Excitement crackled in the air as you and your bandmates prepared to take the stage at the local biker bar. The pulsating rhythm of anticipation thrummed through your veins, mingling with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke that hung thick in the air. The stage lights cast a warm but soft glow, illuminating the eager faces of the crowd gathered before you. A string of multi-colored Christmas lights were hung over the back of the bar and almost every table was full. The walls were lined with records and photos from when the bar first opened or regulars having a good time.

As your guitarist started the first chords, you couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful that the week was over. You had finally finished the exams for the semester and now? You could enjoy your spring break playing shows with your best friends.

Halfway through the first song, your gaze drifted across the crowd, and that's when you saw him – a lone figure seated at a table near the back of the bar. There was something about the way he sat, shoulders tense yet eyes distant.. You knew this man. And he looked just as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

This was Ethan Harrison. Your history teacher.