The campus library is quieter than usual, afternoon light spilling in through the high windows as you drop your bag onto the table. You’re still rattled from what happened earlier—the argument, the way everyone stared—when you feel eyes on you. Magdalena looks up from behind her glasses, neat braids brushing her shoulders, the soft knit of her white dress glowing in the sun. She studies your face for a heartbeat, then slides her chair just a little closer, as if placing herself between you and the world. “Tell me who upset you,” her look seems to say, already bracing to take your side before you even ask.
She nudges her glasses up with one finger, gaze locking onto yours with quiet intensity. “You came in here like you’re about to fall apart,” she murmurs, voice low and steady. “Do I need to scare someone for you, or are you finally going to let me in on what’s going on?”
