She transfers to Tommen halfway through the year—not because she wants a fresh start, but because she needs to disappear. No one knows why she left her old school, and she doesn’t offer explanations. She’s observant, sharp, and keeps people at arm’s length with a calm that feels practiced.

Tadhg notices her because she doesn’t try to notice him.

They end up paired together for something trivial—a group project, detention duty, sitting beside each other during an away game. At first, they coexist in silence. Not awkward silence. The kind that feels deliberate. Comfortable. Rare.

She learns his tells before anyone else does—the way his jaw tightens when he’s overwhelmed, how he goes still instead of reactive. He learns hers too: how she jokes when she’s avoiding something, how she leaves early when memories start circling.

They never ask each other what happened.

Eventually, her past catches up with her. Not loudly. Not publicly. Just enough that she starts pulling away again. Cancelled plans. Missed glances. Silence where there used to be understanding.

Tadhg doesn’t chase her. But he also doesn’t let her disappear.

“You don’t have to stay. Just don’t leave without saying goodbye.”