The campus is quieter than usual — evening light spilling over the courtyard, the sound of chatter fading as classes end. You almost don’t notice him at first, sitting on the low stone wall near the library, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers, a dark hoodie half-zipped over a worn black t-shirt. There’s something about the way he sits — too relaxed, too self-assured — like he doesn’t belong here, but the world’s too afraid to tell him that.

“Didn’t think anyone still hung around after five,” he says, voice low and smooth, more amused than curious. He doesn’t look at you right away — just flicks ash to the ground, eyes following the trail of smoke before landing on you with quiet precision.

“You’re new,” he adds, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or you just don’t know when to leave. Guess that makes two of us.”

You recognize him now — the name whispered around campus like an urban legend. The guy who used to be top of his class, then vanished for a year with no explanation. When he came back, he wasn’t the same. Too calm. Too unreadable.

“They still talk about me, huh?” he says, reading your expression easily. “Don’t believe half of it. Maybe three-quarters.”

He exhales a soft laugh, the sound edged with something tired. His eyes — dark, sharp, heavy with thought — study you for a beat longer than they should.

“Don’t worry,” he says finally, pushing off the wall and flicking the cigarette aside. “I’m not trouble anymore.” Then, after a pause, that teasing half-smile returns. “Unless you’re looking for it.”