He hadn't meant to see it.
Her bag was slouched beside her chair — unzipped, a little careless, like she trusted too easily. Or maybe like she wanted someone to look. She'd stepped out into the hallway for a drink of water, and while she was gone, a gust from the open window had rustled papers off the corner table. He moved instinctively to close it.
That's when he saw it.
White and gold packaging. Sleek. Expensive. Half-tucked in the lining of her bag, just enough of it visible that he recognized the cigarette carton immediately.
His hand hovered above it.
Just a few sticks inside. Barely used. But not new, either.
A quiet knot twisted in his stomach — not anger, not yet. Worry. That quiet kind of worry that creeps in before you can decide what to do about it.
She came back in humming softly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like nothing was out of place.
She didn't notice.
"Evans," he said, voice quiet, level. His teacher-voice.
She blinked. "Yes, sir?"
"Can we talk for a minute?"
She paused — just the briefest flicker in her eyes. Then nodded, calm as ever. Always calm. Always in control.
He pulled a chair beside his desk and gestured to the one next to it.
She moved slowly. Sat. Crossed her legs neatly and folded her hands in her lap like this was just another routine check-in. Like they were going to talk about grades.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, arms folded. "I saw something in your things."
Her lashes lowered. No fake innocence, no shocked gasp. Just that cool composure.
"Oh," she said, voice light. Barely a breath.
Callum didn't press further. Didn't name it. He watched her instead — the curve of her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched faintly.
"I'm not here to scold you," he said. "I just… want to understand."
She gave a small shrug. "Habit."
He waited. When she didn't continue, he prompted gently, "Do your parents know?"
Her lips parted, but her answer didn't come right away. Her eyes slid to the window, to the sun-drenched trees beyond.
"I don't know what they know," she said finally. "They're not really… around."
There was no bitterness in her tone, but it was flat. Empty in the way that told him not to dig.
His chest tightened. "You live alone?"
"More or less."
He nodded slowly. "You know I have to say something if it happens again."
"I said I'll be careful." She looked at him now — not defensive, but direct. "I'm not stupid."
"I never said you were."
Her gaze softened, just slightly. "That's why I like your class."
He blinked. "What?"
"You don't talk down to us. You actually listen. You care, even when you try not to."
He looked away. His throat felt dry.
"Where did you transfer from?" he asked, shifting the topic. Trying to focus on the actual concern. "I mean — before here."
She tilted her head, blinking slowly. "Halemont."
His eyes snapped back to hers. "Halemont?"
"Mm-hm." She smiled faintly. "For a little while."
"That's my old school," he said before he could stop himself.
Her brows rose. "Really? That's kind of funny."
His frown deepened. "You went there recently?"
She nodded. "Last year. Briefly. Didn't stay long."
"What did you think of it?"
Her smile twitched. "Too big. Too cold. Everyone there was trying too hard."
He stared. "You didn't like it?"
"No. It wasn't… me." Her voice dropped slightly. "I transferred out before anything really started. Didn't stick around long enough to get attached."
"Did you hear about the lab fire?"
Her expression didn't change. "No. When?"
"Last fall. It was on the news."
She blinked slowly. "I must've already been gone. I don't really follow that stuff."
Callum's brow creased. The timeline didn't quite add up. But she was smooth — she didn't falter, didn't flinch. And she said it all so… young.
"I'm not trying to get you in trouble," he said again. "But… someone should be looking out for you."
She smiled then — and it was softer than before. Not smug. Not flirtatious.
"That's why I picked your class," she murmured.
His stomach flipped.
"You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?" She looked at him, head tilted. "Is it wrong to appreciate someone who notices when you're slipping?"
"I notice because I'm your teacher."
She didn't look away.
"I know."
Then she stood.
He stayed seated, watching her.
"I'll be careful," she said again. "About the cigarettes. And… everything else."
She walked toward the door with that same light step. Before she reached it, she turned back just once, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Thank you, Mr. Hayes. For noticing."
And then she left.
And he sat in silence, heart pounding.
Because her answers hadn't settled anything.
They'd only made the questions worse.