Same but Different

The End

Summerville High wasn't loud the next morning.
It wasn't chaotic.
It wasn't dramatic.

It was quiet.

A kind of quiet that didn't belong in teenage hallways.

Whispers slid like cold air through lockers.
Someone was crying near the girls' bathroom.
Teachers moved stiffly, eyes red, as if every step was an apology.

In the center of the hall, Jason stood frozen, replaying the night a hundred times — the diner, the stupid jokes, the almost-date — and wondering if he could've said something, anything.

Kylie read the memorial post on her phone, and her throat closed. She didn't know Mathilda well. But she knew pain. And this?
This was more than pain.
This was proof that something was deeply wrong in this town.

Then there was Rob.

He arrived late. Helmet on, mood dead, eyes tired from a night he didn't sleep.
He walked inside.
He saw the candles.
He saw the photo frame.
He saw her name.

His chest cracked open.

He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He didn't collapse.

He just... stopped.

Like someone pulled the plug on whatever held him upright.

Jason approached him slowly.

"Rob..."

But Rob didn't answer.

He just stared at Mathilda's picture, her tiny smile, her hopeful eyes — the eyes of someone who still believed tomorrow might be different.

And Rob whispered, barely audible:

"Who did this to you?"

Because he knew.
He knew she wouldn't do this out of nowhere.
She had hope.
She had plans.
She had something to live for.

And someone ripped it away.

Richard Jackson didn't go to work that day.
He sat in his study, fingers tapping against the desk, torn between fear and fury.

He had finally told Rob everything —
about Victor Shaw,
the black money,
the laundering,
the Morgans' secrets,
the silent war beneath Mississippi's surface.

The Shaw Family legacy.
The corruption.
The power.
The secrets buried deeper than bones.

And now?

A girl was dead.

A girl whose scholarship should've been guaranteed.
A scholarship funded by Victor Shaw.

Rob barged into the room without knocking.

"Dad," he said, voice low. "Tell me straight. Did Victor... stop Mathilda from getting it?"

Richard hesitated only a second.

Then nodded.

Rob clenched his jaw so hard something cracked in him.
Not anger.
Not guilt.
Not grief.

Something older.
Something darker.
Something he thought he had killed years ago.

The old Rob.
The boy who fought everyone.
The boy who didn't care about consequences.
The boy who destroyed.

He was awake now.

And he wanted blood.

At Summerville, Elena Cross packed her notebook shakily. Her hands were trembling — she'd barely slept since the call. That distorted voice. The threat.

"Leave the town... or end up like the others."

She didn't know who "the others" were.

Until today.

She walked past the memorial stand and froze.
Her eyes filled instantly.

Mathilda Wilson.
A quiet, brilliant kid she had internally hoped would become one of her first proper cases.

Gone.

She looked around at the students — frightened, whispering, clinging to rumours.
And she understood.

The town was sick.
Rotten.
Infested with Shaw influence.

She grabbed her phone.

She needed to leave Mississippi.
Now.

And somewhere deep down, she prayed Rob wouldn't end up next.

Night fell.

Rob stood by the lake outside his penthouse.
Hands in pockets.
Wind cold against his face.

Kylie came beside him quietly.

"You didn't reply to my texts."

He didn't look at her.
He didn't speak.

"Rob... please talk to me."

He finally said:

"I couldn't save her."

Kylie swallowed.
She wanted to comfort him.
To tell him it wasn't his fault.
To hold him until he broke.

But he continued—

"She was alone... and I didn't even know."
His voice cracked into something between guilt and rage.
"I'm not letting this happen again."

"Rob... what are you thinking?"

He looked at the lake.
Calm.
Still.
Reflecting the moon like a blade.

"I'm ending Victor Shaw."

Kylie stepped back.
"Rob— you're just a teenager—"

"So was Mathilda," he whispered.

Kylie had no answer.

Two nights later.

Rob got a call.
A number he didn't recognize.

He answered.

No words.
Just a voice — distorted, familiar, cold.

"You think you're a hero, Rob Jackson?"
"You think you can go against us?"
"You're just a child."
"And a child can be broken."

The line went dead.

Rob lowered the phone.

And he smiled.

The first real smile in weeks.

"Thanks," he whispered, "for giving me a reason."

The End

EPILOGUE

Mississippi Juvenile Detention,

A guard holding the food tray in his hands
Approaching the cell.
"Dinner time Reeds, aren't you hungry?"

He opens the door
And the sight leaves him furious
"Where is he?"

He shouts,
"Matthew Reeds has escaped!"