Beckett raises a middle finger without opening his eyes.
A giggle escapes before I can stop it. Small, surprised. I clamp my mouth shut.
Locke glances at me. Something flickers across his face—not a smile, but close. He looks away before I can say anything.
“Did you get the text about orientation?” Rane asks.
“What text?”
“They sent it last night. Nine o’clock this morning.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
The room pauses. Vaelor and Rane exchange a look.
“We’ll fix that,” Kyron says.
“I don’t need—”
“You do.” He’s looking right at me. “We need to be able to communicate. All of us.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him I’ve survived fifteen years without a phone, without anyone needing to reach me, without being part of anyone’s “all of us.”
But the way he says it makes the argument die in my throat.
I shut my mouth.
“Orientation is mostly procedural,” Rane says. “Rules, expectations, schedule stuff. Boring.”
“They’ll ask questions,” Locke adds. “About you. About us. About how the cluster is adjusting.”
“What do I say?”
“As little as possible.”
“If it gets uncomfortable, we’re there,” Beckett says. “All of us. Same room.”
I look at him. Remember the way I stepped toward him last night without meaning to. The way I could breathe when I looked at him.
He meets my eyes for a second, then looks away.
“And if something goes wrong?” I ask.
“Then we’ll be right there when it does,” Rane says.
I don’t think that’s as reassuring as he thinks it is.
I eat the donut standing up, taking small bites. They talk around me—about the schedule, about someone named Harrick, about things I don’t understand yet. I let it wash over me without trying to track it all.
At 8:40, they’re moving toward the door before anyone says it’s time to go. I’m two steps behind before I realize I’m following.
The walk to orientation is strange.
I don’t notice it at first—I’m too busy looking at the campus in daylight, the buildings and paths and people moving between them. But after a few minutes, something feels off.
They’ve gravitated around me. Locke slightly ahead, Vaelor somewhere behind, the others filling in the gaps. Adjusting their pace to match mine without seeming to think about it.
I’ve always been separate. I’ve never been part of something. I’m not sure what I’m feeling, but I’m not mad about it.
