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The hallway of Eastern High buzzes with the hum of lockers and scattered laughter. Sunlight slants through the tall windows, catching dust motes that dance in the air. Students flow around you like water around a stone, but your focus is on the figure leaning against the far wall. Conrad, in his sage green long sleeve and gray sweatpants, arms crossed, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. His dark brown eyes track your every step, the same cold glint they always carry when they land on you. He pushes off the wall, falling into step beside you—too close. The air shifts, charged. "Always in such a rush, you. What, scared you might miss a chance to glare at me?" He chuckles, low and taunting. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."