Overdrive!

The glass door clicked shut behind Raphael, and just like that, silence dropped over the store again.

It felt unreal.

He ran.

*He actually ran.*

I stood there, heart racing, breath short, staring at the boy behind the counter. His knuckles were scraped. His shirt collar slightly crumpled. But his expression?

Dead calm.

Like none of that meant anything.

He wasn't much taller than me—maybe by an inch—but he *felt* taller. Something about the way he stood, like he didn't care whether the world burned or bowed to him. Dark hair just barely fell into his eyes, and those eyes—they weren't warm. They weren't cold either. They were just... unreadable.

He finally looked at me. I flinched.

"You good?" His voice was low. Quiet. No emotion.

I nodded, then realized I hadn't moved since the fight. My legs felt like wet sticks.

"I'm... yeah."

"Yeah?" he repeated, not like a question, but more like a test. Then, without saying anything else, he pulled out a can of soda from beneath the counter and rolled it across to me.

It hit my hand. I grabbed it.

"I didn't pay for this."

"Then don't drop it."

His eyes went back down to the phone in his hand. He didn't even seem interested in me anymore.

I stayed silent for a few seconds. My mind was still looping the scene like a broken recording—Raphael's smug face crumpling in shock. Sunny moving faster than anyone I'd ever seen. One second I thought I'd get beaten again, the next, the bullies were gone.

"You knew how to fight," I finally said, trying not to sound impressed. Or small.

"I've been in worse fights."

"...Why'd you help me?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then he said, "Didn't like his face."

That was it.

No hero act. No "you deserve better." Just plain disgust. Like he stepped in because *Raphael annoyed him*, not because I mattered.

"You a student?" I asked, carefully.

He looked up. "Why?"

"You look my age. I just never saw you at school."

"I don't go to yours."

"Then why are you working here?"

He paused. Smiled—just a tiny, crooked twitch of the mouth. Not friendly. Not angry either. Just… like he knew something I didn't.

"Because I like quiet places," he said. "And this one's usually dead."

I didn't know what to say to that. The silence that followed felt thicker than before.

"I'm Daniel," I said, more to break the tension than anything.

He didn't say his name back.

"You... already know that, don't you?"

He looked up again.

"Your ID," he said, and held it up. "You dropped it when that guy tried to rip your spine out."

I stepped forward and took it. Our fingers touched for half a second. His skin was cold.

"I'm Sunny," he finally said, like he'd already decided it was safe to tell me. Or maybe not.

I looked at him.

There was something off about Sunny.

Not in a dangerous way. Not yet. But he felt like the kind of person who saw things others didn't. The kind of person who didn't speak unless it mattered. And if he *did* speak, you'd better listen.

"Thanks," I muttered again, backing toward the door.

He nodded once.

"Don't get used to it," he said, not looking up. "People don't jump in twice."

The door creaked open. I stepped out into the humid evening, the sky heavy with unshed rain. My hand clenched around the soda.

I didn't feel safe.

I felt *watched*.

And for the first time… not in a bad way.