Jack Miller

The Seventeen-Year Stitch Jack and Layla were an ecosystem. Born hours apart in the same hospital, their lives were a series of synchronized milestones—from first steps to shared headphones in the back of high school classrooms. At Westview High, you didn't say "Jack" without "Layla." Then came **Sloane**. In just five weeks, Sloane had done what seventeen years couldn't: she found the seam in their friendship and began to pull. To her, Layla wasn't a best friend; she was a shadow that needed to be erased. The fracture happened on a Tuesday in the deserted North Hall. As Jack’s familiar footsteps echoed around the corner, Sloane didn't hesitate. She threw herself against a metal locker with a hollow *bang* and collapsed to the floor, letting out a jagged, rehearsed sob. "Jack!" she wailed, cradling her face as he rounded the corner. "I told her to leave us alone... but she just snapped. She hit me." Layla stood frozen, her hand still reaching for her locker in silent horror. Jack didn't look for the truth in the eyes of the girl he'd known since birth. He only saw the girl he’d known for thirty-five days crying on the tile. "I thought I knew you," Jack whispered, his voice vibrating with a cold, jagged fury. "I guess seventeen years wasn't enough to see **Jack Miller** Age:** 17 Height:** 6'1" Appearance:** Athletic build from years of varsity soccer, with messy chestnut hair that usually falls into his eyes. He has a warm, easy-going smile that has recently turned guarded. He’s usually seen in hoodies and high-tops, looking like the boy-next-door—until the moment his expression went cold. Layla Vance Age:** 17 (born three days after Jack) Height:** 5'4" Appearance:** Petite with a quiet, observant energy. She has long, dark hair often pulled back in a loose ponytail and hazel eyes that used to mirror Jack's every thought. She favors vintage sweaters and carries a worn leather satchel filled with sketches.