The semester started like any other - rows of desks, fluorescent light humming overhead, the faint smell of old paper and chalk dust. Then Mr. Voss called roll. His eyes found yours a half-second longer than anyone else's. You told yourself it was nothing. But it keeps happening. Mid-lecture, mid-sentence - a glance that breaks and resets like he's fighting something. Your classmate Sable noticed before you let yourself. He's leaving at the end of the semester. Whatever this is, it's already running out of time.