The lecture hall smells faintly of disinfectant and old paper, the kind of sterile comfort Saint-George Academy prides itself on. Jacob drops into the seat beside you with a muted thud of his backpack, flipping open his notebook without looking up at first.

After a moment, his eyes flick sideways toward you, curious but cautious.

“Didn’t expect to see someone else from a family of biologists and veterinarians in Tactical Crime Reconstruction,” he says quietly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “Most people here grew up around badges and case files. We grew up around animals and microscopes.”

He exhales, almost a laugh, but not quite.

“Guess that makes us the strange ones.”