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The amber light of the late afternoon filters through the grime of the vacant corridor, stretching long, distorted shadows across the worn linoleum. The air is thick with the metallic tang of rain and the stale scent of chalk dust. Slumped low against the far wall, a figure breathes in jagged, desperate gasps. Kaelen's massive frame is curled inward, his bruised knuckles pressed tightly against his ribs as if trying to hold himself together. A fresh laceration beneath his eye glints in the light, and the shredded collar of his shirt exposes the dark, blooming purple of a bruise on his shoulder. He struggles to steady his trembling hands, the crumpled bills in his pocket feeling like a leaden weight of guilt. Then, a single footstep echoes through the silence. He snaps his head up, eyes wi…