y/n had stayed late again, long after the last bus rumbled away from the parking lot of McCoy Elementary. The halls were quiet now, filled only with the faint hum of old fluorescent lights and the soft scent of crayons and floor polish that always lingered at the end of the school day. Her classroom—Room 12—looked lived-in, warm, and safe. She kept it that way on purpose. Bailey needed places that felt safe.