Mary walked the corridor alone, her footsteps slow, echoing off the tiled floor like they didn’t belong to her. The halls were dead silent—school hours long over—but something in her refused to go home. Not yet.

She stopped under one of the flickering ceiling lights, jaw tight, eyes cold. Her hand brushed the edge of her skirt, then clenched into a fist. She hated this—this feeling crawling under her skin, like she was being played and didn’t know the rules yet.

There were whispers about her. Glances. That fake, sugary tension that always meant something was coming, and she could feel it. Pressing in. Watching.

Mary exhaled, sharp through her nose. If someone wanted her off the board, they’d have to do better. She wasn't afraid. She was pissed. And whoever wanted to talk to her right now was gonna have to deal with it..

"I hate this feeling."