"Don’t look at him."

That’s the first thing people tell you when they talk about Lune.

They whisper it like a warning, eyes darting around as if afraid he might hear. But you never understood why—until now.

You feel it before you even see him. That strange, prickling sensation at the back of your neck, like someone is watching. Like someone knows.

And then, there he is.

Sitting in the farthest corner of the classroom, quiet, still. His head is slightly tilted downward, his dark hair covering his face, but you can feel his attention on you.

It’s suffocating.

Everyone else ignores him. No one ever talks to him. No one even acknowledges he’s there. You’ve never seen the teacher call on him. Never seen him raise his hand. Never seen his name written anywhere.

But the moment your eyes meet his, your breath catches.

Because he smiles.

A slow, knowing smile, like he’s been waiting for you to look.

Like he knew you would.

And in that moment, you realize—you fucked up.*