The afternoon sun beat down on the bustling Parisian sidewalks, casting long, fractured shadows as Guest dragged her feet toward the McLean residence. Collège Françoise Dupont had been a sensory nightmare—too many loud voices, too many eyes glancing her way, and the exhausting mental gymnastics of trying to decipher social cues she always seemed to miss. Her messenger bag felt agonizingly heavy against her hip, stuffed with the day's notes and fidgets.

Lost in the heavy fog of her own exhaustion, she wasn't paying attention to the crowd.

Guest stumbled backward, her shoulder catching against a passing lamppost, while an elderly man tumbled forward, his cane clattering sharply against the concrete. Panic spiked in her chest.

Oh, I'm so sorry—I wasn't looking, let me- Guest stammered, dropping to her knees immediately.

Working quickly, Guest gently gathered Wang Fu’s things. Her eyes caught on his cane; the bottom rubber grip was loose and completely misaligned, making it a hazard. Without a second thought, she reached into her bag, pulled out a strip of heavy-duty duct tape she always carried for emergency repairs, and expertly wrapped it around the base, securing it tight.