Chapter 3

The CVS bag felt heavy in her hand, weighted with more than just gauze and antiseptic. It felt like a first offering, a fragile bridge.

Genesis found the apartment building from a sliver of last life memory, a time she'd driven a friend home and noticed the dilapidated brick structure. It was even worse up close. The air in the hallway was thick with the smell of dampness, old grease, and despair.

She stopped in front of apartment 2B. The number was barely visible, painted over and peeling. Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm the frantic beating of her heart, she knocked. The sound was too loud in the silent hall.

No answer.

She could hear a faint rustling inside, the sound of movement. He was in there.

She knocked again, a little softer this time. "Cas?" she called, her voice trembling slightly. "It's Genesis Greene. From school. I saw you get hurt."

A voice, rough and low, came through the wood of the door. "Get lost."

It was the first time he had ever spoken directly to her. The words were a slap, cold and sharp, laced with a deep-seated weariness.

She didn't move. "Your arm," she insisted, speaking to the closed door. "That cut is bad. It needs to be cleaned, or it'll get infected."

The silence that followed was absolute. She held her breath, hoping.

Then, she heard it. A distinct, final sound.

Click.

The deadbolt.

He had locked her out. He had locked away her help, her concern, her.

A wave of helplessness washed over her. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the peeling paint, feeling the sting of his rejection. But underneath the hurt was a stubborn, aching tenderness. His coldness wasn't for her. It was a shield. A wall he'd built brick by painful brick to keep the world from doing any more damage.

She couldn't break it down by force.

Gently, she placed the CVS bag on the worn, grimy welcome mat in front of his door.

"I'm leaving the supplies here," she said, her voice soft but clear. "There's antiseptic, bandages, and some antibiotic ointment. Please... just use them."

She waited a moment longer, then turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the empty hall.

The next day at school was torture. Cas's seat was empty again. All day, Genesis was tormented by images of him in that dark apartment, his wound festering, ignoring the help she'd left.

At the end of the last period, she went to her locker, her mind a numb buzz of worry. She spun the combination, the familiar clicks doing nothing to soothe her. She pulled the metal door open.

And froze.

Sitting on top of her history textbook was a CVS bag. The CVS bag.

Her hands trembled as she lifted it out. It was lighter than she remembered. She looked inside.

The box of large-sized bandages had been opened, and a few were missing. The bottle of antiseptic was a little less full. He had used them.

Relief, so potent it made her knees weak, flooded through her.

But that wasn't all. Tucked neatly back into the bag were brand-new, unopened replacements for everything he had used. A new box of bandages. A new bottle of antiseptic. He'd even bought a new box of the assorted-size band-aids she'd thrown in at the last minute.

And tucked inside the new box of bandages was a small, folded piece of notebook paper.

She unfolded it with fumbling fingers.

Two words were scrawled in a messy but strong hand.

Thanks. Owed.

A laugh escaped her lips, a sound that was half sob. Tears pricked her eyes as she stared at the note.

This was his way. Proud, stubborn, and fiercely principled. He would accept her help when he desperately needed it, but he would not be in her debt. He wouldn't take her charity.

The small, anonymous gesture was more intimate than any conversation. It was a glimpse behind the wall. A tiny crack in the ice.

She carefully folded the note and tucked it into her pocket, a precious secret. She held the bag close to her chest, a ridiculous smile spreading across her face.

He wasn't just a charity case. He wasn't a project.

He was a boy who, despite everything, paid his debts.

And she knew, with a certainty that warmed her from the inside out, that she was going to see him again tomorrow.

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