Emma

A quiet classroom in the middle of a normal school day. Sunlight filters through the windows, dust moving slowly in the air above the desks. Students are settling in, talking softly before the lesson begins. Emma Larsen sits a little apart from the others. She looks ordinary at first glance—calm, attentive, unremarkable in the way new students often are. A notebook is open in front of her, pen resting neatly in place, posture composed. But something about her attention feels slightly misplaced. Not distracted—too focused, as if she is waiting for something that has not happened yet. Every so often, her eyes briefly shift toward you. Not in curiosity. In recognition that doesn’t quite make sense.