the answers he couldn't say.

"Scar, what's going on?" Rory finally broke. "You've been... different since—" She trailed off. Since you texted me, since you made it sound like something was wrong.

"Not now, Rory. After training. Like I said."

"Why not now?"

"Because," he said softly, "I need to make sure first."

"Make sure of what?"

He exhaled sharply, jaw working. "Lasagna first, okay? Then training. Then... we'll talk."

Her chest tightened. Something was definitely wrong.

Dinner passed in a blur. Rory's mum fussed over Scar as always, piling lasagna onto his plate while he protested half-heartedly. Then, half an hour before they had to leave, Scar disappeared into the office with her parents, leaving her behind.

"Business stuff," he said. But Scar didn't mix her family with his. Not here. Not with her.

Rory sat on the staircase, biting her sleeve, listening to muffled voices. Her mum's tone was softer than usual, careful. Her dad's voice was steady, even, almost cautious. Scar's voice cut through like a thread holding everything together. 

What on earth could they be talking about? Something that she couldn't know about, clearly. in the 11 years she's known Scar and his family he never hid anything from her. 

The office door opened. Scar emerged first, expression neutral. Too neutral.

"Everything okay?" Rory asked, sharper than she intended.

"All good." His smile didn't convince her.

Her dad clapped him on the shoulder. "Drive safe tonight, Stephen."

Stephen. Not Scar. Not Steph. Rory's stomach twisted.

Her parents' faces were polite, guarded. Something was being withheld.

The ride to the dojang was unlike any they'd shared. No teasing, no playful banter, just the low hum of the engine and Rory's thundering pulse.

"Are you seriously not going to tell me what that was about?" she asked at a red light.

Scar's hands tightened on the wheel. "Not yet."

"That's not an answer."

"I know." His voice was calm but carried an unfamiliar edge.

"You've never kept things from me."

He gave a quick, almost apologetic glance. "This isn't just my thing to tell. Tonight. You'll understand."

The light turned green. Rory bit back a dozen questions, knowing that whatever was coming wasn't just about training.

Training was a blur. Her body moved instinctively, after years of training and being a black belt, most movements and patterns came easy. She's even led a few classes. But tonight her mind was somewhere else. 

"Aurora!" A voice called from the front of the room 

Rory snapped upright, heart hammering.

"Aurora!" The voice rang again, sharper this time, and the room's fluorescent lights caught the tension in Scar's stance.

She turned, eyes narrowing, and saw Master Jin standing at the front, hands folded behind his back.  "I need to talk to you. Come to the front." 

Rory's stomach dropped. Her legs moved on their own as she walked toward him, the hum of the other students fading into an indistinct background. Master Jin's eyes, normally calm and unreadable, were sharp, assessing. He gestured for her to stand beside him.

"You are distracted today." he stated his eyes searching hers 

Rory swallowed, forcing herself to nod. "Yes, Master Jin." Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

He studied her for a long moment, then leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "This isn't just about training, is it?"

Her throat tightened. How could he know?

"Master Jin, What ever do you mean?"

Master Jin's eyes didn't waver, piercing through the veil of her practiced calm. "Aurora," he said quietly, deliberately using her full name, "something is weighing on you. And it's not just distraction—it's fear. You carry it like a shadow, and it affects everything you do."

Rory's stomach knotted tighter. Fear. Not the fear of messing up a form or sparring match, but the kind that churned in her chest since the text. "I... I'm fine," she managed, though the words felt hollow.

"Do not lie to yourself, or to me," Master Jin said firmly, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. "The body remembers what the mind refuses to acknowledge. You cannot fight properly if your mind is elsewhere."

Rory sighs "I - Scar sent me a message earlier today," She admitted quietly "Something about wanting to talk to me after training. But -" 

"He hasn't told you?" Master Jin asks softly 

Rory shook her head "He didn't. He came to dinner, like he does every Thursday. But my parents and him had a conversation in the office room. Didn't tell me what happened. Dad looked stressed - more concerned then stressed - and he called Scar, Stephen, which he hasn't done in a really long time." 

Master Jin's expression hardened, the calm mask slipping just enough to reveal a rare seriousness. "I see," he said slowly. "Then this is not simply a personal matter between you and your friend. There are layers here, Aurora, that you may not be ready to fully understand yet."

Rory's heart sank. Layers? Already she felt trapped in something larger than herself. "I—I don't understand," she whispered.

"You will," Master Jin said, stepping back and gesturing toward the training floor. "But first, you must focus. You cannot allow your concern to control your body. Control your mind, and your body will follow."

Rory nodded, though the knot in her chest tightened. She returned to her position, trying to push the thoughts aside, but every strike, every block felt hollow. Her movements were precise, mechanically correct, but devoid of the spark that usually carried her through a session.

Scar's eyes found hers across the room a few minutes later. There was something in his gaze—an unspoken apology, maybe, or a warning. His jaw was set, rigid, hands loosely clasped in front of him as he watched her. For a moment, the air between them was thick with tension, neither daring to speak.

Finally, the session ended. Students gathered their belongings and began filing out. Outside the dojang, Scar caught up to her. No smile this time. Just a hand for her bag.

"Come on. We need to talk. Really talk."

"Where?"

"Somewhere private." His eyes swept the empty street, then landed on her. "You deserve to know."

They drove out of town, silence thick, until he pulled into a secluded parking lot on the outskirts. City lights glimmered far off, leaving them in a quiet bubble.

Scar shut the car door and faced her, serious, tense.

"Two things I need to tell you."

Rory's throat went dry. "What are they?"