CHAPTER 1
The sheriff and the Prodwood High principal were wrapping up the last of the adoption paperwork. The boy, slumped in a vinyl-covered armchair, watched the scene from outside the room. His lifeless eyes appear half-lidded, with a faint glimpse of the lower sclera, lending his gaze a piercing, focused, and composed quality. Those who spoke with him often assumed that nothing around him captured his attention — yet that assumption was wrong; he was simply born with that distant look, as though he were searching for his own identity. His sharply defined mandibular angle carved a striking silhouette, offset by slightly hollowed cheeks that further emphasized the structure of his face. A window directly across gave him a clear view of the office interior. Inside stood a large, heavy steel desk buried under scattered documents, a metal filing cabinet, and a metal storage cupboard. The peeling paint betrayed the building’s structural decay. Years of neglect and insufficient funding had taken their toll on the facility—a deterioration that grew more apparent as dusk crept into the darker corners of the hallways. The two men moved toward the exit. One of them pushed the door open; its sharp, unpleasant creak shattered the silence and startled the teenager, who had been staring at his shoes.
A man stood before him, clad in a sheriff’s uniform. He wore a golden-brown goatee and mustache, complemented by short, straight hair of the same hue. His strong, square jawline and sharp, angular cheekbones carved a lean, chiseled silhouette, while a classic Midwestern farm boy charm radiated from his features. A straight, prominent nose with a well-defined bridge completed his face, anchoring its proportions with quiet authority.
“Jake, meet your new legal guardian, Oliver Regann.”
The sheriff gave a brief nod. Jake looked away, ill at ease his ebony-brown hair reached his grazed the nape of his neck, styled into loose, wavy waves with a deliberately tousled texture. It gave the impression of a refuge he could retreat into. Oliver left him alone, unwilling to heighten his discomfort.
The facility’s director had witnessed the scene. He asked Jake to retrieve his belongings from his old room. Jake headed toward his former quarters while Director Yafelly walked to the building’s exit with the sheriff. Along the way, the sheriff noticed lockers and classrooms, as though the place also served as a school. Residents—most around sixteen—were scattered throughout; some strolled alone, others gathered in groups. These signs of social life reassured him. Such things were genuinely necessary here.
They reached the main entrance, where the glass doors offered a partial view of the outside. Jake was already sitting on the front steps, dressed in a dark gray jacket, his backpack at his side. Darkness had settled over the street. The only light came from the sheriff’s car headlights and from streetlamps crowded with moths. The two men shook hands to say goodbye. As the sheriff prepared to leave, he noticed that Yafelly gripped his hand unusually tight.
“You know... he struggles to fit in... And at his age, that makes things considerably harder,” he said, meeting Oliver’s gaze.
“What do you mean by ‘considerably harder’?” Oliver shot back, holding eye contact.
“Let’s say Jake is... flawed,” he replied, turning away to observe the teenager through the front door’s window.
“Listing me, Mr. Bone: no one is ‘flawed.’ People simply need one—just *one* person—to believe in them. And if that person has to be me, then so be it,” Oliver answered, pulling his hand away sharply.
“My point is: a younger child would raise fewer complications. But it’s 6:53—getting late. Have a good evening.”
Oliver didn’t find it particularly late. He walked toward Jake, who sat alone on the steps, staring at a scrap of paper in his hand, lost in thought: *How much longer will this take? Will I ever get a new life?*
The officer then stepped through the front door and came down the steps. Jake folded up the scrap of paper before putting it back in his bag. Oliver had already reached his vehicle and noticed Jake hadn’t moved an inch.
“You know, I think you’re a bit old for me to carry you to the car... have mercy on my poor bones, please.” Oliver jokes, then reaches back to touch his spine.
As Jake approached the driver, the man did not look particularly old. A faint smile tugged at the corner of the teenager’s mouth—one he quickly pushed aside. He climbed into the car, and Oliver pulled away from Prodwood without delay. For the first twenty minutes, neither man said a word. The silence between two strangers who made no effort to connect grew uncomfortable. Oliver chose to break it. He introduced himself and turned to Jake, who sat beside him, eyes fixed on the window.
“What do you like to do in your free time?”
Jake kept his gaze on the road outside. He neither looked up nor answered. Silence crept back into the car.
Then the rain came—sudden and heavy. Fog rolled in ahead of them, and visibility shrank as the mist thickened. Jake glanced around and spotted trees lining both sides of the road. They had left the previous area behind and now travelled through a forest. He looked more closely at the road: asphalt, no grass verges. The rain worsened, and Oliver switched on the windshield wipers. Something appeared in the distance. As the car drew closer, Jake made out its shape.
“Main... field,” he murmured.
