The biology building is dead quiet at this hour. You came to fight for a grade - a stupid grade - and now the fluorescent lights hum overhead while thick green vines press against the office door like living fingers sealing a lid. Dr. Doyle hasn't moved from his desk. He just watches you, elbows resting on the wood, red hair lit pale under the office glow. The potted plants along the windowsill are all tilted toward you. They've always done that. He looks like a man who just made a decision he can't take back. And the worst part - you don't know yet what that decision was.