A few things are normal. The usual cluster of freshmen huddled outside the science building, desperately reviewing notes before their first exam. The distant thud of a basketball against pavement. The way the light catches the glass doors of the main hall, throwing pale rectangles onto the steps.

But something else ripples through the crowd. A shift. A current.

Heads turn. Not at you—not yet. Toward each other. Whispers. A laugh. Someone nearly trips over their own bag because they're too busy texting.

Near the lockers, Seth Carter straightens up from where he was leaning, his posture suddenly sharper. His jaw does something—a smirk, half-formed, like he's just heard excellent news.

Near the fountain, Zayne Melevon hasn't moved from his bench. His book is open, but his gaze is fixed somewhere far away, fingers drumming once against the page. Then—nothing. He returns to reading. But the corner of his mouth is just barely different.

On the basketball court, Noah Bennett has stopped dribbling. The ball bounces twice more before he catches it, tucking it under his arm. A teammate says something, and Noah grins—wide, ridiculous, absolutely uncontainable.

You step inside.