The hallway buzzed with activity, but Clark moved unhurriedly, weaving effortlessly through the students rushing between classes. His steps were steady, but his mind seemed elsewhere—his eyes alert yet unfocused. The school carried on as normal. And maybe that was the problem.
He rounded the corner and paused for a second.
Lana.
She was coming from the opposite direction, her backpack slung over one shoulder, hair tied back practically. She wore a light blouse and dark jeans, the kind of outfit that didn't draw attention, yet… she seemed different.
Not much had changed outwardly. But there was something in the way she scanned her surroundings. A touch more cautious, perhaps. A touch more guarded.
'Look who's back from France. Full spiritual tour, not even a postcard.'
Lana hadn't spotted him yet. She walked as if hoping to go unnoticed. But in that hallway, there was no avoiding it.
Clark exhaled slowly. His body relaxed, his face impassive.
"Hey, Lana. How was the trip to France?"
She stopped walking, her eyes locking onto him as if forcing herself to respond politely.
"It was good. It was what I needed. Helped me put some things in place."
Clark nodded, straightforward. His tone wasn't cold, but it didn't seek closeness either.
"Glad you're back. Hope you find what you need now that you're home."
Lana took a second before smiling. It was a brief, restrained, but genuine smile.
"Thanks, Clark."
He stepped aside, clearing the hallway. She passed him in silence. Neither looked back.
The exchange lasted less than a minute. But something lingered in the air afterward. A quiet unease. No resentment, no warmth—just a past tucked away somewhere neither wanted to revisit in that moment.
Lana continued on, but a strange sensation hit before she reached the stairs.
A warm pulse ran down her spine. Quick. Almost like a mild shock, but familiar.
She turned discreetly into the hallway and slipped into the girls' bathroom. As soon as she locked the stall door, the sensation intensified.
The tattoo.
The faint burn, buried between her shoulder blades, flared under her skin. It didn't hurt—but it pulsed. As if it had woken up.
She pressed her forehead against the metal door and took a deep breath.
"Damn it…"
The word slipped through gritted teeth, muffled by uneven breathing. She closed her eyes for a moment, frustration crashing in her chest. The day had barely started. And now this.
"Son of a… why now?"
Her voice stayed low. It didn't need to rise. It was just silent anger—not aimed at anyone specific, but at the moment, at the body that kept reminding her of things she wanted to forget. She lightly punched the side of the stall, the dull thud absorbed by the bathroom walls.
Then she stood there, silent.
A full minute, maybe.
The anger didn't fade. But it didn't consume her either.
Lana took another deep breath, slower, as if deciding this wouldn't ruin her day.
"You don't control me," she muttered to herself, firmer.
She lifted her shirt and tried to glance over her shoulder, using the bathroom's side mirror. A faint blue glow seeped from the edges of the fabric, shimmering softly like a freshly drawn mark.
The design was active. No denying it.
Lana splashed water on her face. Her hands trembled slightly, but her gaze in the mirror remained steady.
She adjusted her blouse, retied her hair, and left the bathroom with a calm expression. Deep down, she knew the tattoo hadn't just reactivated on its own. Something—or someone—had triggered it.
And though she didn't want to admit it, she already had a guess who.
But the hallway was crowded, and she had class.
She'd deal with it later.
---
The early afternoon light spilled across the bleachers of the football field, warming the freshly cut grass.
Chloe and Alicia walked side by side along the sidelines, their steps purposeful as they observed the players and coaches. There was a strange energy in the air—not chaotic, but uncomfortably lively.
"I heard the school hired a new assistant coach," Alicia remarked, adjusting her hair, secured with a simple clip.
"Yeah, he started this morning. Not exactly the headline I was hoping for, but we work with what we've got," Chloe replied, her eyes fixed on the group near the benches.
Jason was there, talking with the head coach. His posture was casual yet respectful. He wore athletic clothes, held a clipboard, and seemed to absorb instructions calmly. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to raise alarms.
"Want me to go talk to him? I could try a quick interview. Might make a decent footnote," Alicia suggested, already starting to step away.
"No," Chloe cut in, eyes still on the field.
Alicia stopped, surprised.
"Why not?"
Chloe subtly nodded toward the center of the field.
"Because something weirder's going on over there."
Alicia followed her gaze. A couple stood out immediately. Amanda, one of the most popular cheerleaders, was stroking Danny Cormay's hair with exaggerated gestures, like she was petting a dog. He, in turn, grinned with glassy eyes, accepting it all with a dreamy air.
Amanda leaned in, murmuring something in his ear and cupping his face with both hands, as if he were a prized toy. Danny didn't flinch. On the contrary, he stayed still, enchanted, chuckling softly as if under a spell.
"That's… cute?" Alicia ventured, uncertain.
"No. That's creepy," Chloe corrected. "It's not just them. Look at those two by the goalposts."
Another couple—two players—exchanged long kisses during a break in practice. Nothing unusual for a couple, except for the off-key intensity. Their movements were too rehearsed. Like they were performing for an invisible audience.
Chloe's gaze lingered longer than she wanted.
'Something's off here.'
The coach blew his whistle twice. No one reacted. Amanda kept stroking Danny's face like he was a pet—and Danny took it all with a slack smile, as if he weren't fully present.
The coach stepped forward, irritated. His clipboard slapped against his thigh with each step.
"Come on, people. I need your attention for two minutes."
Nothing.
Amanda tilted her head and, with an almost theatrical flourish, raised her hand and snapped her fingers at Danny.
"Go on, love. You can listen to the coach. I'll allow it."
Danny stood slowly, still smiling, and jogged toward the group of players. Behind him, the other girls began doing the same—one by one, giving nearly identical orders to their boyfriends.
"Go, sweetie. Be polite."
"Listen carefully and come back after, okay?"
"Don't take too long. I still want to show you my gift."
Chloe narrowed her eyes.
"This is getting worse."
Jason stood beside the coach, his posture steady. The introduction began as the boys finally formed a ragged line in front of them.
"This is Jason Teague. The school's new assistant coach. He'll be helping with practices from now on."
Jason gave a single, brief nod.
"Looking forward to helping out."
The players responded in unison, almost robotic.
"Yes, sir."
On the other side, the girls crossed their arms or smiled, as if they'd just trained a group of obedient pets. Amanda even shot Danny a proud look, as if to say, *Good boy.*
Alicia exchanged an uneasy glance with Chloe.
"You saw that, right?"
"Saw it. Didn't like it one bit."
Chloe pulled her phone from her pocket and began recording discreetly, aiming the camera at the field.
"If anyone asks… we're doing a piece on the team's new dynamic."
Alicia took a deep breath.
"And if it's more than that?"
Chloe didn't answer. She kept recording, her eyes sharp.
'This is a story. And now Clark and I have something to investigate together… like we always did.'
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