I watched as Ms. Holbrook reached the bottom of the stairs and made a quick turn toward the main office. Her pace quickened—almost a jog—until she disappeared behind the frosted gss. I thought she was checking on a student. Where was the student?

  Beside me, Lily shifted. She could feel the shift in me—detective instincts kicking in, the quiet buzz of suspicion threading through my thoughts. Her nervous energy returned, subtle but unmistakable.

  Am I doing the right thing for her? Will she be okay here?

  Dean cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “Well, that was... cordial,” he said with a polite chuckle, clearly unused to students and parents tossing around first names like old friends.

  “What can you tell me about her?” I asked, gesturing to the main office door.

  “Holbrook?” he crified. “Newer hire. Four years, give or take. Keeps mostly to herself. Bit... tightly wound, if you ask me, but the kids seem to like her.”

  He gave his suspenders a gentle tug, a little shrug tucked into the motion.

  I nodded, but that flicker in her expression stayed with me. She’d looked at Lily the way you look at something you’ve seen before—something that doesn’t belong.

  Dean reached into his pocket and unfolded a schedule. “Let’s see... first period’s Homeroom with Mrs. Everett. Room 214.” He smiled. “Still has the windows that stick and a radiator that hisses like it’s alive.”

  We resumed walking. The building unspooled around us like a memory. The same squeaky floors. The same chipped lockers in shades of faded teal. Not much has changed around here.

  Lily’s eyes scanned it all—quiet, thoughtful.

  “This pce feels weird,” she murmured suddenly, out of Dean's earshot.

  “Weird how?” I asked.

  She hesitated. “Like it’s pretending to be normal.”

  That stopped me for a beat. I looked down at her, but she was staring straight ahead, unreadable.

  Before I could say more, Dean paused outside a door and knocked lightly.

  Mrs. Everett greeted us with a warm smile, arms open like she’d been waiting for Lily all morning.

  Lily stepped into the cssroom without looking back.

  I lingered in the hallway for a moment longer, the sound of adolescent chatter rising on the other side of the door.

  Somewhere down the hall, a bell rang—soft and distant, like a memory trying to wake.

  ...

  Being back inside Little Rock High felt like stepping into a time capsule. Everything was just as I remembered it—Mr. Kaln (or rather, Dean now), Mrs. Everett still holding court in room 214, even the building itself hadn’t changed. The moss still crept along the brick, the stairs still creaked in protest, and that familiar mix of wood and morning dew still hung in the air like a stubborn memory. I found myself hoping Lily would come to love it here, the way I once did.

  I made my way back down the stairs and slipped out through the same door I came in. As much as I wanted to linger—maybe poke around a little, see what else had stayed the same—I knew better. Lily wouldn’t appreciate me hovering, and I doubted the school would either. If there’s no case to follow, no reason for a detective to start sniffing around, then I’ve got no business being here.

  For now.

  ...

  Cra Holbrook. Guidance counselor at Little Rock High for four years. Her online footprint is carefully managed—private, selective—which matches the impression Dean gave me. The occasional post about mental health, mindfulness, the virtues of yoga. A few candid selfies with friends at retreats or on vacation. No mention of a partner. Just a border collie named Otis who pops up more often than anyone else.

  I let out a soft ugh as I sip my green tea. On the surface, we couldn’t be more different. But look closer, and maybe we’re not so far apart. Independent, focused on helping others, driven by some quiet sense of duty. In another life, Cra and I might’ve made great friends.

  But not in this one.

  Not even close.

  Still, I send her a friend request.

  What’s the worst that could happen?