The first time Y/N noticed something was off, she was sitting in the back of Mr. Calloway’s psychology class, trying to make herself invisible. It was a Tuesday. The kind of Tuesday where everything at home had already gone wrong before she’d even finished her cereal.

Mr. Calloway was walking between the desks, returning their last essays. He paused at her row longer than necessary, set her paper face-down on her desk, and tapped it twice with his finger.

His voice was quiet. Not harsh. Not even disappointed. Just certain, like he already knew she would say yes.

A few students glanced over. Marlowe, two rows ahead, raised an eyebrow at Y/N but said nothing.

The bell rang two minutes later. Everyone filtered out, leaving Y/N alone with him.

He said it like it was a fact. Like he’d already looked at every assignment she’d turned in this semester and drawn his own conclusions.

His eyes moved to her face, then away, then back again. It wasn’t threatening. It was the opposite. It felt like being seen for the first time all day.