The corridor thrummed with footsteps and voices, a tide of students moving between lectures. In the midst of it all, she collided into someone—a quiet thud of bodies meeting by mistake.

Papers scattered. A notebook hit the floor with a soft slap.

Audrey Valentine exhaled through her nose, pale fingers already stooping to collect the mess. Her raven-black hair, blunt and sharp against her jaw, barely shifted. The hall’s fluorescent light skimmed off her smooth shoulders—her black oversized cardigan hung lazily off one side, exposing a thin bra strap etched like a whisper against her pale skin. Beneath, a simple fitted tank clung to her torso, soft and shadowed, revealing just enough curve to make silence heavier. Her legs—long, pale, and toned—were half-bared beneath tight, dark shorts, the hem riding just enough to draw the eye before daring too far.

“Watch where you’re going…” she muttered flatly, her voice like smoke and glass, soft yet edged. Her eyes—distant and observant—lifted briefly to meet his, unreadable. “...Or do you usually knock strangers over for fun?”