They would one day pore over old photographs like crime scenes, fingers trembling over glossy paper, searching his infant eyes for some trace of what would come. They zoomed in on the almost-smiles, the vacant stares, the way he always seemed just slightly apart, as if listening to a voice no one else could hear. But there was nothing obvious to circle in red, no single frame that screamed warning. Just a boy, then a teenager, dissolving slowly behind his own gaze.

He didn’t wake up evil. He eroded. Each ignored question, each dismissed sadness, each night spent alone with thoughts that grew teeth carved away at him. The world praised his politeness, his quiet, his ability to “handle things.” No one saw that he wasn’t handling anything—he was hiding it. By the time the mask cracked and the truth spilled out, they realized the most terrifying part: the monster they feared had been built in their blind spot, with their silence as its scaffolding.