They called her out of biology.

One minute she was taking notes on cell division, the next her teacher was pausing midsentence as the classroom phone buzzed. Everyone looked up. Her teacher nodded slowly, then said her name in that careful tone adults use when they’re trying not to alarm anyone.

“You’re wanted in the principal’s office.”

That alone was enough to make the room shift—whispers sliding behind hands, a few raised brows. She didn’t react. She just closed her notebook, slipped her pencil into the spiral, and stood. Calm. Always calm.

But the moment she stepped into the hallway, she could feel something was off. The school felt… too quiet. Like the air was waiting.

When she reached the principal’s office, the secretary gave her a brief, tight smile before knocking on the door. Inside were two people who absolutely did not belong in a school.

The first was a tall woman in her late thirties with a sharp, angular face and a neat navy blazer. She held herself like someone who didn’t waste words. Detective Lena Ortiz. Calm, steady, the kind of person whose silence carried weight.

Beside her was a man only a little older, broader in the shoulders, wearing a slightly rumpled button-up and a tired expression that didn’t quite hide a sarcastic streak. Detective Mark Hensley. Looked like he survived on coffee, stress, and poorly timed jokes.

Both stood when she entered.

Principal Harrow gestured to the seat across from them. “Take a seat. These detectives need to speak with you.”

She sat, keeping her expression politely neutral. “Did something happen?”

Detective Ortiz offered a small, professional smile. “Nothing’s wrong. We’re following up on a case, and your school recommended you as someone who might be able to… assist.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “With what?”

Detective Hensley leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We’ve heard you have a knack for detail. Observational stuff. Patterns. That sort of thing.” His tone was friendly in that trying not to scare a teenager way.

She blinked. “I mean… I get good grades.”

Ortiz exchanged a look with Harrow, then slid a file onto the desk—closed, not pushed toward her. They were being careful. Respectful.

“This isn’t something we’d usually ask a student,” Ortiz said, “but a few years ago, another department consulted unofficially with you for an unrelated matter.” (That was the only reference to her past. They didn’t mention anything else.)

Hensley added, “We’ve got a current case that’s hit a wall. We’re gathering fresh perspectives. Voluntary only. If you’re not comfortable, you can walk out right now.”

That part actually made it feel real.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Why me? Don’t you have… professionals for that?”

Ortiz didn’t break eye contact. “We do. We’re asking anyway.”

The room felt too small for a breath. She didn’t like attention. She didn’t like being singled out like she was some novelty. But she also hated unanswered questions.

“What would I have to do?” she asked carefully.

“Just look at something,” said Hensley. “Tell us what you notice. No pressure, no tricks. You’re not being recruited, interrogated, or anything dramatic.”

Ortiz nodded. “If you agree, we’ll take you to the station after school. You won’t miss any more classes today.”

Principal Harrow added gently, “It’s entirely your choice.”

For a long moment she stared at the closed file. Her heartbeat felt loud in her ears, though her expression never shifted from its usual steady calm. She could say no. She probably should say no.

But something in the detectives’ eyes told her this wasn’t just about curiosity. They truly needed help.

She exhaled slowly.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll look.”

And both detectives—subtly, barely noticeably—relaxed.