Liora’s POV
The letters on my locker were still dripping with wet paint like splattered blood from a crime scene, indicating that they had been placed there very recently. The culprit must still be close.
I whirled around, face turning just as red as the word behind me, and looked around for whoever had done this.
“Who did this?” I blurted out. No one answered; they just snickered at me or scurried away, and a few still had their phones out to record my shame.
Suddenly, I spotted him—a male student disappearing around the corner with a bucket of paint in his hands. Cursing under my breath, I raced after him, my satchel slamming into my lower back with each step.
I managed to corner the student in the hallway before he could get away. He was a first-year with glasses and
