For a long time after Maya left, I just sat there.
The classroom's distant chatter faded. Even Lucas's presence beside me disappeared into background noise. My mind wasn't in the Triangle anymore — it was somewhere far older, far quieter, far darker.
Maya had been forced to confront her truth.
It was only fair that I confronted mine.
Because before Dreyden, before this body, before magic and monsters and destinies…
There was a boy named Jack.
And this world had no idea who he really was.
Jack didn't come from a tragic home.
He wasn't beaten.
He wasn't starved.
He wasn't despised.
His life was quieter — the kind of quiet that drowns people without making a sound.
He had a little sister who played music too loud, laughed too hard, and danced through the living room like it was her private stage. She was the sun in a house that often felt gray.
He loved her more than anything.
But outside of her, Jack felt like a ghost.
Not hated.
Not targeted.
Just… unseen.
