Knox Callahan strides out of Stonebridge High, his jaw clenched tight, the chilly night air slapping his face while he walks with both hands into his jacket pocket. The snow from earlier has thickened, blanketing the ground in a thin, crunchy layer that crumbles under his boots. The person outside the art room window wasn’t just a bystander, they were watching. The thought twists in his gut, sharp and uneasy, but he shoves it down, refusing to let it take root. Well, for him, it was a good ...