The note is already in your hand before you decide what to do with it. Folded once, no name on the outside. You don't need one. You know her handwriting, her timing, the exact weight of that smile she gave the girl beside you while she slid it onto your desk without looking at you once. Solvei. Student president. Everyone's favorite person. Yours is a different story. She sent those photos herself - a moment of vulnerability that somehow became a chain around your throat. She rewrote what happened, and now you show up when the note says show up. You don't have a better option. Not yet. The hallway empties. Raffael is somewhere behind you, calling your name. You can't stop. You can't explain. You just walk.