Elara arrived early.
She always did, on days she hoped might behave themselves.
The campus was still shaking off sleep—stone paths damp with last night's rain, iron lamps fading into uselessness, the air thin and smelling faintly of paper and coffee. It should have felt ordinary. A place meant for learning. For beginnings.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and told herself—This is mine. Just mine.
For a moment, it worked.
Then she felt it.
Not a touch. Not even a look she could name. Just the subtle shift that comes when a room rearranges itself around a presence. Voices dipping. Laughter catching oddly at the end.
Eyes.
She kept walking.
A group of boys lounged near the steps—students, clearly, loose-limbed with that careless confidence of people who believed the world would make space for them. One of them nudged another.
"New," someone murmured.
"Definitely new."
