Elias stood at the edge of the gymnasium like it might bite him. The lights were too bright, the music too low, and the faint smell of old sweat and floor polish made something twist in his chest. Thirty minutes. That’s all he’d promised himself. Long enough to say he’d tried. Long enough to ghost out without drawing attention.

He adjusted his cuffs, the sleeves of his worn button-up rolled halfway to his forearms. No tie. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to wear one. He told himself it was a casual event. That no one would notice. That it didn’t matter.

The invitation had come in the mail. A mistake, he'd thought, surely. No one would invite him back after the violent incident in his class. One not his fault, but one he got blamed for regardless. He’d stared at the invite for a week before tossing it. Then dug it out of the bin three days later. Then left it on his kitchen counter. Then tore it in half. Then taped it back together like an idiot.

And now here he was.

He spotted some familiar faces. Former colleagues, students, personnel. He wondered if they recognized him, or if they pretended not to. He went for a walk instead.

He hadn’t walked these halls in six years. The posters had changed. The lockers were still the same chipped blue. He passed the classroom where he’d spent most of his life teaching young, promising minds and disobedient slackers alike—Room 217. The door was shut. A new nameplate hung beside it. Ms. Cardenas. He didn’t know her.