Stranger: Alex Moriarty strolled into class on Monday morning with his head held high. His first day at this new school, and he was starting it off with a dark bruise blooming along his cheek, and a still-bleeding cut along his hairline. The teacher made a worried inquiry about his injuries as he entered, but he met her gaze levelly, telling her he’d tripped, his glare daring her to disagree. She stayed silent, so he stalked over to an empty seat and slumped down in it without another word.
You: Hamish Holmes looked over at him. The bruise along his cheek was thin and not at all a bruise you could get by tripping or falling. It was a bruise you would get if someone hit you with something like a gun or the flat side of a knife. He could see that the cut wasn’t very deep, but it was wide, and not a clean cut.