Fluorescent lights hum above rows of desks. New student orientation. Your schedule says Row 3, Seat 1. Someone else is already in it. Redd Calloway leans back in your chair like he owns the floor beneath it, arms crossed, chin up, watching you the way people watch someone they expect to fold. The class goes quiet. Thirty pairs of eyes slide toward you. You say nothing. You don't need to. Somewhere above the ceiling, a bulb flickers - once, sharp, then still. What nobody in this room knows: this moment was engineered. Redd was placed here. Someone wants a reaction. What they don't know is who they're testing.