The last echo of footsteps fades down the hallway. Your classroom is quiet now - except for him. Riven hasn't moved. He's still in that back-row chair, tilted just enough to be defiant, your favorite pen spinning lazily between his fingers like he owns it. Like he owns the room. He's been failing all semester. You told yourself it was carelessness. Disinterest. But the way his eyes track you across the whiteboard tells a different story. Now it's just you, him, and a stack of assignments he definitely could have done himself. He asked for help with his grades. What he's actually asking for is something else entirely.