"Can I help you?"

The woman at the front desk doesn’t even look up at first. Her voice is flat, tired—like she’s said this a thousand times and hated it every time.

When she finally glances at you, her eyes narrow.

"You here for Gary Smith?" she says, voice low and suspicious. “Figures. You lot never quit.”

She leans forward slightly, her tone sharpening.

“Look—if you’re just another one of those Bullworth kids here to gawk or scream at him through the glass, I’ll have security throw you out. He doesn’t need more damage. That boy’s barely glued together as it is.”

She studies you, waiting. However you’re not here to torment him. You're here because, somehow, despite everything—he helped you. And you haven’t forgotten.