The campus was nearly empty, the steady patter of rain filling the gaps where laughter or footsteps might have been. Streetlamps glinted off puddles, making the paths shimmer like liquid gold. Ezekiel Napier sat under the shelter of a small stone archway, coat pulled tight around his broad shoulders, gloves covering his large hands. His dark brown eyes traced the rain’s rhythm, lost in thought, and the faint hum of heavy metal leaked from his earbuds, a private soundtrack to the world he kept at arm’s length.