The message came through in all caps.
"CHINO DEAD. IN LOCKUP. STABBED."
Kyle stared at it.
Didn't move. Didn't breathe.
The screen dimmed. The room was silent except for the hum of the AC unit in his dorm at Summit Ridge Prep. A pair of crumpled socks sat by his bed. His duffel bag half-opened with a roll of KT tape sticking out like a warning.
He blinked.
Then locked his phone. Put it face-down on the floor. And went back to tying his sneakers.
Same Pain, Different DayThe gym lights glared.
Sweat hit hardwood.
Coaches in polos stood on the sidelines, clipboards out, faces poker-flat.
Kyle moved with the group, eyes locked ahead.
He wasn't all there. His body moved—defensive slides, rebounding drills, transition sprints. But his head? Somewhere back in Montego Bay. Somewhere behind a rusted gate, under orange streetlight, where a ghost named Chino used to laugh.
"Dead."
One word.
It echoed louder than the squeak of sneakers or the bounce of the ball.
"You good, Wilson?"
Coach called from the sideline.
Kyle gave a half-nod.
"Yeah."
The accent was barely there now.
Flat. Clean. American.
The Locker Room – After PracticeKyle peeled off his compression sleeve. His knee was tight—overused, under-rested. He grunted, bit the inside of his cheek.
He knew he should ice. He knew he should skip open gym. But sitting still meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering.
"You need that wrapped?" came a voice.
Kyle looked up.
A girl stood in the doorway to the trainer's room. Hoodie, shorts, clipboard. Gold hoops in her ears. Slick curls pulled into a puff. Something in her eyes said "I don't care who you are."
"Nah. I'm good."
"You limpin' like an old man. That ain't good."
He shrugged, brushing past her.
She didn't move.
"You gon' ignore pain your whole life or just this week?"
Kyle turned.
"Who are you?"
"Ari. I do student athletic training part-time. And you? You look like you need to sit your stubborn ass down before you tear something for real."
He blinked.
Then smirked for the first time all day.
"You always talk to people like that?"
"Only people dumb enough to pretend pain makes them strong."
She walked off, clipboard tapping her thigh.
That Night – Dorm Room, Lights OffThe room was dark except for the soft blue glow from the laptop screen. Kyle sat on the edge of his bed, typing slowly into the search bar:
CHINO DAVIS. PRISON. DEATH. MONTEGO BAY.
He scrolled past tabloids until he found it.
"Inmate Killed in Altercation at Saint Catherine Correctional. Victim identified as Marcellus Davis, 18. Investigation ongoing."
There was no picture. No tribute.
Just a name, a number, and a line in a report.
That was it.
That's what the boy who hunted Kyle's family had become—an invisible death inside a broken system.
And yet Kyle didn't feel peace.
No relief. No justice.
Just emptiness.
"You ever just… not know how to feel?" he whispered to the room. But no one answered.
College Letters Pile UpThe next morning, Marcus dropped a stack of letters on his bed.
"Offers. UCF. Miami. Seton Hall. Even a development program in France."
Kyle thumbed through them slowly.
"What do I do with all this?"
Marcus leaned against the wall.
"You choose. Your future starts here."
Kyle didn't speak.
"What's holding you back, man?"
Kyle stared at the envelope marked "Miami Athletics."
"I don't know who I am anymore."
Courtyard – Encounter TwoAri sat at a picnic table, typing on a tablet with a smoothie beside her.
Kyle walked by.
Slowed.
"You always look that busy or is it for the aesthetic?"
She looked up without smiling.
"If you can run down the court on a busted knee, I can hustle too."
He sat.
"You always this cold?"
"You always this fake-American?"
He laughed.
"You peeped that?"
"I'm Jamaican too, idiot. I hear it in your vowels. You don't gotta drop who you are to fit in."
Kyle looked down.
"Didn't feel like a choice."
She studied him for a second.
"Maybe you just need someone to remind you who you were."
Later That Week – Ice & TruthKyle sat in the trainer's room, his leg in an ice bath. Ari adjusted the timer.
"You keep pushin' like this and you'll need surgery before you hit 18."
"I don't got time to rest."
"You don't got time to break either."
He looked up at her.
"What you want out of all this?"
She smiled, finally.
"Power."
Kyle raised an eyebrow.
"Deadass?"
"I wanna be the best sports agent alive. Represent the biggest stars. Protect them from the same system that chewed up my cousin and spit him out."
Kyle nodded slowly.
"You different."
"So are you."
Silence.
"You miss her?" she asked quietly.
He didn't ask who she meant.
"Every damn day."
Marcus' Warning"Kyle," Marcus said one night in the gym. "I saw your face when you heard about Chino. You're playing like a man with nothing left to lose."
"Maybe I don't."
"That ain't true. You got a future. A shot. A girl who sees past your scars."
Kyle hesitated.
"You know about Ari?"
"Everyone know about Ari. She a walking storm."
Kyle smiled.
"I kinda like the storm."
Final Scene – Letter of Intent?Back in his dorm, Kyle stared at the blank "Letter of Intent" form from UCF.
The cursor blinked.
Name:
Date:
School:
He picked up his pen…
Paused.
Then his phone buzzed.
Ari:
"I'm outside. Don't make me wait, Reaper."
He tossed the pen down.
Grabbed his hoodie.
And limped toward the door—with a small smile for the first time in weeks.