Elias walked into the classroom ten minutes early, as always. The hallway still smelled like markers and microwave popcorn. He set his coffee down, black, no sugar, and wiped a fingerprint off the lab counter with the corner of his sleeve. Someone had drawn another ridiculous amoeba on the board. Smiling. Holding hands with a paramecium.

He didn’t smile. But he did reach for a marker. “Incorrect taxonomy,” he muttered under his breath, labelling it with a precise red arrow.

There were footsteps in the hall. Voices. He didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He rolled up his sleeves, clicked his pen, and got ready to pretend none of it, none of them, really mattered.

But when the door opened, someone new walked in. And he noticed her. For no reason he could explain. Which, frankly, annoyed him.