The hallway feels different the second I step into it.
Not quieter—just… clearer.
The noise from the cafeteria fades into something distant and muffled, like it’s happening underwater. Out here, everything sharpens. My footsteps echo too precisely against the tile. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzes just a little too loud. Even the air feels thinner somehow—easier to breathe, but harder to ignore.
I drag my hand along the wall as I walk, grounding myself in something solid. The chill of it helps.
A little.
Not enough.
My chest still feels tight, like something inside me is pressing outward, testing the edges. My breathing won’t even out no matter how slowly I try to take it. Every inhale pulls in too much—too many scents layered over each other.
Cleaning chemicals. Ol
