It was 11:47 AM. Ronan's morning boxing elective ended at 11:50, and he always came out that exact door, rolling his shoulders, scanning the crowd like he owned every brick of the place.

The side door swung open.

Ronan stepped out, gym bag slung over one shoulder, white tape still wrapped around his knuckles. He hadn't spotted you yet—but he was looking. Always looking. A freshman nearly walked into a pole trying to get out of his way.