Yosuke saw the cruiser before he saw anything else.

Black and white, sitting in the visitor lot with one wheel up on the curb. Greenwode crest on the door. Engine cold. Whoever it belonged to had been here a while.

His stomach did something complicated.

The Toro. Two weeks ago. That cop asking about falcons while Mr. Lugosi's smile went stiff. And through the steam and clatter, the officer's eyes had found Yosuke's. Just for a second. He'd tilted his head—not a nod. Something that felt less like a stranger and more like someone who already knew where you slept.

"Dude." Leon nearly rear-ended him on the path. "You good?"

"A police car."

Leon glanced over, shrugged. "They come by sometimes. Drug stuff, probably."

Yosuke kept walking, but his eyes stayed on the cruiser.

PA crackle after lunch. Mandatory assembly, Room 14, all juniors, fifteen minutes. Someone had shoved the desks into tight rows and dragged a folding table to the front.

Yosuke walked in and there he was. The cop from the cruiser.

Stocky. Beige uniform. Dark hair buzzed neat. Up close he was softer than expected—round through the middle, hands like someone who did paperwork more than chases. But those hands were steady. Folded on a stack of pamphlets.

And next to him—Ms. Garcia. Coral blazer, turquoise blouse, necklace of polished stones. Bangles on both wrists. She smiled when she caught Yosuke looking—a real one.

Yosuke found a seat near Erik. Set his notebook down.

His hands weren't quite steady.

Jansen turned a chair backwards and sat. The projector clicked on.

MARIJUANA. White letters on black.

Someone in the back row fake-coughed "D.A.R.E." Adrian snickered.

"Let's skip the part where I pretend you haven't heard this before." Quiet voice. Everyone shut up anyway. "It feels safe. That's the whole problem."

Click. A chart. Simple lines going up like a staircase.

Marijuana. Pills. Cocaine. Heroin.

Yosuke copied it fast—each step leading right into the next. No gaps.

Behind him, someone's pencil tapped against a desk in a bored rhythm. Leon slouched low in his chair, chin propped on one hand, eyes aimed somewhere past the projector.

"Kids start with weed 'cause it's easy," Jansen said. "Feels like nothing. Then nothing stops being enough."

His eyes moved across the room. When they landed on Yosuke, they stayed a beat longer. Not staring. Checking.

Yosuke's pencil pressed harder.

Click. Numbers. Overdose stats. The lines climbed steep.

A boy from the next county. Seventeen. Started with marijuana. Ended up dead on a Tuesday.

Yosuke leaned forward, brows arching. Seventeen. Just a year older than him. Someone's friend. Someone's—

A snicker cut through the quiet. Justin, two rows back, not even trying to hide it. Maria shifted in her seat, examining her nails.

Pablo's hand moved under his desk. Paper sliding to Leon. Leon unfolded it on his lap, mouth twitching.

Yosuke stared at the screen. That kid was dead. Actually dead. And people were—

Lysergic acid diethylamide.

The red pill in his palm. The doctor's voice: It may cause vivid hallucinations.

The lights pulsing. The chair dissolving. The doctor's face melting into wet paint. Something enormous clawing up from inside his chest—

His fingers finding the doctor's cane. Ready to strike.

The window ledge. Six floors. Pavement waiting.

Yosuke blinked. Room 14. Fluorescent lights. He counted ceiling tiles until things stopped trembling.

One drug. One pill. One time.

And it had almost killed him.

Garcia stepped forward. Bangles whispered. "What Officer Jansen showed you is what happens to your body." She touched her temple. "When things get hard—school, family, whatever—some students look for a way to make the noise stop. Substances feel like a shortcut. They just make everything louder."

Her eyes drifted to Yosuke.

Don't self-medicate.

He wrote it down. His pencil left a groove in the paper.

Jansen clicked off the projector. "Take one on your way out."

Garcia started handing pamphlets down rows. Erik took his immediately, started reading. Most of the class was already moving—chairs scraping, bags zipping.

Adrian had his pamphlet folded into a paper airplane before he'd cleared his desk. "Jesus, that was like being locked in a holding cell."

Pablo stopped at the door. He'd taken his pamphlet, actually read the back, then set it carefully on the nearest desk. Not tossing it. Putting it down.

"Alcohol kills way more people than weed." Not loud. Just flat, factual. "Like, way more. But nobody's freaking out about that." His eyes flicked to Leon. "You can't stop kids from experimenting anyway. It's out there—alcohol, pills, whatever. Capitalism put it there. Consumers consume. That's just how it works."

Karin materialized beside him, still laughing from whatever Jessica had said. "Oh my God, Pablo." She reached up and ruffled his hair hard enough to mess it. "You're never gonna be a politician with that attitude, baby brother."

Scattered laughter rippled through the doorway. Pablo ducked away from her hand, scowling, but his mouth did that thing—not quite a smile.

"Whatever." He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

Leon caught up, flinging an arm around Pablo's shoulders as they headed out. "Capitalism, man. Deep."

"Shut up."

Their voices faded into the hallway noise.

Yosuke was still at his desk. Everyone else was gone—chairs empty, door open to the crush of bodies outside. His face heated. Seventeen and dead. Leon passing notes. Pablo's pretentious speech. Karin laughing.

They didn't get it. None of them did.

He'd been given drugs. The worst kind. Not marijuana that made you want more—LSD that made you want to kill. That made the world dissolve. That turned six floors into an invitation.

"Hey." Jansen appeared beside him. Voice dropped. "How you holding up, kid?"

Yosuke looked up. Jansen's face was open.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah." Jansen nodded like he expected that. He held out a pamphlet. "Heard you had some memory stuff. Amnesia, right? Anything new coming back?"

The question landed strange. The way a doctor asks—already knowing something.

"No. Nothing."

Jansen studied him. Something moved behind his eyes—confirmation.

"Okay." He tapped the pamphlet once. "Keep that. You're doing fine, kid."

Then he was gone.

The hallway swallowed him. Maria's voice carried over everything. "Did anyone else notice how that cop like, hogged all the air in there?"

Karin's laugh cracked sharp. "How many donuts you think he eats a day?"

Yosuke stared at the back of Karin's head. Glared.

She turned—felt it somehow. Her eyes found his. Confusion. Then annoyance. The look you gave a bug.

She turned back. Kept walking.

Yosuke caught up with Erik.

"You okay?" Erik said. "You looked pretty wrecked in there."

"People die from drugs." Yosuke held up the pamphlet, fingers creased. "Kids like us."

"Yeah. Some do."

"Leon was passing notes. The whole time. That kid was seventeen—"

"Leon's not going to start shooting up heroin, Yosuke."

"But—"

"Nobody's going to force you to try weed." Erik's voice went firm. "Not here. Not on my watch."

Yosuke nodded, jaw tight.

"Say no to drugs." Erik's mouth twitched. "Yeah. You've got that one completely covered."

The hallway noise swallowed everything—sneakers, lockers, someone's Walkman bleeding Soundgarden. Normal. Everyone already forgetting.

But the staircase stayed in Yosuke's head. The boy who was seventeen and then wasn't. The red pill in his own hand.

And Leon's laugh, easy and quiet, like none of it was real.