Episode 5: Room 3-17

The east wing of Graymoor University was a different world.

The corridor stretched long and silent, lined with doors that hadn’t been opened in years. Dust hung in the air like fine mist, dancing in golden shafts of early morning light. Sky Quinn’s footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor as he moved with quiet curiosity, the envelope from the Head Professor still tucked into his coat pocket.

He wasn’t sure why the meeting had to be in the old wing. This part of campus was mostly reserved for archived departments, some faculty offices, and a few locked rooms that whispered of stories long past. Still, he followed the instructions precisely—Room 3-17.

The door was half-open.

Sky stepped in cautiously. The room was unexpectedly clean\, like someone had been maintaining it through the years. On the far wall hung framed photographs of student batches—some yellowing\, others sharp with time. The nameplate on the desk read: *Dr. E. Gray – Former Dean*.

Sky’s brow furrowed.

“Gray…?”

Before he could dwell on the name, the current department advisor entered the room briskly.

“Ah, Quinn. Right on time,” Dr. Reeves said with a professional smile.

Sky nodded, a polite but reserved expression on his face.

“You’ll be one of our academic representatives this year,” Reeves continued. “Your grades, recommendations, and… background speak volumes.”

“That background being my last name?” Sky asked dryly.

Reeves chuckled. “That and your perfect entrance exam score. You want to be a doctor, correct?”

“Yes,” Sky said without hesitation. “Medicine is the only future I want.”

“Good. Graymoor expects nothing less than excellence,” Reeves said, pacing slowly toward the window. “You’ll be speaking briefly at the college orientation this Friday. You’ll join the representative from the business department.”

Sky leaned against the desk. “Let me guess—some legacy student with a mansion, a surname, and a complex.”

“In a way,” Reeves replied, amused. “Archaell Gray. You two will cross paths soon enough.”

The name settled over Sky like a slow shadow.

—

Across campus, in a room lined with dark wood and quiet restraint, Archaell Gray stared at the contents of an old letter.

Beside it sat a photograph—one with soft edges and eyes that still haunted him. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a brass key marked 3-17. His fingers closed around it.

“You left me more than memories, Mother,” he whispered. “You left secrets.”

He slipped the key back into the drawer as his phone vibrated beside him.

A message appeared from Cassandra:

“Orientation on Friday. You’ll share the floor with the freshman rep — Quinn. He’s sharp. Might even rival you.”

Archaell’s eyes narrowed.

“Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

—

Later that afternoon, the sun cast warm patches across the campus courtyard. Under a large tree, Sky sat with Venice, Theo, and Noah, the air light with banter and laughter. A pile of snack wrappers sat between them like a campfire of youth.

Emmanuel arrived, holding two manila folders.

“Sky, they finalized your orientation slot,” he said, offering the folder. “You’re going second—right after the student council president.”

Sky groaned. “A pressure sandwich. Perfect.”

“You’ll be fine,” Venice said, brushing chips off her skirt. “You live off sarcasm and caffeine.”

Noah added with a grin, “Just don’t say ‘this school is a war zone’ in your speech again.”

Sky smirked. “No promises.”

Theo adjusted his glasses. “Also… have you seen the council president? Rumor says he doesn’t smile. Like, ever.”

“What’s he hiding then?” Sky asked, glancing toward the administration building in the distance.

Emmanuel's voice was quieter. “Some fires don’t leave ashes, Sky. Only silence.”

—

Friday arrived cloaked in ceremony and tension. The Grand Auditorium gleamed with polished floors and navy banners. Students filled the velvet seats, murmuring in anticipation. Faculty lined the front rows.

Backstage, Sky adjusted the cuffs of his blazer, fingers slightly trembling. He stood still, composed, but his mind spun wildly.

The announcer's voice rang clear across the room.

“And now, opening this year’s ceremony — Graymoor’s very own Student Council President, Mr. Archaell Gray.”

Applause thundered as Archaell stepped into the light, posture elegant, expression unreadable. Sky peeked through the curtain and watched the boy—no, the presence—move with quiet command across the stage.

Their eyes did not meet.

Not yet.

But Sky’s thoughts followed him.

He looks like he doesn’t care about anything.…Or maybe he cares too much and doesn’t show it.

The first impression was not the one Sky expected—but it was one he couldn’t shake.

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