Page 41 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

D inner was pizza from a local place—greasy, hot, and delicious.

They sat around the living room, Faolan curled into one end of the couch, Thane on the floor by her legs, leaning against her knee like he was trying to make a point to Maro.

Zel had taken over Spotify. Lirian poured wine into small paper cups. Maro said nothing, just sat in the corner, eyes occasionally drifting to her. His face looked as rough as Thane’s. Earlier, he had complained about how Lirian was overtly rough patching him up.

It all felt normal, like they had known each other for years.

Normal until the pineapple slice.

“You people have no taste,” Thane said flatly, picking a piece off Maro’s slice and tossing it.

“Fruit belongs in dessert,” Zel agreed, mouth full.

“I stand by it,” Maro grunted. Then he turned to Faolan, lifting his slice dramatically. “Faolan, defend me.”

She blinked, mouth full, caught off guard. “Honestly? I kind of like it.”

Thane made a strangled noise.

Lirian burst into laughter.

“You are doing this for revenge, aren’t you?” Thane muttered. “Pineapple on pizza. What next? Bananas? Curry?”

Zel chuckled, then leaned back. “Alright. I have a question.”

She looked up cautiously.

“That day…when you came to our school. Why didn’t you say who you were?”

A silence stretched.

Then Zel said, almost reluctantly, “Your brother said it was your Year Nine. You insisted you wanted to meet us.”

Her stomach dropped. She didn’t really want to remember.

Thane was still now.

“He said you tried to talk to him,” Zel continued, voice carefully neutral. “He was already…who he was. A bad rep. Girls around him like orbiting satellites.”

“I remember,” she whispered.

“You approached him.”

Faolan’s throat closed. She remembered the moment with aching clarity. Her stomach had knotted with nerves. She had waited for him to recognise her.

“I was crushed,” she admitted, voice small. “I couldn’t explain why I’d come. I didn’t want to explain.”

She’d been fourteen.

She had been there for four weeks, and she had caught glimpses of Thane and Lirian.

Today, she had hiked up her skirt and had taken extra time to brush her hair and French braid it.

Months of therapy had paid off and she could now function in crowds without having a panic attack.

She could make eye contact. Things didn’t go dark, and she didn’t lose time.

Her knees had knocked together under her skirt, sweaty hands curled tight around the straps of her backpack. The school corridor was packed, shoulder to shoulder with noise and chaos. But her eyes had locked on one boy.

Thane. Year Eleven. Already too tall, too striking. Everyone knew him.

Girls trailed after him like perfume. Holly, one of the prettiest and loudest, was tugging at his shirtsleeve by the vending machine, her laugh sharp and syrupy. She touched his chest like she owned it.

Faolan had waited for a gap. Waited for his eyes to find hers. Her heart had pounded like it wanted out.

He would recognise her. He would know her .

She’d gingerly made her way until she was right next to them.

A smile tugged at her lips, hopeful. “Hi…”

Thane had looked down and blinked once. Then, lazily, his mouth curling in that cold, smug smirk, he said, “Wait your turn, kid. You are a little too young for me. Maybe in a couple of years, once you have grown boobs.”

Laughter rang out around them, Holly’s voice shrill and cruel.

Faolan had blushed, then gone pale.

She had felt like her heart was breaking.

She just turned, throat tight, walking blindly back the way she’d come.

She had fled and refused to come back. Arthur had sighed and arranged to transfer her to her old school.

Thane had stopped eating.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he said hoarsely. “I vaguely remember the day. I remember the girl.”

His lip curled in disgust at himself. “Fucking Holly. She’d latched on like a rash. I was just so annoyed at her, and then you came up. And I…I was cruel. I remember thinking later that I’d crossed a line. That something about the way you looked at me wasn’t right.”

He didn’t look up. “I let it go. Just like everything else.”