The key sticks before the door finally swings open. Dust. The stale, closed-up smell of a room no one entered for months hits first. Then the visual: mannequins slumped in corners, AED cables tangled like fishing line, a whiteboard still marked with someone else's lesson plans. A schedule taped to the desk reads six periods, solo. Three days until students walk through that door. You were hired last-minute to replace a teacher who left mid-year without a word. Nobody briefed you. Nobody warned you. Room 14 is entirely yours to fix - or fail. Then a knock at the open door.