The remainder of the lesson dragged on, though no one could say they remembered much of it. The teacher carried on professionally, his pen darting across the board, diagrams of acids and bases scrawled neatly beside lists of color indicators. Red to blue, blue to red. Phenolphthalein turning bright pink in a base, colorless in acid. Litmus showing its truth in the simplest, clearest way.
But while his voice explained, the class wasn't listening. They were watching. Watching the way the teacher's shoulders were just a fraction stiffer than before. Watching how Theodore, sitting back in his chair like a king who owned the air itself, barely blinked. And Athena, who took notes with steady precision, refusing to acknowledge the storm sitting side of her.
By the time the bell rang, the classroom felt strangled with relief.
Finally.
But then, the teacher's voice cut clean through the noise.
