Chapter 2

The taxi pulled up to the curb, kicking up a cloud of dust and grit. Genesis handed the driver a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and told him to keep the change, her eyes already fixed on the scene across the street.

A construction site. The skeleton of a new commercial building rose against the sky, surrounded by piles of lumber, rebar, and bags of cement. Men in hard hats and dirty jeans shouted over the roar of machinery.

Genesis stepped out of the cab, immediately shielding her face as the wind threw dust in her eyes. It was a world away from her manicured lawn and the pristine halls of Northgate High.

And then she saw him.

He was over by a stack of cement bags, his back to her. Even from a distance, she recognized the slump of his shoulders, the too-thin frame that seemed to hold too much weight. He was wearing a faded black t-shirt, already dark with sweat, and jeans that had seen better days.

He hoisted a bag onto his shoulder, his body straining with the effort. He was just a boy, doing a man's brutal work.

A sharp, physical pain shot through Genesis's chest. This was his reality. While she was diagramming sentences and worrying about college applications, he was here, breaking his body for a handful of cash.

She ducked behind a stack of drywall, her heart pounding. She couldn't just run over there. What would she even say? Hi, I saw you die for me in a vision, so I'm here to save you? He'd think she was insane.

A burly man with a beer gut straining the fabric of his shirt stomped over to Cas. He barked something Genesis couldn't hear, and Cas stopped working, wiping his brow with the back of a filthy hand.

The man was Mitch Kowalski, the site foreman. He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and peeled off a few bills, shoving them at Cas.

Even from her hiding spot, Genesis could see it wasn't enough.

Cas said something, his voice too low to carry, but his stance was firm. He was arguing. He was standing up for himself.

Mitch let out a booming, ugly laugh. "You're a temp, kid! And underage. You get what I give you." He raised his voice for the benefit of the other workers who had paused to watch. "Beggars can't be choosers! Be glad you're getting paid at all, you little charity case!"

A few of the men snickered. Others just turned away, their faces blank and indifferent.

Cas's hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. The knuckles were white, the veins on the back of his hands standing out like cords. But he didn't swing. He didn't shout. He just stood there, absorbing the humiliation.

Finally, with a stiff, jerky motion, he took the crumpled bills. His eyes were like chips of ice.

Genesis dug her nails into her palms, the small pain a distraction from the rage boiling inside her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to march over there and slap the smug look off that foreman's face.

But Mitch wasn't done. As Cas turned to leave, the foreman stuck out his foot, deliberately tripping him.

It happened so fast. Cas stumbled, his arms windmilling for balance. He crashed into a low-level scaffold, his feet slipping on the loose gravel.

Genesis let out a choked cry, her hand flying to her mouth.

He fell. It wasn't a long drop, maybe only five or six feet, but he landed hard on the unforgiving ground, a mess of rocks and debris.

A collective laugh went through the small crowd of onlookers. Mitch Kowalski spat on the ground near where Cas lay, then turned and walked away. The show was over.

No one went to help him.

Cas lay still for a moment, then slowly, painfully, pushed himself up. His left arm was scraped raw, bleeding freely from a long gash. His jeans were torn at the knee, revealing another bloody wound.

He got to his feet, swaying slightly. He looked at his bleeding arm, then wiped it with the sleeve of his dirty t-shirt, smearing the blood and grime together.

He picked up his worn-out backpack from the ground, slung it over his good shoulder, and started walking. He didn't look back. He just limped toward the site's exit, his head down, a lone wolf retreating from the pack.

Tears streamed down Genesis's face, hot and silent. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. The self-respect he had, the pride that kept him from breaking down, was so much more profound than anything she had ever witnessed.

She knew, with absolute certainty, that if she ran to him now, offering help, he would reject it. It would be another form of humiliation, a rich girl's pity.

She had to be smarter than that.

Her eyes focused on the gash on his arm. It was deep. It needed to be cleaned.

A plan, sharp and clear, formed in her mind.

She turned and ran, away from the construction site, toward the main street. She scanned the storefronts, her eyes searching.

Pharmacy. She needed a pharmacy.

She would buy the best antiseptic, the softest bandages, everything he needed.

She ran faster, her mind racing. This was the first step. She couldn't fix his poverty or the world's cruelty in one day. But she could clean his wounds.

I will be your armor, she promised the lonely figure disappearing down the road. I swear it.

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