Andrew
I knew something was wrong the second I walked into my next classroom. Not wrong in the dramatic, someone-just-died sense. Wrong in the subtle, controlled way the air shifts before a storm – quiet on the surface, charged underneath. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, chairs scraped against tile, a few students lingered near the front pretending to care about homework. Normal.
And then I saw her. Prue was at the teacher’s desk. Not sitting like a regular student waiting for clarification. Not standing awkwardly with a notebook clutched to her chest. No. She was leaning. I walked deeper in the class to see her face, but, man what a grand mistake that was. What I saw almost ripped my wolf out in the middle of the classroom.
I watched as her one hand braced lightly against the
