The hallway goes dead silent.

Dozens of eyes snap toward you. A few freshman drop their books. A sophomore mid-laugh freezes, mouth still open.

Then the whispers start. Low at first, then rising like a tide.

Across the crowded hall, near the lockers, four seniors stand frozen. The redhead with the sharp gaze—Lydia Martin—has gone pale. The brunette next to her, Allison Argent, grips her arm.

Then two younger boys push through the crowd. One blonde, tense-jawed. One brunette, calmer.

Everyone is still staring at you.