The bell rang, but Bobby barely heard it.
Mr. Modric still hadn’t looked away. His eyes, normally tired, seemed deeper now like pits that held something ancient—something that saw through Bobby rather than at him.
And then, for a split second, Bobby glimpsed something impossible: Mr. Modric's skin seemed to glitch, flickering between flesh and something else.
Something masked.
---
Students rose noisily, chairs scraping the floor, chatting about lunch and memes and homework. Bobby barely registered any of it.
Modric’s stare pinned him in place, and Bobby’s mouth felt dry as dust.
Then the teacher’s lips twitched. Just slightly. Almost a smirk.
“See you after class, Bobby,” he murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear.
The words felt like cold iron dropped in Bobby’s stomach.
