The right-hand hallway is lined with student lockers, gray and menacing. One of them has the phrase VENKMAN BURN IN HELL painted across it in red letters.

Andrew edges down the hall, moving as silently as he can. He hates this place. He's always hated this place.

Warren is there next to him. Andrew isn't sure how long he's been there.

"I've always been here," Warren tells him, quietly.

"Oh." Andrew tugs at the straps of his backpack, uneasily, and glances back at the graffiti'd locker. It now reads YAY, I'M A LLAMA AGAIN! in blue paint. "Are we almost there?"

"Almost."