Monday morning brought a stillness that didn't feel like peace.
The halls of West Hill High hummed with something sharper—tension disguised as routine. No one said anything outright, but everyone knew. The silence between classes was filled with the whispers of what happened to Liam Cooper.
Everyone had heard: Adam Woods and his friends were hit with a full month of detention—daily, no phones, no excuses.
And still, many thought it wasn't enough.
Adam arrived through the front entrance later than usual. His steps were confident, but the swagger was off. People noticed. No one greeted him. No slaps on the back. No praise for another victorious prank or party.
Instead, heads turned away.
Even Harper, standing near the courtyard, didn't look at him. Jeremy shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket and muttered something under his breath. Christen wasn't with them at all.
Adam's jaw tightened. He scanned the hallway and found Liam.
Liam was standing by his locker with Ryan, Anika, and Theo. His sling was still visible under his jacket. His backpack hung from one shoulder. He wasn't smiling, but he looked like he belonged—surrounded, guarded.
Adam narrowed his eyes.
As he walked past, he let his shoulder bump Liam's—just hard enough to be noticed. Just enough to say: I'm still here.
That's when it hit.
Liam flinched, the hallway tilting sideways. The sound of a slamming locker echoed louder than it should have. His breath caught in his chest. A chill gripped him.
Footsteps.
The woods.
Laughter behind a phone.
His throat closed. His vision tunneled. The panic surged in an unstoppable wave.
He couldn't breathe.
His knees buckled slightly.
"Liam?" Ryan said quickly, reaching out. "Hey—hey, it's okay. You're okay."
Liam backed into the locker, chest heaving, face pale. "Can't—breathe—"
"Panic attack," Anika said immediately, kneeling beside him. "Slow breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth."
Theo stepped between Liam and the other students now beginning to gawk. "Back up. Give him space."
Mr. Peterson had seen it from the other end of the hall. He was moving before the crowd even realized something was wrong.
He dropped to Liam's side, voice calm but urgent. "Liam. Eyes on me. You're safe. You're here. It's over."
Liam's hands were shaking. He couldn't speak.
"In. Through your nose," Peterson said, steady and slow. "Out through your mouth. Good. Again."
Gradually, the buzzing in Liam's ears dulled. His body began to settle.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"You don't have to be," Peterson said. "You're not the one who should be apologizing."
Peterson looked at the others. "Take him to Nurse Denning. Now."
In the nurse's office, Liam sat on the padded cot with a blanket around his shoulders. His breathing had returned to normal, but his hands still trembled.
Nurse Denning knelt in front of him, her voice low and maternal.
"You've been through trauma, Liam. What you're feeling—this is your body remembering. It's not weakness. It's survival."
Liam stared at the floor.
"I want you to consider talking to someone," she said. "Our school counselor, Ms. Lee. She's trained for this. And I think—" she paused, "I think therapy could help you long-term."
Liam didn't answer right away.
Ryan sat in the corner, quiet. Theo was pacing. Anika sat beside him, holding his hand.
"Will… will that actually help?" Liam asked finally.
Nurse Denning gave a small smile. "It won't fix everything. But it helps you carry it. And eventually, it helps you let go."
Liam looked up and nodded.
"I'll think about it."
That evening, Peterson drove across town to a modest brownstone with ivy climbing up the brick and wind chimes gently clinking on the porch.
His mother opened the door with flour on her hands and soft concern in her eyes.
"Jake," she said, pulling him in. "You look like you've wrestled a bear."
"Not far off," he muttered.
His father sat in the den with the news playing quietly behind him.
Over roast chicken and mashed potatoes, Peterson told them everything.
The attack. The video. The weak response from the principal. Liam's panic attack in the hallway that morning.
His mother shook her head. "That poor child."
His father didn't look up from his plate. "We pulled you out of Jefferson High for less."
"I remember," Jake said.
"They called it 'boys being boys.' Told us not to overreact."
"You didn't," Peterson said quietly. "You moved me. You protected me. Even when I didn't want to admit I needed it."
His mother placed a hand over his. "So now you're doing that for someone else."
"I hope so," he said. "I really do."
Back at school, things didn't return to normal. They shifted.
The fear didn't leave completely—but it moved. Liam's locker was left alone. The stares he got weren't mocking now—they were careful. Measured. Curious.
Sometimes, he still flinched at loud noises. Still froze when Adam walked by.
But he wasn't alone anymore.
That afternoon, Mr. Peterson found him in the library, sitting near the back corner by the windows.
"How are you feeling?"
Liam shrugged. "Tired."
"That's allowed."
"I think… I might go see the counselor."
Peterson nodded. "Good. That's brave."
"I didn't feel brave."
"You were," Peterson said. "You are."
He paused.
"You're not the only one they've tried to break. But maybe you'll be the first they couldn't."
Liam's lips twitched into a small, uncertain smile.
And for the first time in weeks, something in his chest eased.