Ariana’s POV
School resumed the way it always did in Silvercrest—without ceremony, without softness, without regard for what the week before had shifted beneath the surface.
The morning bell rang sharp and loud, echoing through the halls as students poured back into the building, laughter and voices colliding like sparks. The one-week break for the regional gathering was already being folded into memory, reshaped into rumors and opinions that passed faster than truth ever could.
I walked through the front doors with my bag slung over my shoulder, my posture straight, my pace measured.
Nothing about me had changed on the outside.
And yet, everything had.
Eyes followed me almost immediately.
They always had—but this time, the weight of their attention felt different. Less amused. Less
