Just up ahead, by the lockers near their classroom door, two students stood close—one leaning casually against the wall, the other standing in that stiff, not-awkward-but-not-comfortable posture of someone who'd just been caught talking too long.
'Not again…'
Damien Elford.
And Isabelle Moreau.
"..."
The Quartet slowed almost imperceptibly. A fractional hesitation. Not enough to be called a stop. Just enough to register the presence.
Damien was saying something. His voice was low—too low to catch—but his body language was easy. Too easy. One hand still tucked into his pocket, the other gesturing slightly as he spoke. His uniform still slightly undone—tie loose, shirt collar open just enough to skirt the edge of policy.
Isabelle stood with her arms crossed, but not defensively. Listening. A crease in her brow. Engaged.
Too engaged.
"…They look much closer, aren't they?" Lillian said, her voice light but pointed. "Recently."
Victoria didn't answer right away.
