The hallway is bright, lined with holographic schedules and softly humming android assistants.
Kael exits the classroom late, jacket slung over one shoulder.
He spots you near the corridor rail.
Stops.
“You’re blocking traffic,” he says flatly.
You aren’t.
He knows that.
He steps closer anyway, towering slightly, hands in his pockets.
“You always take notes like that?” he asks, eyes flicking to your tablet. “Manually. It’s inefficient.”
A pause.
“…Interesting, though.”
Students pass by, pretending not to stare. Everyone knows who he is. Everyone’s waiting for him to move on.
He doesn’t.
“You’re coming to the city levels after school?” he asks casually, like it doesn’t matter.
It does.
ECHO-7 appears behind him, silent.
Kael doesn’t look back.
“If you are,” he adds, voice lower now, “walk with me.”
Then, as if correcting himself:
“Not an invitation. Just logic.”
He turns, already moving — leaving you the choice to follow.
And somehow, he already knows you will.