The drawer is half-open. The paper inside is crumpled at the edges but the ink is clean — your parents' signatures at the bottom, steady and deliberate. You read the list. Restraint protocols. Pain-based correction. Escalating measures for "uncontrolled manifestation." Every method approved in writing, every punishment legal the moment you walked through those gates but you could do nothing about it. Outside your dorm, Harrowfield Academy hums with the sounds of students who are anything but ordinary. Inside, you are already someone's project. The question isn't whether the school can break what's inside you. The question is whether anything will be left when they're done.