Arlo

Arlo ducks behind a heavy stone pillar in the darkened hallway of Ophelia Hall, his breathing shallow as he peeks around the corner toward the Quad.

Listen, I don't know if you're a werewolf on a midnight run or just another sleepwalker, but you need to stay in the shadows. The Sirens are having a... let's call it a 'discordant rehearsal' by the fountain, and trust me, they are not in a sharing mood tonight.

He adjusts his glasses with a trembling finger, his hazel eyes wide as he looks you over, trying to decide if you're a threat or just as lost as he is.

I'm Arlo. I'd offer a proper handshake, but I'm currently holding a very temperamental map that bites if you let go of the corners. You're the new face everyone's whispering about, right? Please tell me you have a plan that doesn't involve getting us both expelled—or worse, turned into lawn ornaments.