ETHAN
When Aldridge said, After class, I want to speak with you both, Ethan felt the room tilt.
Not dramatically.
Not in a cinematic way.
In the simple, cruel way reality tilted when you realized someone had been watching you long before you noticed.
He kept his face still.
He kept his eyes on his paper.
He did not look at Nora.
If he looked at her, the room would see.
And the room already saw too much.
Aldridge dismissed them with a few more comments that sounded like craft but tasted like threat.
Then he closed his folder.
"Everyone else," Aldridge said, "go."
Chairs scraped. Pages shuffled. People made the polite noise of leaving quickly.
Priya lingered, of course.
Marcus tried not to.
Nora stayed seated, pen in hand, like she was waiting out a storm.
Ethan stood slowly.
He felt heat behind his eyes.
He didn't know if it was anger or adrenaline.
Aldridge waited until the last student left.
Then he walked to the door.
And locked it.
The click was quiet.
It was louder than any shout.
Ethan's stomach turned.
Nora's head lifted.
Aldridge turned back to them.
"Sit," he said.
Ethan sat.
Nora didn't move.
Aldridge looked at her.
"Ms. Park," he said mildly, "I did not offer a suggestion."
Nora sat.
Ethan watched her hands.
They were still.
Too still.
Like she had put all her movement into her face and left none for her body.
Aldridge leaned against the edge of the table.
"You two are making this easy," he said.
Ethan's mouth went dry.
"Making what easy?" Ethan asked.
Aldridge smiled.
"Assessment," Aldridge said.
He lifted a sheet of paper.
Ethan recognized the first line.
His first draft.
The version he had submitted.
The version that had been about Nora.
Ethan's pulse slammed.
Aldridge held it like evidence.
"Mr. Calloway," Aldridge said. "Your first draft was a coward."
Ethan flinched, despite himself.
Aldridge looked pleased.
"And your second draft," Aldridge continued, "is a liar who has discovered honesty as a strategy."
Ethan swallowed.
"I revised," Ethan said.
"You complied," Aldridge corrected.
Nora's pen made a small sound against her notebook.
Aldridge turned to her.
"And you," he said, "are the more interesting problem."
Ethan's jaw tightened.
Problem.
Aldridge was calling Nora a problem like she was a stain he couldn't scrub.
"My writing is not a problem," Nora said.
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
Aldridge's eyes narrowed.
"Your writing is excellent," he said.
Then, casually:
"Your motivations are suspect."
Ethan's stomach dropped.
He felt Nora's attention shift like a blade.
"Suspect," Nora repeated.
"Ambition," Aldridge said, as if explaining to a child. "Desperation. Competition."
He smiled.
"And," he added, "infatuation."
Ethan's breath caught.
Nora's face did not change.
But Ethan saw her throat tighten.
Aldridge watched them both.
"You see," Aldridge said, "the committee is not awarding money for romance."
Ethan couldn't stop himself.
"No one asked for romance," Ethan said.
Aldridge's gaze snapped to him.
"Don't lie in my room," Aldridge said.
The words landed like a slap.
Ethan sat back.
He forced his hands to unclench.
Aldridge set Ethan's draft down.
Then he lifted another.
Nora's.
Ethan's chest tightened.
He had not read Nora's revision.
He had only felt it.
Felt it in the way she had looked at him, in the way she'd spoken in class, in the way her voice had chosen the word worth.
Aldridge tapped the top of the page.
"This," he said, "is improved."
Nora said nothing.
Aldridge looked at her.
"Tell me," he said, "who helped you."
Ethan's heart stopped.
Because if Aldridge thought Nora needed help, he didn't understand her.
Or maybe he understood exactly and was setting a trap.
Nora's eyes stayed steady.
"No one," she said.
Aldridge smiled like he'd been waiting for that answer.
"That is not a sin," Aldridge said. "Collaboration is a tool."
He leaned closer.
"But hidden collaboration is a character flaw."
Ethan's stomach twisted.
