CHAPTER FIVE — THE BEHAVIOUR HUB

The Behaviour Hub sounded harmless on paper.

A small, quiet room. A handful of students. “Targeted intervention.”
Right.
In reality, it was the part of the school where hope came to die and teenagers came to sharpen their teeth.

Dante took one step inside and felt the temperature change.

The fluorescent lights above flickered like they were too scared to commit to full brightness. The walls were plastered with motivational posters written in fonts so cheerful they felt sarcastic. A cracked clock ticked grudgingly. A tiny radiator clanged angrily in the corner like it hated its job.

Four students lounged around the room already, even though the day had barely begun.

Year 11s.
The ones everyone avoided.
The ones teachers whispered about in corridors.

Dante spotted them instantly:

Tyla — leaning back on her chair, chewing gum with violent rhythm, nails long and sharp.
Rico — hoodie up, hood tied tight, eyes scanning everything like a CCTV camera with trauma.
Santi — slouched on the floor in the corner, drawing skulls in a notebook.
Dre — tall, broad, arms crossed, jaw locked, body language screaming “hit me and I’ll hit back harder.”

Before Dante even opened his mouth, Dre muttered loudly:

“Dead it, man. Not another wannabe hero.”

Rico snorted. “Man’s dressed like undercover feds.”

Tyla raised an eyebrow. “Nah, he’s sexy-feds.”

Santi didn’t look up from his drawing. “Man looks tired.”

LD appeared leaning on the bookshelf, smirking. “They clocked you quick.”

Dante ignored him and walked in fully. “Morning.”

No one responded.

He pulled a chair to the front of the room. Sat. Didn’t force the energy. Let silence do some of the work.

Tyla popped her gum loudly. “Aren’t you meant to… teach or something?”

“Eventually,” Dante said. “Right now, I’m taking attendance.”

“We’re all here,” Dre said flatly.

“Nah,” Dante replied. “Your attitudes arrived. You lot are still loading.”

Rico looked up, a small grin forming despite himself. “Man said loading.”

Dante pointed at him. “Finally. One smile. That’s progress.”

Aaliyah appeared quietly at the doorway. She didn’t enter yet — just observed. Clipboard held close. Eyes locked on Dante. Curious. Protective. Something else too.

Dante felt her presence but didn’t turn.

He faced the four teens. “So what’s the issue today? Why you here?”

“System’s rigged,” Santi mumbled.

Tyla shrugged. “Miss hates me.”

Rico muttered, “I got blamed for something I didn’t do, same old.”

Dre didn’t speak.

Dante looked at him. “And you?”

Dre stared back like he was staring through him. “None of your business.”

Rico chuckled. “This guy…”

Dante nodded. “Cool. Then we’ll talk about something else. What do you lot want after school finishes?”

Tyla rolled her eyes. “Money.”

Rico nodded. “Money.”

Santi added, “Less stress.”

Dre still didn’t speak.

Dante leaned back. “Fair answers. But what do you want to do?”

“Does it matter?” Rico asked. “People like us don’t get far.”

“You don’t know that,” Dante said.

“We do,” Tyla snapped. “Teachers tell us every day we’re behind. We’re failures. We’re problems.”

“Ain’t said any of that,” Dante said calmly.

“Yet,” Dre muttered.

Dante sat forward. “Do I look like a man that enjoys putting people down?”

Santi looked up from his sketchbook. “Low-key… no.”

Dante nodded. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t. I’m not here to babysit or bully. I’m here ‘cause someone decided this room was the end of the line for you lot. And I don’t believe that.”

The room went quiet.

Tyla blinked. “Why you care?”

Dante shrugged. “Care’s free. Ignoring you costs more.”

Tyla stared at him, chewing slowly.

Rico leaned forward. “So what? You think you’re gonna fix us?”

“Nope,” Dante said. “I’m gonna give you the space to fix yourselves. Big difference.”

Dre scoffed, the sound sharp like a punchline.

Dante looked at him properly now. “You ready to talk yet?”

“No.”

“You ready to shout?”

Dre raised an eyebrow. “You trying to provoke me?”

“Trying to understand why every teacher I spoke to warned me about you like you’re a hurricane.”

Rico whispered, “’Cause he is.”

Dante ignored Rico. “You angry?”

