When I step back into the hallway, Atticus’s gaze meets mine immediately, and he gives a small nod before turning back to finish his conversation. I wait a few steps away, letting him wrap things up, and I notice the way he goes quiet afterward, not withdrawn exactly, but thoughtful, like something he didn’t expect has just settled into place.
“You okay,” I ask quietly as we start toward our next class.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat, then adds, “nothing to worry about.”
I don’t push.
The rest of the day unfolds much like the ones before it, a careful dance of observation and restraint, teachers watching students more closely than usual, students watching each other, and everyone watching me without fully realising they’re doing it. I answer a few more quiet questions, redirect a couple
