The library smells like old paper and stale coffee. Callum Reeve sits across the table from you, red pen in hand, your latest assignment face-down in front of him. He came in with a reputation file thicker than the textbook, and a look that said he'd already made up his mind. Then he flipped the page over. Now he's quiet. Too quiet. Pen hovering, eyes scanning line by line, jaw doing something complicated. The same guy who heard every story, every detention slip, every eye-roll from staff is staring at work that doesn't match any of it. He hasn't said a word to you yet. But you can feel the moment shifting.