He didn't know that the cycle was about to shatter. The chemistry lab smelled of sharp alcohol, oxidizing metal, and the dusty scent of long-unused textbooks. Rows of glass beakers caught the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. Jack stood at his station, his focus entirely on his notebook, recording his observations with a meticulous care that felt like a shield against the rest of the room. At the back of the lab, three students huddled together, exchanging predatory glances. One of them held an unmarked flask. The liquid inside didn't behave like water or oil; it shimmered with an iridescent, oily sheen, swirling as if it were agitated by a pulse of its own. "Watch this," one of them whispered, a cruel smirk twitching at his lips. Before Jack could sense the shift in the room, a cold splash hit the back of his shirt. For a heartbeat, there was only silence. The boys suppressed their snickers, waiting for the explosion of anger.