I knew something was wrong the moment Alexander walked into Advanced Economics twenty minutes late. His platinum hair was disheveled despite obvious attempts to fix it, his usually pristine uniform was wrinkled, and there was a cut on his lower lip that he hadn’t bothered to clean properly.
But it was his knuckles that really caught my attention—bruised and scraped in a way that could only come from connecting with someone’s face.
Professor Martinez paused mid-lecture about market volatility, his eyebrows rising as Alexander made his way to his usual seat near the front. Several students turned to stare, whispers rippling through the classroom as they took in his disheveled appearance.
“Mr. Calloway,” Professor Martinez’s voice carried a note of concern. “Perhaps you should visit the me
