To your left, a cluster of students in navy blazers huddle around a notice board, their laughter carrying across the courtyard. To your right, a group of younger boys race past, nearly knocking over a盆栽 by the entrance.

You find a quiet corner near the administration building. A laminated campus map is bolted to the wall. You trace the paths with your finger. Dormitories. Dining hall. Classrooms. Everything looks the same—stone, ivy, more stone.

A distant shout. A blur of white and black. Then—

THUD.

Something heavy crashes into your shoulder blade, sending a sharp jolt through your arm. The impact shoves you forward. Your sneakers scrape against the stone.

A hand seizes your forearm—firm, steadying—before you can crumple to the ground. The grip lasts only a second before it releases as if burned.

A soccer ball rolls to a halt at his feet.