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In the back service area of a wealthy Connecticut private school during a daytime blizzard, harsh gray light and swirling snow whip across a concrete loading dock. Leo, a pale 16-year-old white American boy in a thin school uniform shirt and slacks, shivers violently and pounds a locked steel door, lips blue, fingers stiff. Through the small reinforced window, Braden, a smug 17-year-old white American teen in a blazer, holds up a silver locket and smirks. A sudden roar builds as a matte-black military helicopter drops low overhead, blasting snow outward; the camera starts on a tight close-up of Leo’s trembling hands on the door, then whips to a wide shot as the helicopter lands in the adjacent field, then cuts to a medium shot of Braden’s smirk collapsing into panic. Leo gasps, “Open the door!” Braden mutters, shaken, “Who the hell is that?” No logos, no brand names, no signage, no watermarks, no text overlays. Tension peaks with rotor thunder and stunned silence.

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In the back service area of a wealthy Connecticut private school during a daytime blizzard, harsh gray light and swir...

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