THE FINAL PIECE

The harsh, stretching screech of packing tape echoed from behind the door, followed immediately by the long creak of the hinges swinging open.

"Is it the last box?"

Zoey asked me without looking up. A box-cutter was clamped between her teeth, her eyes entirely focused on the cardboard flaps she had just sliced through.

Moving was officially the worst thing ever.

I hauled the heavy container inside, dropped it onto the floor with a dull thud, and collapsed against the wall beside the door. "Yes. The movers just left."

"Good." She spat the tool into her hand and looked up, a perfectly polite, practiced smile fixing itself onto her face. But the moment her gaze landed on me, her eyes softened with instant worry. "It's exhausting, right? All this shifting and carrying. What would you like for dinner?"

Clutching a small stack of ceramic plates against her chest, she turned and walked toward the open kitchen.

This place wasn't huge, but it was enough for us—two bedrooms with attached bathrooms, a small living area, and an open kitchen. It was more than enough for two siblings. Life had never been easy in a crowded orphanage; it was a massive building, sure, but you never had a single corner to call your own. Here, we had a home.

"I was thinking pizza," I said, watching her tired figure. The last thing I wanted was for her to go through the trouble of cooking after a day like today.

"Great!" Tiptoeing to reach the upper cabinet shelf, she smiled back at me enthusiastically. "Can we order chocolate cake for dessert?"

"Sure. The chocolate one," I promised. Walking toward my new bedroom, I couldn't help but smile.

The moment I stepped inside my room, the muffled sounds of shifting cardboard faded away behind the closed door. The smell of faint paint and paper made me instantenously heavy. Dragging my exhausted frame over to the mattress, I collapsed face-first onto it. The soft bedding gave a slight, welcoming bounce under my weight.

It was so nice to finally lie down in absolute silence, without the constant, draining chatter of the orphanage echoing around you.

I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion pull me under.

A loud, rhythmic knocking on the door woke me.

"Xavier! The pizza is here!"

I sat up, aggressively rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I tried to shout back that I was coming, but the massive yawn stretching across my face turned the words into a lazy, pathetic cow's moo.

When I pulled the bedroom door open, I froze. The lounge was already completely organized. The messy stacks of boxes were entirely gone. A small bookshelf had been pushed against the center of the wall, its shelves perfectly packed with books, while a flat-screen TV was neatly mounted right above it. In the middle of the room sat a low coffee table surrounded by plush floor cushions. In the corner right beside the main door, a tall ceramic vase held a sharp, dark green Snake Plant, its blade-like leaves reaching upward. A few framed photos of us sat neatly on top of the bookshelf.

Even the kitchen looked fully set up.

"You... you did all of this?" I asked, my voice still thick with sleep as I looked at Zoey.

"I still have a few boxes left in my room, but it's mostly just my personal stuff," she said easily, placing plates on the table right next to the steaming pizza box and soda cans. "And you still have a mountain of boxes waiting in your room, too."

She flashed a bright, innocent smile at me.

"Just a few," I corrected defensively. "How long was I asleep?"

"From the time I started organizing the lounge to ordering the pizza and getting it delivered? About an hour and a half." She immediately stuffed a slice of pizza into her mouth straight from the cardboard box.

I looked at the clean ceramic plates she had just laid out. What were the plates even for, then?

"Really? I thought I just closed my eyes for a second." I laughed, grabbing a slice for myself. Her genuine, ringing laughter instantly followed.

"So, what did you decide?" Zoey asked in between chewing.

"About what?" I muttered, aggressively struggling with a tiny plastic ketchup sachet. The stupid thing just wouldn't open.

"About the printing company." She paused, watching my facial expressions turn into a scowl of pure frustration before continuing. "Listen! It's super close to our new apartment, you already have two years of experience doing that kind of work, and Uncle Jordan said he’s good friends with the owner. One phone call from him and you’ll get the job automatically." By the end of her sentence, she sounded incredibly excited for me.

