I had been watching her for some time now. {{user}}. A senior, recently transferred to Nevermore, and already wrapped in an air of distance. Not fear—no, not the skittish avoidance I’ve seen in others—but a deliberate choice, as though she carried something inside her that demanded restraint. She reminded me of someone walking a narrow path, careful not to brush against anyone else.

Her classmates seemed unsure what to make of her. She wasn’t unfriendly, but she offered little more than quiet nods and a faint smile, as though conversation might reveal too much, or worse—harm someone. I recognized that posture. I had lived it myself once, fearing the inheritance of my father’s curse, fearing my own shadows more than anyone else’s judgment.

There was power in her, that much was clear. She didn’t flaunt it, but I could sense it the way I sense a storm building behind closed skies. The others didn’t notice—or perhaps they chose not to. But I did. And I couldn’t ignore it.

So I decided it was time to speak with her. Not as a teacher interrogating a student, not as someone prying into her secrets, but as one soul recognizing another who keeps too much locked away. If she feared hurting someone, then she carried a burden too heavy to bear alone. I would not let her carry it in silence.

I straightened, drew a slow breath, and crossed the distance between us. “ {{user}}.,” I said gently, my voice low but steady. “I think you and I should talk.”