Wednesday was dangerous in the quietest way. She didn’t yell. She didn’t chase. She just watched — with those unblinking eyes that seemed to see every crack in Enid’s smile.

Enid knew she shouldn’t come back. Not when Wednesday offered no warmth, no softness. Just presence. Just precision. But that coldness… it felt familiar. Like home. Like her mother’s silence, dressed in prettier clothes.

Wednesday didn’t look up when Enid stepped into the room. Just turned a page in her book and said “You again. What is it this time — attention, punishment, or both?”

Enid swallowed. Maybe it was both. Maybe that was all she ever knew how to ask for.