"I don't know," I said, looking down at my hands. "I just... I don't really want to get jobs through corporate favors."

Come on, you stupid ketchup.

"It's not a favor, it's payback," Zoey countered easily, shrugging her shoulders as she turned her focus back toward the TV screen. "You used to do so many extra tech and printing tasks for Uncle Jordan at his old place that weren't even part of your actual job description—and you did them absolutely for free. Just think of this as a delayed reward for all that hard work."

She made it sound so simple. So logical.

With a sudden pop, the sachet finally tore open.

"Fine," I relented, squeezing the ketchup onto my plate. "Tell Uncle Jordan to make the call."

Zoey beamed, her eyes flashing with a quick, satisfied spark before she grabbed the chocolate cake. "Done."

The quiet comfort of our new apartment felt a million miles away the next morning.

The university campus was a sprawling, chaotic sea of red-brick buildings, manicured lawns, and hundreds of students rushing in every direction. The sheer noise of it was overwhelming. I stood near the massive stone archway of the main entrance, adjusting the strap of my backpack, feeling completely out of place.

"Why do you look so pale?" Zoey asked, scrunching her nose up at me. Her light brown eyes shone in the bright morning sunlight, fixed entirely on my face. "You're at a university, not about to join the army. Relax!"

I just sighed, unable to shake the heavy knot in my stomach.

As we walked together through the crowded, echoing hallways, I pulled out my paper to check my schedule. Great. English Literature. What a terrible way to start the semester. It was going to be extremely boring.

"This is me," Zoey said, stopping abruptly in front of a large lecture hall door. She turned to face me, a teasing glint in her tone. "You can find your own way from here, right? Or do you need me to guide you there while holding your hand?"

"Shut up," I muttered, rolling my eyes at her. But deep down, looking at the intimidating swarm of unfamiliar faces moving past us, I secretly wanted to say yes.

Listening to the professor yap endlessly about his personal achievements and past awards, I could hardly suppress a massive yawn. It hadn't taken me long to find Room 304, but within ten minutes, I was already on the absolute verge of falling asleep.

Suddenly, the lecture hall door swung open with a loud, heavy thud.

The noise instantly snapped everyone’s attention to the front. A girl hurried into the room, clearly a student, her cheeks flushed.

Professor Smith peered at her over the rim of his glasses, his expression stern.

"Sorry, Professor! I couldn't find the room," she managed to gasp out, her words punctuated by heavy, ragged breathing.

She was wearing a cream, knee-length frock with a cozy brown cardigan over it. Light brown hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, a few stray strands framing her face. Her light blue eyes looked absolutely terrified at the thought of getting thrown out on the very first day, her lips still slightly parted as she caught her breath.

She looked... majestic.

Wait. What?

Majestic?

That was a weird thought.

Shook it away.

I practically shook my head physically to snap myself out of it, desperately trying to blink the thought away.

"It's fine, Miss Vance. Take a seat," the professor sighed, waving a hand toward the desks.

Oh. She must be someone important if the professor already knew her last name on day one.

She quickly walked down the aisle toward the front row, where plenty of seats were still empty. As soon as she sat down, the endless yapping began all over again. It was official: this guy wasn't going to teach a single useful thing today.

The lecture was over. One hour of long death.

Just as the professor turned down the projector, the silence of the graveyard erupted into total chaos. The old man was still trying to say something in between the racket, but no one listened. Like, who cares? You had your chance, old man. One whole hour.

I packed my bag—not like I’d actually taken anything useful out, but I still had to put my lonely pen and blank diary back. I stepped out of the aisle of chairs and walked down the steps. Why? What business did my eyes have checking the whole front row?

Nothing there. Empty.

I adjusted my backpack strap on my shoulder and walked out the door, stepping straight into the chaotic, echoing corridor of the humanities block. It was a sensory nightmare of loud laughter, clicking heels, and people desperately trying to look interesting.

