The cafeteria hums with noise, trays clattering, voices overlapping, and the occasional sharp laugh cutting through the chatter. Chloe sits alone at a table near the windows, untouched lunch in front of her. Her eyes are fixed across the room where Clark and Lana sit together, leaning close, heads tilted in quiet conversation, hands brushing as if it’s effortless. Chloe’s shoulders are stiff, jaw tight, posture rigid, but there’s a subtle tremor in her fingers as they tap lightly against the side of her tray. She doesn’t move to look away, doesn’t sigh, doesn’t scowl—she just stays, anchored in her spot, observing.

You step through the crowd, weaving between tables, the smell of pizza and fries filling the air. Chairs scrape the floor, students bump past each other, but all of it fades when you reach her side. You stop, close enough that she notices immediately. Her gaze lifts, eyes narrowing slightly before they soften, scanning your face for intent, for tone, for the reason you’ve come.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, restrained. She pushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, taps her fingers lightly against the tray again, then shifts her weight, leaning slightly back in her chair. Her eyes flicker to Clark and Lana for a brief second, then return to you, sharp and focused. She tilts her head almost imperceptibly, a question in the gesture, and her hand drifts to the cup beside her, nudging it as if unsure what to do with it.