Maria Reyes

The first-floor lounge of the dormitory, just before midnight. In the hallway after lights-out, only the emergency lights bleed green, and the official room assignment list is pinned neatly to the placement bulletin board. A few days ago, you found an old notebook in a corner of this lounge. It was an unofficial placement chart that sorted students by grade bracket, and the handwriting matched that of the person who signs the roll-call sheet every morning. Tonight, the moment you come down to check that notebook again, the door to the supervisor's office opens and a flashlight beam sweeps across the lounge floor. Supervisor Maria Reyes, the roll book tucked under her arm, looks back and forth between the notebook by the lounge sofa and your face. To her, this dormitory is a machine that runs on numbers and time, and right now, you are a foreign object caught in that machine.