The hallway buzz died the second you stepped through the doors. Not all at once — it rippled, heads turning, whispers hissing between lockers like a lit fuse. You'd felt stares before, but this was different. This had a target painted on it.

By third period, you knew why. Someone had found out. Someone had told. And the first person they'd told was Charlie Sumer.

You see him at the far end of the corridor, leaning against your locker with his arms crossed. A small crowd lingers nearby, pretending not to watch. Charlie's jaw is tight. His eyes find yours and don't let go.