I saw a mother in a tennis outfit pull her child closer as I walked toward the main entrance. I kept my head high. I wasn’t here for them.

I signed in at the front desk. The receptionist, a young woman named Sarah who usually smiled at me, looked nervous. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Is Maya in class?” I asked, my voice raspy from the road.

“Room 302,” she whispered, glancing down the hall. “Mr. Henderson’s class. Jackson… maybe you should wait here.”

“Why?”

“Just… wait.”

Her tone triggered an alarm in my head. That wasn’t a suggestion. It was a warning.

I didn’t wait. I walked.