ETHAN
Ethan did not go straight home.
He went to the campus like it was an appointment, like he had a right to be there after dark, like the air itself wasn't thick with watching.
He kept his hood up.
He kept his head down.
He held Nora's envelope in his bag like it was contraband.
Because it was.
Because a man who taught them craft had turned their pages into evidence.
The copy room was in the basement of the west hall, down a stairwell that smelled like wet concrete and old heat. The lights flickered with each step, and Ethan hated that his brain cataloged it as atmosphere.
No.
This was not atmosphere.
This was a place where you could get caught.
He pushed open the basement door.
The hallway was empty.
The sound of the building was louder down here. Pipes ticking. A distant machine hum. Water moving through walls like the building had a pulse.
Ethan walked to the copy room.
A sheet of paper was taped to the door.
OUT OF ORDER.
He stared.
Of course it was.
Of course the one plan they had made lasted one day.
Ethan's throat tightened.
He reached for the handle anyway.
The door opened.
Inside, the room was dim but not dark. A single overhead light buzzed. Two ancient copiers sat against the wall like dead animals. A stapler lay on the counter.
Not broken.
Not yet.
Behind the stapler, tucked against the wall, was a narrow gap.
Ethan saw it.
Nora's brain.
Always.
He moved to the counter and slid his hand behind the stapler.
His fingers brushed paper.
He froze.
He pulled it out slowly.
A manila envelope.
Initials in the corner.
N.P.
Ethan exhaled.
Then he heard the sound that turned his blood cold.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Not one person drifting.
Purposeful.
A stop.
A pause outside the door.
Ethan's hand went to his phone.
No.
Rule.
No texts.
No noise.
He shoved the envelope into his bag.
He looked around.
No second exit.
No window.
Just the door.
The footsteps moved again.
Past.
Then back.
Then stopped right outside.
A shadow passed under the door.
Ethan held his breath.
The handle didn't move.
A voice spoke.
Low.
Male.
"Out of order," the voice said, like it was reading the sign to itself.
Ethan's stomach dropped.
The voice didn't sound like maintenance.
It didn't sound like a student.
It sounded like someone trained to be casual.
Someone trained to wait.
Ethan's pulse hammered.
He thought about Aldridge's office.
About boundaries.
About disqualification.
About Nora's face when she said he moved it again.
Ethan stepped back from the door.
He forced his breathing slow.
He forced his mind to work.
If someone was checking the copy room, they were checking for a drop.
If they found the envelope, it was over.
Ethan looked at the copiers.
Dead animals.
Old machines.
He moved to the nearest one and lifted the lid.
Dust.
Glass.
A place to hide something if you were desperate.
Ethan hesitated.
Then he pulled Nora's envelope from his bag.
He did not want to do this.
He wanted to keep it close.
He wanted to read it right now.
He wanted to put it under his skin.
But wanting was a problem.
Wanting was what Aldridge could smell.
He set the envelope on the glass.
He lowered the lid.
He stood there with his hands on the copier like he was steadying himself.
Outside, the footsteps shifted.
A hand tapped the door once.
Not a knock.
A test.
Ethan closed his eyes.
He thought of Nora's voice.
Quiet room.
We have forty-eight hours.
New drop.
Behind the broken stapler.
Ethan opened his eyes.
He walked to the counter.
He took the stapler.
He snapped it in half.
Plastic cracked.
Metal bent.
The sound was sharp in the small room.
Outside, the footsteps stopped moving.
Silence.
Ethan's throat tightened.
He placed the broken stapler back in its spot.
He slid his fingers behind it again.
Nothing now.
Good.
If someone came in and checked behind the stapler, they'd find an empty gap.
They'd think the drop hadn't happened.
Maybe they'd leave.
Maybe.
The door handle finally moved.
Just a fraction.
Ethan's stomach flipped.
Then the handle released.
The door didn't open.
A lock.
A person without keys.
A person who could still wait.
Ethan backed away from the door.
He moved to the far corner of the room where the copier stood.
He rested his palm on the lid like he could feel the envelope through plastic and glass.
A second tap.
Then the voice again.
"Anyone in there?" it asked.
Ethan didn't answer.
He kept his breathing quiet.
He waited.
He counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
The footsteps shifted.
Then moved away.
Slow.
Measured.
Not leaving because it believed.
Leaving because it had other doors to test.
Ethan stayed still for a full minute after the sound faded.
Then another.
When he finally moved, his knees felt wrong.
He walked to the door and listened.
Nothing.
He cracked it open.
The hallway was empty.
Ethan stepped out and shut the door without letting it click.
He moved down the hall fast, heart hammering, the building suddenly too small for his body.
He didn't go upstairs.
He didn't go to the main exit.
He went to the stairwell on the far end.
He climbed two steps at a time.
When he reached the ground floor, he stopped in the shadow of a vending machine and pulled out his phone.
He stared at the blank screen.
No texts.
No pages.
No Aldridge.
But this wasn't about pages anymore.
This was about someone watching them like they were worth watching.
Ethan typed one message to Nora.
Not about writing.
Not about the kiss.
About danger.
Ethan: Copy room compromised. Someone checked the door. I hid your envelope in the copier. Do NOT go there.
He stared at the message.
Rule broken.
But rules were for when you had time.
Ethan hit send.
Then he put his phone away and walked out into the night, rain starting again, the campus lights blurring, and the sick understanding settling in his chest.
Aldridge didn't just want their story.
He wanted to control how it ended.
And Ethan had just learned what it felt like to be hunted for a draft.