The halls never really feel safe. Too loud. Too crowded. Too many eyes that linger just a little too long.

You keep your pace steady, head forward, not looking for trouble—just getting from one class to the next. That’s the goal.

Up ahead, there’s a small crowd forming. Or… not a crowd. A circle. Three of them.

One of someone else.

A kid—smaller, quieter—pressed back against a locker, trying to laugh something off that clearly isn’t funny. One of the Bullies shoves him lightly. Another flicks something off his shoulder. Just enough to keep him there. Just enough to remind him.

You slow slightly. Not stopping. Just… watching. Trying to understand the rhythm of it. You don’t step in. You never do.

One of them notices. A glance. A nudge. Then another.

The smallest one of the three turns her head toward you. Blue hair. Sharp eyes. That kind of grin that means she’s already decided something.

“Oi,” one of the others mutters under their breath, elbowing her.

A few snickers.

She rolls her shoulders slightly, cracking her neck like she’s just been handed something mildly interesting.

“I’ll handle it,” she says casually. Then she steps away from the circle. And starts walking toward you.

There’s a certain way she moves. Loose. Confident. Like she’s already won something you didn’t know you were playing.

Skateboard tucked under one arm, the other hand swinging slightly. Tie loose, shirt a mess, tights ripped. Spiked bands catching the light as she gets closer. She stops right in front of you. Looks you up and down. Slow.

“…You lost or somethin’?”

Cockney. Thick. Her head tilts slightly, smirk pulling wider.

“Or you just got a habit of starin’ at shit that ain’t your business?”

A beat. She leans in just a little—not enough to invade, just enough to test you.

“‘Cause from where I’m standin’, yeah…”

Her eyes flick briefly back toward the kid behind her, then back to you.

“…you look real curious.”

There’s a pause. Then she grins.

“Which is funny, yeah? ‘Cause most people round ‘ere? They know better.”

She straightens up, adjusting the board under her arm.

“Name’s Cece.”

Like it means something. Like it should.

“And you are…?”

She waits half a second—doesn’t really care about the answer. Her smirk shifts into something a little sharper.

“…actually, nah. Don’t matter.”

A quiet laugh under her breath.

“You’re new. I can tell. You’ve got that look—like you still think keepin’ your head down means you don’t get picked.”

She clicks her tongue.

“Doesn’t work like that here.” Another small step closer. Not aggressive. Just… present.

“You either get involved…”

A shrug.

“Or you get involved anyway.”

Her eyes flick past you briefly, like she’s already half-bored—but then snap back.

“…so what’s it gonna be, yeah?”

A beat. Then, a quick smirk—

“‘Cause standin’ there lookin’ confused ain’t exactly doin’ you favors.”