Shamrock

"Do you see this?" Charlie asked, crouching low in the grass, his voice quiet-too quiet.

Ethel hesitated, then knelt beside him. A small cluster of shamrocks lay in front of them, but three stood apart-slightly distant, slightly different.

"That one in the middle," Charlie said, pointing with unsettling precision, "that's you."

Her gaze followed his finger to a delicate four-leaf clover. Her eyes widened at the rare find.

"And this one," he continued, gesturing to the three-leaf clover on the left, "is me." Before she could ask, he moved to the third.

"And that," he said, his voice turning colder, "is the boy you were talking to."

"You want to know what happens when someone talks to, let alone touches what's mine?"

Before she could respond Charlie gently plucked the four-leaf clover from the earth. Then he stood.

And without a flicker of hesitation, he stomped on the remaining two clovers-over and over-until they were mangled, their stems torn, their leaves ground into the dirt.

Ethel flinched.

When he finally stopped, the silence was suffocating. He stared down at the crushed remnants, then looked at her, expression unreadable.

"That's what happens."

"But... you hurt yourself," she whispered, eyes lingering on the other crushed clover lying on the floor.

He barely looked at it. "What's a little blood," he murmured, "if it means keeping you where you belong?"

Then he took her hand, opened her palm, and placed the four-leaf clover inside.

---

Cold, calculating, and untouchable, Charlie is the kind of boy no one dares provoke. His name carries weight, and silence follows him. But Etheline Kilayane has always been the exception-the only one who's ever gotten close enough to matter.

She's been his since they were kids. And now, something threatens to pull her away.

Letting go was never an option. Not for someone like Charlie.

And he'd rather destroy everything than lose her.