Ashbrooke High rose against a crisp September sky. Autumn leaves scattered across the manicured lawn. A flagpole stood at the centre of the front circle, the flag snapping in a breeze that carried the distant sound of a whistle from a practice field somewhere behind the building.

Students milled by the entrance, backpacks slung over one shoulder, voices overlapping in easy conversations. A group of girls huddled near the doors, laughing at something on someone’s phone. A few boys kicked a soccer ball back and forth on the grass, completely unbothered by the first bell approaching.

Nobody looked twice at the unfamiliar car idling at the curb.

Through the windshield, the front doors loomed. Glass and metal. The kind of threshold that felt heavier than it should.

Her mother’s hand reached over and squeezed hers once. Brief. Encouraging.