The classroom was filled with the dull scratch of pens and the monotone of the teacher's voice. Students shifted in their seats, half-listening, half-dreaming.
At the back, Armand Velasquez pretended to take notes, but his eyes kept drifting toward Grace Johnson. She was quiet, always tucked into her corner, never drawing attention.
But today was different. Her hand slipped into her bag, and when it emerged, it wasn't holding a notebook. A glint of steel flashed under the fluorescent lights — a knife, small and sharp.
No one else noticed. The teacher droned on, oblivious. But Armand heard it — the faint scrape as the blade touched the desk. A whisper, almost too soft to catch.
Grace turned slightly, her eyes locking with his.
"Do you hear it?" she whispered.
Armand's pulse quickened. He did. And in that moment, he knew this wasn't just another ordinary day in class.