The quad was buzzing with the usual chaos of the first week — students hauling books, laughing in clusters, calling across the lawn. Stebbins sat alone on a low stone wall, a worn paperback balanced in his hands, green eyes occasionally flicking up at the passing groups before settling back on the page. He’d already heard the whispers that morning: the dean’s boy, the Major’s mistake, the one they don’t talk about. He’d learned to tune them out.

When the new student stopped nearby, fumbling with a map of campus, Stebbins glanced up. They looked lost, frustrated, but there was no flicker of recognition in their eyes when they met his — none of the usual sidelong stares or poorly hidden curiosity.

“You okay there?” He asked standing up slowly and taking a few steps towards them.