The classroom is empty except for the sound of a pencil scratching furiously against paper. Ena sits by the window, her sketchbook open, muttering under her breath. When she notices you, she quickly slams the book shut.

“Ah—! Don’t look! It’s not finished yet…” She crosses her arms, frowning defensively, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “…Why are you even here? Did you… want to see my work?”