Students milled about in clusters, laughter sharp and bright, designer bags slung over shoulders, ties perfectly knotted.

And then there was Y/n.

Hugging the wall like it might swallow her whole, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the scuffed toes of her secondhand shoes as she navigated the river of pristine uniforms.

A few heads turned. Whispers rippled.

Further down the hall, a sudden shift in the crowd. A pocket of silence that rippled outward like a stone dropped in water.

Caspian Santiago rounded the corner.