Dre glared. “No.”

“Liar.”

Santi snorted. Tyla hid a smile behind her hand.

Dre’s jaw ticked. “I said. I’m not.”

Dante leaned forward slowly. “Dre, big man… I recognise your face. That simmering heat. That ‘don’t talk to me’ vibe. That feeling like if you say one wrong word you’ll actually explode.”

Dre stiffened.

“Know how I recognise it?” Dante asked quietly.

“How?” Dre challenged.

“‘Cause I still see that face in the mirror every morning.”

Dre’s expression flickered. Just for a moment.
Hurt. Then fear. Then anger again.

“You don’t know me,” Dre said, voice cracking slightly on the last word.

“I know enough,” Dante replied softly. “Enough to know you deserve better than whatever you’re carrying alone.”

LD hummed approvingly. “You really saying the right things today, fam.”

Aaliyah finally stepped inside the room.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

Tyla grinned. “Miss, Mr Reid’s grilling Dre like steak.”

“I’m having a conversation,” Dante corrected.

Aaliyah smiled faintly. “A productive one, by the looks of it.”

Dre looked between them — two adults standing together, united, calm, not shouting, not judging.

“No one talks to us like this,” Santi said quietly. “It’s weird.”

“I’ll take weird,” Dante said.

Hale chose that exact moment to appear at the door.
A shadow against the hallway light.
Frown already loaded.

“Mr Reid,” Hale said sharply. “A word.”

Dante stood, giving the kids a nod. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be five minutes.”

Tyla muttered, “Where we gonna go? Arkham Asylum?”

The kids laughed lightly.

Aaliyah stepped closer as Dante passed her. Their arms brushed.
Skin on skin.
Heat flashed up Dante’s arm.

“You’re doing great,” she whispered.

But when he reached Hale, the temperature dropped again.

THE OFFICE HALLWAY

Hale’s expression was carved from stone.

“You’re not following Hub procedure,” he said coldly.

“I’m talking to them,” Dante replied.

“Yes,” Hale snapped, “and that’s the issue. You are not a therapist. You are not trained for intervention. You were meant to assign silent work.”

“They weren’t going to do silent work,” Dante said. “They were going to shout, fight, or sleep. Talking made them engage.”

“That is NOT your role.”

Dante breathed slowly.

“Hale,” he said carefully, “with respect—your system doesn’t work. These kids have been failing here for years. Maybe they need a different approach.”

Hale stepped closer, voice dropping.

“You are on probation, Mr Reid. You will follow the systems we have. You will not ‘innovate.’ You will not form personal bonds. You will not try to play hero.”

Dante’s jaw clenched. “I’m just trying to help them.”

“You are overstepping,” Hale hissed. “Again.”

LD appeared leaning on the wall behind Hale, arms folded.

“Man’s rattled,” LD said. “He knows you’re making waves.”

Dante’s stomach twisted. LD felt… closer today. Sharper. More solid.

Hale continued, oblivious.

“And if you continue this pattern, Mr Reid, I will have no choice but to recommend that we terminate your placement.”

Dante stared at him.
Not blinking.
Not cowed.

“Understood,” Dante said quietly.

Meaning:
I hear you.
But I’m not stopping.

Hale walked away.

LD stepped into Dante’s line of sight.
His voice was lower now.
Heavier.

“You feel that?” LD whispered.

Dante swallowed hard. “Feel what?”

“There’s something in this school,” LD said. “Something coming. And you’re in its way.”

Cold spread across Dante’s spine.

LD’s eyes glowed faintly for the first time.

Then he vanished.

BACK IN THE HUB

The kids were silent when Dante returned.

Not bored-silent.
Not angry-silent.
Watching-silent.

Dre finally spoke.

“You gonna get in trouble for helping us?”

Dante blinked. “Why you asking?”

Dre shrugged. “’Cause teachers only get shouted at that long when they care.”

Tyla rolled her eyes, but her voice softened. “You’re not like the others, sir.”

Rico nodded. “Yeah… feels like you’re actually listening.”

Santi closed his sketchbook. “Feels like… something’s different when you’re here.”

Dante sat back in his chair.

“Maybe different’s good,” he said.

But the lights overhead flickered again.

Once.

Twice.

Then held.

And Dante wasn’t so sure anymore.