Serena Caldwell stood with perfect posture, shoulders straight and chin tilted at just the right angle, as if the world itself were her audience. Her long chestnut-brown hair fell in sleek waves over a fitted sports jacket, not a strand out of place despite the chaos of the arena around them. Her expression was serene but sharp, lips curled in the faintest trace of a smile that felt more like judgment than joy. Every movement of hers carried deliberation, like she'd practiced in a mirror until perfection became second nature.
She stood at the center of the five girls like a self-proclaimed monarch, one hand on her hip, the other waving theatrically as she explained her "strategy." The faint smirk tugging her lips was the kind only someone used to being the loudest in the room could wear.
Franz leaned back slightly, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, eyes drifting toward the so-called "leader" of their little group.
They were playing a game.
