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Morning slid through the dorm window in pale strips. John woke to the soft clack of pipes in the wall and a bed already empty across from his — Ray's blanket thrown back, pillow dented, no note. Typical.
Fizz stretched on the sill like a sun-drunk cat, then popped upright with a tiny salute. "Operation: Do Not Get In Trouble begins," he announced. "Step one, we look handsome. Step two, we pretend to understand the schedule."
John washed, combed the remains of his uneven hair into something that did not frighten mirrors, and tied his plain coat. The line inside his chest hummed the way it did when a day had weight. "Let's go to class," he said.
