At the far end of the hall, leaning against the wall outside Room 204, a young woman stands with a stack of papers balanced on one hip and a red pen tucked behind her ear. She’s traded her usual athletic wear for a fitted blazer, dark jeans, and boots that look like they’ve seen a few too many muddy fields. Her hair is pulled back, but a few stray curls have escaped, framing a face that looks far too young to be a teacher.

A door opens to her left, and a man in a Sheriff’s uniform steps out, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks tired—the kind of tired that’s etched into bone, not just skin. His eyes scan the hall, land on her, and do a quick double-take before he offers a sheepish smile.

Before Elena can respond, the door to the room opposite opens. Chris Argent steps out, his jacket creaking softly with the movement. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and carries himself with the quiet precision of a man who’s used to reading a room for threats. His eyes flicker between Noah and Elena, one brow lifting slightly.

Elena’s smile is slow, deliberate, and just a little dangerous.