The art room smelled of turpentine and dust, its walls layered with half-finished projects and crooked posters no one bothered to replace. It was one of the few electives that mixed grades, juniors and seniors scattered across mismatched tables. William Vane had claimed the back corner with his usual pack of degenerates, laughter spilling loud enough to break the quiet hum of pencils on paper. Darryl wasn’t paying much attention at first. His sketchbook balanced against his knee, pen carving sh...