TWENTY FIVE

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november 5th, 1984

november 5th, 1984

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AVEN RAN HER hands down her arms. The cold air hit her in a rush, flicking up bumps along her exposed skin. Her feet dangled over the edge of the porch tauntingly. One step and she'd hit the ground, and she'd run, and she'd chase the cars down: the cars disappearing down the road, possibly never to be seen again. People were inside those vehicles. Children, powerful teens, mourning adults, a chief. People Aven knew. She clenched her jaw.

Max spared the older girl a glance before returning inside, followed by the rest of the young teens. Only Mike stayed. Mike and Steve.

"We could help them," Aven whispered. Mike didn't acknowledge her, his chin pointed too far down the driveway to notice. Steve softened his stance.

"Aven," he muttered. He kept his voice quiet so as to not disturb the teen holding back tears a few steps down from the front steps of the porch. "We are helping them."

"This is not enough," Aven shuddered. Her eyebrows drew in, her face fighting with her mind. Her lip twitched. "We could do more."

His hand met her shoulder. "Aven." His voice grew more stern. His eyes flicked to the side, landing on the boy in the driveway. He stood alone, arms shivering, as a lone tear slid down his cheek. Alone. Alone. What a misunderstood word. Aven knew. That was all she knew.

She moved past Steve and slowly descended the porch steps. Steve held back a sigh, his head tilting with sorrow, before he retreated inside.

"Mike?"

The boy didn't move. He didn't flinch. He didn't show a single sign of recognition.

Aven stopped beside him. She didn't look at him, not even a glance, but maintained a steady gaze into the distant lights of cars disappearing into the night.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍; steve harringtonWhere stories live. Discover now