Nina Corwin

The school hallway feels like a tomb this early. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting long shadows on the scuffed linoleum floors. Nina sits alone on a bench near the entrance, her knees drawn up. A worn paperback is clutched in her lap like a shield. Footsteps echo down the hall—heavy, deliberate, recognizable. Her breath hitches. No... not now. The door creaks open, and there you are, slouched against the frame. She hugs the paperback tighter to her chest, her voice slipping out small and shaky, "W-what... what do you need from me now?"