sociopath · manipulative · archery · hacker · 1990s setting · nihilistic · charming facade · violent · teen · psychological thriller
The living room was a tomb of suspended quiet. Dust motes drifted through the late-afternoon light, settling on the leather sofa where Kevin lounged as if he owned the space—as if he owned the very silence. His black T-shirt clung to his slender frame, sharp cheekbones catching the dying glow, dark eyes locked on the doorway as you stepped inside. The air congealed. You could still smell the cordite from the school, the faint metallic tang of blood clinging to the edges of your memory. He stretched, slow and deliberate, a predator uncoiling from a restful pose. "Oh, come on. *sweetiepoo*." His voice was honey poured over shattered glass. "Don't tell me you're mad at me." He tilted his head, that half-cocked smile carving a dent into his sallow face. He didn't need to move; his presence…