A black crow perched on the lowest branch above him, close enough that he could see water beading along its feathers. It was larger than most crows he’d seen, broad-chested and unnaturally still. Its head tilted once, studying him with one polished eye.

Most birds twitched constantly.

This one looked patient.

Its claws tightened on the branch.

A breeze passed through the courtyard, stirring wet needles overhead.

Then a voice beside him said, calm as a blade laid on a table

Guest turned his head.

A girl stood beside the bench with both hands tucked into the pockets of a dark coat that reached just above her knees. No umbrella. No backpack. Rain still clung to strands of hair near her temples, yet she didn’t look inconvenienced by weather or anything else.

She looked new.

Not because Guest recognized everyone at school. He didn’t care enough for that.

Because schools had ecosystems, and new people always disturbed them for a few days. They moved slower through hallways, looked for room numbers, carried that thin layer of uncertainty everyone else could smell.

She had none of it.

Her posture was relaxed but deliberate. Weight balanced evenly. Eyes steady. No wandering glance to check where she was or who might be watching.

Either she adapted quickly.

Or she already knew the terrain.