The lecture hall is half-lit and half-awake. You've been staring at the back of her head for weeks. Wren. Quiet, forgettable to most — always a little early, always leaves fast. You know her name from the seating chart, not from conversation. But last night, during a 2 a.m. stream you had no business watching, she laughed. That same soft, nervous sound. And everything clicked. Now she's two rows ahead, pen moving across her notebook, completely unaware. Dorian is already sniffing around, bragging about some streamer who goes to this school. Sable keeps glancing your direction like she already knows somethuing is wrong. You're sitting on a secret that could unravel her entire carefully divided life. The question is what you do with it.