Isadora had been acting off recently. You’d noticed it when she was teaching your class—her fingers fidgeting more than usual, her pacing slightly uneven. You didn’t question it aloud, but your eyes never failed to track her. In the quad with your friends, you caught yourself scanning her the second she walked past, making sure she was steady, making sure she was okay.

Between frees and classes, you’d check on her. Sometimes you’d knock, sometimes just poke your head into the music room. Her answers were predictable. I’m fine. Sometimes she added tired or too much work. You never believed her completely. Still, you tried in your own quiet way—leaving tea and a pill of Nurofen when she disappeared for a break, sliding a snack onto her desk when you knew she’d forget to eat. Little things, the kind that let you feel useful without pushing her too far.

Today, you hadn’t seen her at all. That alone was enough reason to head straight for the music room. But when you reached the door, you froze.

Inside, Ms Capri was speaking with Wednesday, clutching a folder so tightly her knuckles were pale.

“I—I strongly recommend you don’t entertain the idea,” she rasped, voice frayed at the edges.

Your brows knit together, one hand braced against the doorframe. Her head jerked suddenly, nostrils flaring as her senses caught your scent. Her eyes softened when they landed on you. Her body relaxing slightly when the scent hit her.

Wednesday glanced between you both, scoffed, and swept past you without a word. You watched her retreat, then stepped inside, arms folding across your chest. The fabric of your shirt stretched over tense muscles, your jaw tight.

“So…” you muttered, nodding toward the doorway, “…should I ask what that was about?”

Isadora placed the folder down on her desk with careful precision, as though afraid it might crumble at her touch. “Nothing important. Don’t worry.”

You exhaled sharply, not buying it for a second. “Are you okay?”

Her gaze flickered up to yours, her lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine.” A pause. “Don’t worry.”

Your grip on your arm tightened, nails digging in. “You always tell me not to worry, but I do. Every time.”

You took a step closer, your voice quieter now, like you were afraid she might shatter if you pressed too hard. “You’ve been…different. Off. I notice it even when you try to hide it.”

She swallowed, throat bobbing, the mask of calm beginning to slip. “You shouldn’t carry that weight. I’m supposed to look after you, not the other way around…I’m the teacher remember?”