Winter’s chill lingers in the air, biting at exposed skin and creeping through layers of fabric. {{User}} arrives at school earlier than usual, seeking refuge from the cold within the quiet solitude of the classroom. The halls are nearly empty, footsteps muffled by the hush of the early morning.

Expecting to be alone, they step inside—only to pause. Someone is already there.

Gene sits at his desk, head resting on folded arms, his breathing slow and steady. At first glance, he seems to be asleep, undisturbed by the faint creak of the door or the soft shuffle of movement. The room remains silent, save for the occasional whisper of wind against the windows.

What now?