I stood there for a moment, alone on a Parisian street corner, and let myself feel the weight of it.
Then I started walking.
Casual patrol.
That's what I told myself.
Just a guy taking a morning stroll through the Left Bank, hands in his pockets, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Nothing to see here.
Except I wasn't walking. I washunting.
Scanning rooftops. Cataloging faces. Tracking vehicles that lingered too long at intersections. Noting exits, choke points, places where an ambush could be staged with minimal collateral.
Old habits.
The kind you couldn't shake even if you wanted to.
My mind drifted as I moved, slipping back through years like flipping through pages in a book I'd tried to burn but couldn't quite destroy.
St. Paul's.
Fucking St. Paul's.
I'd been twelve when I got the letter. Thick cream-colored paper, embossed logo, words that made my parents cry with joy.
Congratulations. You have been selected.
They'd hugged me so hard I could barely breathe. Told me I was special. Told me this was my chance—the kind of opportunity kids like us didn't get. A scholarship to one of the most prestigious athletic academies on the East Coast. A pipeline to college. To the pros, maybe, if I worked hard enough.
I'd believed them.
God, I'd believed every fucking word.
That first month had been like a dream.
State-of-the-art facilities. Coaches who knew your name. Teammates who treated you like family. Practices that pushed you hard but felt fair. Wins that tasted like vindication.
They groomed me.
I understood that now. Understood how they'd pulled me in—made me feel seen, valued,chosen—before the hammer dropped.
It started small.
Extra drills after practice. Midnight wake-ups for "conditioning." Older boys watching from the shadows, their eyes cold and assessing.
Then it escalated.
Beatings that were called "team-building exercises." Mental torture disguised as discipline. Sleepless nights justified as preparation for the real world. Extreme physical exertion pushed past the point where your body screamed for mercy and into the place where you either broke or became something else entirely.
In the beginning, I told myself it was all part of the plan.
It was why St. Paul's won so many championships. Why they were so selective. Why kids who graduated from there went on to do great things—or at least that's what the brochures said.
But I saw the change in the other boys.
Some became cruel to cope. Turned their pain outward, inflicting it on anyone weaker. Others went despondent—hollow-eyed and silent, moving through the days like ghosts.
One boy hung himself.
