By the middle of second year, Cella Rodriguez had become the kind of girl people admired from a distance before they truly knew her, and respected once they did.

She moved through college with a quiet steadiness that made chaos seem embarrassed in her presence. Her professors trusted her with extra responsibility. Her classmates came to her when they were confused, behind on lab records, drowning in assignments, or simply desperate for someone whose mind stayed clear under pressure. She had become known for impossible things done calmly, finishing projects no one else could untangle, acing vivas that made other students sweat through their formal shirts, explaining difficult concepts in a voice so composed it somehow made panic feel childish.