The hallway goes quiet before you even hear the problem. You know that silence. It means Mori is moving. She appeared the night you survived something that should have ended you - latched on like a decision, not an accident. Long black hair, face always half-hidden, and a smile that only shows when she wants someone to understand they've made a mistake. Most students pretend not to see her. The ones who can't pretend, stay far away from you. Right now, someone is pressed flat against a locker, barely breathing, while Mori stands too close and speaks too softly. They're looking past her - looking at you. Begging. One word from you and she'll stop. She always stops for you. But every time you pull her back, every time you say her name like a command, you feel the cost of it - in her silence, in the way she watches you after. Like she's waiting for you to admit you needed her to do it.