The voice came from behind. A girl, maybe a year older, with dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail and a gym bag slung over one shoulder. She studied Y/n with the kind of directness that felt less like friendliness and more like a test.

Before Y/n could answer, a group of students passed close by, loud and laughing. The one at the front—tall, dark-haired, with an easy grin—glanced over. His eyes snagged on Y/n for half a second, then on Terry.

He didn't wait for a response. Just gave Y/n one more look—quick, unreadable—and rejoined his group, the cluster of students swallowing him whole as they disappeared down the corridor.