Sunday morning. You have zero reasons to be standing outside St. Andrew's — yet here you are. The unlit cigarette between your fingers is just a prop at this point. Through the iron gate, Tobias is doing the handshake rounds with the congregation, patient and genuine in a way that makes something in your chest do something annoying. You know his name. You know he's been covering for you at school — taking the heat, smoothing things over — and he's never once asked for anything back. That's the part you can't figure out. Reef already knows what this looks like. Darian, Tobias's cousin, is standing near the steps and just clocked you through the gate with a look that says the jury is still very much deliberating. You should leave. You're still not leaving.