And then, my eyes found her.

She was standing near a row of lockers, already caught up in a huddle of girls who were talking with the kind of animated, high-pitched energy that usually gave me an immediate headache. Under normal circumstances, I would have walked right past a group like that, mentally mocking their enthusiasm.

But as I drew closer, she turned her head.

Right mid-laugh, her gaze drifted away from her friends and sliced straight through the crowded hallway, landing directly on me.

I froze mid-stride, though I managed to keep my face completely blank. This close, without the professor's projector screen blurring the view, her eyes were sharper than I’d anticipated. There was no slow-motion music, no romantic wind blowing through the corridor—just a sudden, heavy silence in my own head as our eyes locked.

She didn't look away. For a three-second eternity, she just watched me, her expression shifting from casual amusement to something curious, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle she hadn't expected to find in the hallway.

My heart did that stupid, erratic flip. Traitor, I thought, directed entirely at my own ribcage.

I didn't smile, thank God—that would be entirely out of character—and I didn't look down like a coward. I just held her gaze with my usual dry, unreadable stare until a group of loud guys cut right between us, breaking the line of sight.

"Xavier!"

The familiar voice hit my ears, and my head snapped toward the sound. Zoey was jogging toward me, one hand waving erratically in the air while the other pinned a stack of books against her chest.

She skidded to a halt right in front of me, breathing a little heavily. Despite myself, a faint smile slipped through my usual guard.

"How was the class?" she asked, her eyes bright with that classic, exhausting first-day enthusiasm.

"Boring as hell." My head tilted slightly, my gaze instinctively drifting over her right shoulder, trying to scan the sea of heads behind her. Looking for a specific anchor in the crowd.

"Mine too," she said, already distracted, tapping away at her phone screen. "Hey, I sent you Uncle Jordon’s number this morning. Why haven't you called him?" She looked up, pinning me with a direct, older-sister stare.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I texted him."

"And? What did he say?" Her voice practically vibrated with curiosity.

"He said I can start tomorrow."

"Great, Xavier!" She gave a little hop of pure excitement.

"It’s a night shift, though," I elaborated, my eyes still wandering past her. "Six p.m. to two a.m. But they’re paying good money."

The excitement faded from her face, replaced by that instant, motherly crease between her brows. "Will you be okay with that?"

"I’ll be fine. But you’ll be alone in the apartment."

"Don't worry about me. I got a job at a bakery down the street," she said casually, digging a chocolate bar out of her bag like she hadn't just dropped a bomb. "I won't even be home until midnight. I saw the 'Help Wanted' sign when I went out for early morning groceries today, so I just went in and applied."

I didn't answer right away. My eyes cut straight past her, scanning the shifting tide of students filling the courtyard.

"The pavement under my feet was rough. My worn-out shoes were barely helping; stray stones still bit into my soles, making it brutal to keep running. Just as my strength was about to completely give out, a gunshot shattered the air, followed immediately by another. The sound was deafeningly loud, coming from right behind me. The heavy, echoing thud of combat boots startled me, forcing my legs to move faster despite the agony.

I skidded to a halt as the path dead-ended into a dense forest and a fierce, roaring river. As I stood there, paralyzed and tangled in the desperate decision of where to turn, a small hand suddenly gripped mine and leaped straight into the raging water, dragging me down with it.

Instantly, my world was entirely filled with freezing water. I tried to fight the crushing pressure and swim upward, but it was useless. I was sinking. Panic seized me, and I opened my mouth to scream. Water rushed down my throat, filling my lungs and choking out my air. All my strength vanished, my eyelids forcing themselves shut against my will. I fought to open them, to breathe, to survive, but the darkness was too heavy."

I shot open my eyes, gasping for air.

My chest heaved violently as I sat up, my clothes entirely damp with cold sweat.

It was that nightmare again.u