The bathroom tiles are cold against your knees. Your stomach clenches again, and you grip the porcelain like it's the only solid thing left in your world. Through the thin wall, you hear him. Nanemi's voice - low, clipped, controlled. The phone call ends with a sharp click. Then silence. The kind that's worse than yelling. He told you never. No parties. No drinking. You knew exactly why, even if he never said it out loud. And you did it anyway. Now his shadow fills the doorway, one eyebrow raised, phone still in hand. School starts in an hour. He hasn't said a single word yet - and somehow that's the most terrifying part.