They passed the town limits sign. Before him lay the town that would now be his home, half-buried in mist. Jake studied it as best he could. Historic brick and timber buildings from the early twentieth century lined the streets. Some bore tall windows and classic facades that recalled Kingston’s older downtown districts. Ornate streetlamps stood along the sidewalks. Warm light spilled from shop windows, and strings of decorative lights stretched across the streets, lending the town a nostalgic, welcoming character.
The car slowed gradually to a stop beside a house the sheriff recognized. Both passengers climbed out. Oliver walked toward his home, while Jake surveyed his surroundings. The rain and fog cast a mysterious air over the town, yet one structure stood out. At some distance, the town’s tallest building rose above the rest: a stone bell tower. Light glowed from its windows, giving it an almost mystical appearance through the mist. A bell sat at its peak. Jake stared at it, transfixed—until the sheriff urged him inside before he caught a cold.
Jake shouldered his backpack, which held all his belongings, and followed, stealing one last glance at the tower. Inside, a staircase to the upper floor stood directly across from the front door. The living room held a light-colored sectional sofa facing a large wooden entertainment unit with a silver CRT television. A bookcase, a rug, and a coffee table rounded out the space.
Oliver had placed his keys in a glass bowl on a chest of drawers near the front door. Jake followed him closely toward the kitchen and began scanning the new room. Oliver called out:
“Honey, I’m home.”
“Oh, he has a wife? I had no idea,” Jake thought, his eyes still wandering around the kitchen.
Footsteps approached. Jake turned and saw Oliver’s partner. Jake watched, startled, as the sheriff kissed a man whose dark beard was short and neatly groomed. The stranger held Jake’s gaze with a calm smile, his brown eyes soft—a contrast to his husband’s darker ones. Sharp features defined his face: a strong square jaw, high cheekbones, angular bone structure. Jake stood frozen, still rattled. At that precise moment, Jake, who usually had a blank stare, had eyes for no one else.
“It’s always like that the first time,” said the man with the neatly trimmed beard.
“Huh?”
“The haircut! I know you’ve never seen a white man with cornrows, but you’ll get used to it—don’t worry.”
“Right, come on, I’ll show you your room,” the sheriff said softly, giving his husband a light tap on the shoulder for the remark before leaving the kitchen.
Jake followed Oliver toward his new room and spotted three wooden doors on the upper floor. Two stood side by side; the third sat at the far end of the hallway. Oliver pointed to one of the adjacent doors—that was Jake’s room. The moment it swung open, a shadow burst out and launched itself at Jake. Caught off guard, he stumbled and hit the floor. A Belgian Malinois clamped its jaws around his arm before he could even react. The dog gave him no respite, mauling him as he screamed at the top of his lungs. Oliver grabbed the animal and wrenched it away. Jake stayed on the floor, clutching his bloodied arm.
“Sorry, I completely forgot to get Kunio out of the room. I’d actually asked KC to do it,” Oliver said, pulling the dog away.
Oliver reached out to help Jake up and noticed that Kunio’s jaws had torn through the sleeve of his hoodie. Once the shock subsided, Jake saw the damage done to his jacket.
“Shit... I’m so sorry, we’ll...” Oliver stammered, visibly mortified.
“No, it’s fine—just leave me alone,” Jake shouted, slamming the door in Oliver’s face as he retreated into his new room.
Oliver stood there, a door freshly slammed in his face. Jake’s outburst enraged him; he had to dig deep to keep from tearing the guy’s head off.
Inside, Jake took in his new living quarters. They were far more spacious than his old place in Prodwood. A double bed sat against one wall. An open doorway led to a bathroom. A wardrobe stood nearby—though Jake owned so few clothes it would hardly serve any purpose. A desk completed the room. Before he could finish his inspection, an unfamiliar voice addressed him.
“Jake... I’m heading out now, okay?”
“...”
“Oliver told me what happened earlier... I’m sorry... But look, I know all these changes are tough, but I’m sure you’ll find your footing.”
“Okay,” Jake replied, his voice flat.
“Sorry again. And don’t worry about Kunio—those vaccines will keep you safe from anything nasty...” he added with a nervous chuckle.
“Okay,” Jake breathed, tone unchanged.
“I’m leaving the first-aid kit here so you can take care of that injury. If you need help, just ask—I’m a nurse.”
“Okay,” Jake sighed.
“Right, well... get some rest. Tomorrow’s your first day at your new high school. We’ll sort out whatever else you need another time, okay?”
“Okay.”
“We’ll give you the room to yourself for a few days, so Kunio stays out of your hair... Oh, nearly forgot—nice to meet you,” he said, pulling the door shut.
Alone at last, Jake dropped his bag on the floor and sank onto his new bed, staring at his injured arm with quiet sorrow. Sleep crept over him slowly. The cool breeze drifting through the cracked window and the feel of clean sheets were almost heavenly. Still, he knew better than to read too much into it. This place would end like all the others: they would decide he was unbearable, and send him back.
