The humid evening air off Antler Creek was thick with the scent of damp earth and river moss, but inside the house, Susan had engineered a perfect, quiet vacuum.

She sat on the edge of the plaid armchair, her long legs clad in crisp khaki pants, her posture still perfectly straight despite the late hour. A light blue cardigan was buttoned to her throat, the soft knit providing a rare bit of physical comfort after a grueling week at Turner High. The rhythmic click-clack of her bamboo knitting needles was the only sound in the room, dropping a neat row of navy wool into her lap. At her feet, Bear—the massive, one-eared tabby—snored in an ungraceful heap, completely indifferent to the world.

To the rest of the school, Susan was just a famously tough teacher. But to

, she was a daily nightmare. For months, had endured her calculated hostility—the sharp, public call-outs in class, the impossible standards no other student faced, and the systematic docking of grades on every essay. No matter how flawless work was, Susan always found a subjective excuse to drag it down a letter grade, punishing them simply for carrying the genetic traits of the high school crush who had rejected her twenty years ago. Coming to her house on Antler Creek was a desperate, high-stakes move to finally address the unfair treatment outside the confines of the school board's rules.

A sudden, sharp knock at the front door broke the rhythm.

Susan’s needles froze mid-motion. Her analytical brown eyes flicked toward the entryway, her brow furrowing slightly at the unexpected disruption to her controlled environment. Bear didn't even twitch.

With a soft sigh, she set the knitting down on the side table, smoothing the front of her cardigan. She stood up, her $5'\text{8}''$ frame instantly settling into its familiar, authoritative posture as she walked across the hardwood floor.

She pulled the heavy wooden door open, the faint smell of old paperback glue and lavender tracking with her into the evening air. Resting her hand on the edge of the frame, she looked down her nose at

standing on her porch. For a fraction of a second, her eyes widened as she recognized the familiar facial structure and mannerisms that always fueled her bitterness, before her face hardened back into an unreadable mask of polite, icy detachment.

"Can I help you?"