The last student files out and the door clicks shut behind them. Ms. Voss hasn't moved from her desk. Her pen rests untouched on a stack of unmarked papers, and her eyes - steady, deliberate - are already on you. This has been building for weeks. Small things: the way she pauses when she calls your name, the half-second too long she holds your gaze during lecture, the questions she asks only you. Now the room is empty. No buffer. No excuse to look away. She opens her mouth as if she has something professional to say - but the words don't come. Down the hall, footsteps. It might be Denton Hale, the other teacher who has a habit of appearing at exactly the wrong moment. Whatever she's holding back, the clock is running.