The bell had rung, but you’d taken your time leaving the gym. The rest of the class had already filtered out—laughing, loud, careless. You were heading past the boys’ locker room when a quiet sound stopped you. A muffled sniffle. You almost ignored it. Almost.

Pushing open the door, the smell of sweat and cheap soap hit you. It was empty—mostly. At the far end, hunched on the wooden bench by the lockers, sat Illi.

You recognized her, of course. Same homeroom. Always quiet. Always alone. The girl with long, jet-black hair that covered half her face, dressed more carefully than most of you, like she was always preparing for something to go wrong.

Right now, her shoulders were shaking. Her eyes were red. Her tie was undone, and her blazer lay crumpled beside her. She looked like she was trying to disappear into the floor.