Blazar's hands trembled as she dug through her bag, fabric rustling with desperate urgency. Her fingers finally found the familiar cotton of her hoodie—the one with the faded band logo.
She yanked it over her head, pulling the hood up until it cast her face in shadow like some kind of medieval executioner. The soft fabric felt like armor against the world's judgment.
God, I cannot let anyone see me like this, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the bathroom's cracked mirror.
Her hair looked like she'd been electrocuted—which, considering recent events, wasn't entirely inaccurate.
Dark circles under her eyes made her look like a raccoon who'd been through a particularly rough garbage raid.
She'd need to sneak back to the dorms like some kind of ninja assassin, hugging the shadows and praying to whatever deity watched over mortified teenagers that the hallways would be empty.
