ETHAN
Ethan walked with Priya because walking with Priya looked normal.
Walking alone looked like hiding.
Hiding looked like guilt.
Aldridge loved guilt.
The hallway outside the workshop was crowded with students pretending they didn't feel watched. Ethan moved with the flow, shoulders loose, face calm, eyes forward.
Priya matched his pace.
She didn't touch him.
She didn't lean in.
She acted like a classmate.
Not a co-conspirator.
That was the point.
When they reached the stairwell, Priya finally spoke, quiet enough to be swallowed by footsteps.
"You saw his face when he said 'distractions,'" she said.
Ethan didn't answer.
Answering would turn it into a conversation.
Conversations were what Aldridge collected.
Priya tried again.
"He wants you mad," she said.
Ethan exhaled through his nose.
"I know," he said.
Priya's mouth twitched.
"Good," she said. "Then act bored."
They exited into the rain.
Priya pulled her hood up. Ethan didn't.
He wanted anyone watching to see his face.
To see nothing.
They walked across the quad.
The fountain was still running, obscene and bright in the drizzle.
Ethan's phone buzzed.
He didn't check it.
Not yet.
Priya saw the movement anyway.
"No," she murmured.
Ethan kept walking.
They reached the edge of the student center, lights spilling out onto wet pavement.
Ethan finally glanced at his screen.
Nora.
One message.
Procedure update. Assigned partners. Drafts due 24h early. We need a decoy story. Also, you cannot be seen near me in workshop.
Ethan's throat tightened again.
He typed nothing.
He put the phone away.
Priya watched his face.
"Her?" she asked.
Ethan nodded once.
Priya's eyes sharpened.
"She's right," Priya said. "And she's wrong."
Ethan glanced at her.
"Which part is wrong," he asked.
Priya's voice stayed light.
"The part where you think you can win without leaving fingerprints," she said.
Ethan's stomach tightened.
"That's literally the goal," he said.
Priya shrugged.
"Fingerprints aren't the problem," she said. "The problem is whose story your fingerprints support."
Ethan stared at her.
Priya continued.
"Aldridge is writing a narrative," she said. "So we give him a better narrative. One he can't punish."
Decoy.
Again.
Ethan said, "What do we do."
Priya turned slightly toward the student center doors.
"Food," she said.
Ethan blinked.
"What," he said.
Priya rolled her eyes.
"Eat," she said. "Then we build the decoy draft. If your blood sugar is low you'll start doing hero stuff."
Ethan almost laughed.
He didn't.
He followed her inside.
They got cheap coffee and something fried they didn't deserve.
They sat at a table near the window where people could see them.
Visibility as protection.
Ethan hated that it worked.
Priya pulled out her laptop and opened a blank document.
She titled it:
TRAINING LOG
Ethan raised his eyebrows.
Priya didn't look up.
"Boring," she said.
Ethan swallowed.
"What is this," he asked.
Priya started typing.
"Your decoy story," she said. "We're going to make it real enough to be true."
Ethan watched the words appear.
• Read three prize-winning short stories from the archive.
• Re-annotate one paragraph using the four-box method: Intent, Change, Reason, Effect.
• Rewrite one scene twice: once with cliché metaphors, once stripped.
• Record the differences.
Ethan's throat tightened.
That was Nora's method.
Priya's version was cleaner.
More institutional.
More defensible.
Ethan said, "How did you—"
"I have ears," Priya said. "And I have survival instincts."
Ethan looked around the student center.
Students laughing.
A couple holding hands.
A group playing cards.
No one looked like they were in a war for a scholarship.
Ethan said, "What if Aldridge asks for proof."
Priya finally looked up.
"Then we give him proof," she said.
Ethan's stomach dropped.
Priya kept talking.
"Not proof of collusion," she said, annoyed. "Proof of training. We can submit an anonymous passage exercise. Something that shows you're drilling craft."
Ethan stared.
"You want us to manufacture—"
Priya cut him off.
"I want us to practice," she said. "Which looks like manufacturing when you've been raised to think talent is a personality trait."
Ethan's face heated.
Priya leaned closer.
"Listen," she said. "Aldridge's favorite move is to demand confession. We refuse. We give him process. Process is boring. Boring is safe."
Ethan swallowed.
He nodded once.
"Okay," he said.
Priya's mouth twitched.
"Now," she said, "we need one more thing."
Ethan frowned.
"What," he asked.
Priya typed a new line.
Peer partner work will focus on verbal critique only. No outside meetings.
Ethan's pulse jumped.
"That's his rule," he said.
Priya nodded.
"Yes," she said. "We repeat it. We worship it. We become its poster children."
Ethan stared.
Priya's eyes were sharp.
"You don't beat a control freak by rebelling," she said. "You beat him by outperforming his system while acting grateful."
Ethan's jaw tightened.
He hated that she was right.
His phone buzzed again.
A new message.
Unknown number.
Ethan's blood went cold.
He didn't open it.
He turned the phone over.
Priya noticed anyway.
"What," she asked.
Ethan kept his voice steady.
"Nothing," he said.
Priya didn't accept that.
Ethan exhaled.
"It's an unknown number," he admitted.
Priya's face changed.
"Do not open it," she said immediately.
Ethan's throat tightened.
"I wasn't going to," he said.
Priya leaned forward.
"Take a screenshot of the notification," she said. "Not the content. Just the number and the time. Then delete it."
Ethan stared.
"You just told me no footprints," he said.
Priya's eyes flashed.
"I said fingerprints aren't the problem," she said. "The problem is whose story they support. If Aldridge is contacting you from a burner or using someone to contact you, that's leverage."
Ethan swallowed.
He did what she said.
Screenshot.
Then delete.
His hands shook slightly as he did it.
Priya watched him.
"Now," she said, softer, "we tell Nora."
Ethan's chest tightened.
"How," he asked.
Priya smiled without humor.
"Meet in motion," she said.
Ethan stared at her.
Priya added, "You don't text. You don't call. You walk past her on campus. You drop a phrase that sounds like nothing. She'll understand."
Ethan's mouth went dry.
"That's insane," he said.
Priya shrugged.
"That's the world Aldridge made," she said. "We're just writing inside it."
Ethan looked down at the training log again.
It was clean.
It was boring.
It was safe.
It was also a lie that could become true if they kept doing it.
He hated that he felt relief.
He hated that relief meant he was adapting.
He looked up.
"Okay," he said.
Priya's eyes gleamed.
"Good," she said. "Then here's your line."
She typed it on the screen in bold.
ARCHIVE DRILL. FOUR-BOX. NO PAPER.
Ethan stared.
Priya leaned back.
"If you can say that sentence to Nora without looking like you're saying it to Nora, you might actually survive this," she said.
Ethan's throat tightened.
He thought about Nora's face in the hallway mirror.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Furious.
He thought about Aldridge smiling like a man who could rewrite the truth.
Ethan nodded once.
"Then we write the decoy draft," he said.
Priya smiled.
"And we make it so boring," she said, "it's bulletproof."
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Inside, Ethan stared at the screen and realized that for the first time since Aldridge's boundary, he wasn't thinking about the kiss.
He was thinking about control.
And how much of his life he was willing to fake to keep Nora's work alive.