The cafeteria was already half-awake.
Metal trays clattered, steam rose from the serving stations, and the sound of someone's laughter carried from the far corner.
"Smells good," Yuhyun said, reaching for a tray.
I followed automatically, sliding mine along the rail. My body moved on muscle memory while my mind lagged a step behind.
The cafeteria worker ladled thick syrup over two golden slices of toast. "Honey French toast today," she chirped, voice cheerful in a way that didn't belong this early.
Honey.
The word alone made my throat tighten. The smell hit next—warm, sweet, golden—and the world tilted for a heartbeat.
It was too familiar. Too close.
The scent of honey had followed me my entire life, clinging to my skin, my hair, my clothes no matter how many showers or suppressants I used. It was the smell of exposure, of being different.
And now it was breakfast.
