The next morning felt heavier.
Ciro barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the hallway in Csepel's house. Warm lights. Family photos..the kinda warmth he'd always wanted...Then,The look on Csepel's face after he'd snapped at him.
He hated that look.
Not angry.
Just Confused.
By the time first period ended, Ciro had convinced himself none of it mattered.
Usually when people asked questions. He avoided them.
That was how things worked.
The halls buzzed between classes. Lockers slammed. Shoes squeaked across the tile.
Normal?
Ciro reached his locker and spun the combination.
Click.
As the door opened, he caught movement in the polished metal.
Someone was standing behind him.
Tall.
Perfectly still.
He turned.
Nothing.
Only students pushing past each other, chatting about a math quiz and recent assignments.
"...You're losing it," he muttered under his breath.
He grabbed his history book and shut the locker.
Bang.
For a split second, another sound echoed through it.
Actually,Not an echo.
A knock.
Three slow taps.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
From somewhere down the hallway that was empty.
Ciro looked up.
No one else reacted.
No one else heard.
A teacher walked right through the corridor without even glancing around.
The sound never came again.
Lunch was worse.
The cafeteria was louder than usual, but every so often the noise seemed to disappear.
Just for a heartbeat.
Like someone had pressed mute on the world.
Each time it happened, Ciro felt the same thing.
eyes.
Watching.
Not from another student.
From somewhere he couldn't quite find.
When he looked around, everything returned to normal.
People talking.
Trays clattering.
Csepel laughing with friends across the room.
Ciro looked away before their eyes could meet.
As school ended, he stuffed his books into his backpack.
Something white caught his attention.
A single sheet of notebook paper lay beside his desk.
He frowned.
He hadn't dropped anything.
Slowly, he picked it up.
The page was completely blank...
...except for one sentence written in neat black ink.
BE BRAVER THAN BEFORE.
Ciro's breath caught.
Without thinking, his fingers drifted beneath the cuff of his hoodie to the inside of his forearm.
there he found the familiar raised lines of the tattoo.
His thumb traced the Chinese characters once.
Brave.
The ink had been there for years.
The scar beneath it even longer.
His pulse quickened.
He blinked.
The words on the paper disappeared.
Nothing but a blank sheet.
Ciro stared at it for another second before folding it carefully and slipping it into his backpack.
He told himself someone was messing with him.
That there had to be an explanation.
Still...
His hand lingered over the tattoo long after the paper was gone.