He realized, all at once, that Aldridge did not care if they were sleeping together.
Aldridge cared if they were conspiring.
If they were giving each other an advantage.
If they were building something outside his control.
Ethan felt Nora's presence beside him like heat.
He could sense her calculating.
She was always calculating.
Nora spoke.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Aldridge's eyes brightened.
"Direct," he said. "Good."
He folded his hands.
"I want transparency," Aldridge said.
Nora's mouth tightened.
"That's not a thing you want," Nora said. "That's a thing you demand."
Ethan almost smiled.
Aldridge's expression didn't change.
"Yes," he said.
Nora leaned back.
"We will submit annotations," she said. "As required."
Aldridge nodded.
"And you will submit them in a way that tells me the truth," he said.
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"What truth?" Ethan asked.
Aldridge looked at him.
"The truth of influence," Aldridge said.
He glanced to Nora.
"Who is shaping whom."
Ethan's throat went dry.
Nora stared at Aldridge.
"You're making it personal," she said.
"Writing is personal," Aldridge replied.
Nora's laugh was small and sharp.
"Writing is private," she said.
Aldridge's smile returned.
"Not when someone pays for it," he said.
Ethan felt something ugly flare in his chest.
"This isn't about the prize," Ethan said.
Aldridge's eyes pinned him.
"Everything is about the prize," Aldridge said.
Silence.
The rain at the windows had become a steady hiss.
Aldridge stood.
He walked to the whiteboard.
He wrote one word in thick letters.
ANNOTATE.
Then he underlined it twice.
"I will tell you what will happen," Aldridge said without turning. "If I sense manipulation, I will recommend disqualification."
Ethan's blood went cold.
Nora didn't move.
Aldridge turned back.
"If I see a genuine mind," he said, "I will recommend you."
Ethan swallowed.
"So you're threatening us," Ethan said.
Aldridge tilted his head.
"I'm teaching you," he said.
He walked back to the table.
He placed Nora's draft down.
Then Ethan's.
Side by side.
As if they were twins.
"Do you understand," Aldridge asked, "what is happening here?"
Ethan's mouth was dry.
Nora answered.
"You're trying to make us confess," she said.
Aldridge's smile widened.
"No," he said. "I'm trying to make you choose."
Nora's eyes narrowed.
"Choose what?" she asked.
Aldridge tapped Nora's page.
"The scholarship," he said.
Then he tapped Ethan's.
"Or each other."
Ethan felt his lungs lock.
Nora's face went still.
Too still.
Aldridge stepped back.
"You're dismissed," he said, as if he'd done them a favor.
He unlocked the door.
The click sounded like release.
Ethan stood.
His legs felt wrong.
Nora gathered her notebook and pen with slow precision.
When she reached the door, Aldridge spoke again.
"One more thing," he said.
They turned.
Aldridge held up a thin folder.
"Your annotations," he said. "I want to review them early."
Ethan frowned.
"Early?" he repeated.
Aldridge nodded.
"Forty-eight hours," he said.
Nora's eyes sharpened.
"That's not the posted deadline," she said.
Aldridge smiled.
"No," he said. "It's mine."
Ethan felt Nora's anger flare beside him.
But she only said:
"Fine."
Aldridge opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
The air outside felt colder.
Ethan stepped out.
Nora followed.
The door shut behind them.
The lock clicked again.
And in the quiet hallway, with the rain hissing against the windows, Ethan finally looked at Nora.
Her eyes were bright.
Not with tears.
With calculation.
"He's trying to split us," Ethan said.
Nora didn't answer right away.
She stared at the locked door.
Then she said, softly:
"He's already inside our drafts."
Ethan's throat tightened.
He didn't know how to fight a man who could read their secrets like technique.
Nora looked at him.
"Come on," she said.
"Where?" Ethan asked.
Nora's mouth tightened.
"Quiet room," she said. "We have forty-eight hours."
Ethan followed.
And he realized the most dangerous part.
Nora had said us.