NORA
Nora kept walking.
That was the first rule.
If you stopped, you became a scene.
If you became a scene, Aldridge could turn you into a story.
Behind her, the voice stayed close.
"Me."
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… placed.
Like a chess piece set down with confidence.
Priya's shoulders didn't tense. That was the part that scared Nora.
Priya had known.
Or Priya had guessed and been ready to be right.
Nora kept her face neutral and turned her head the smallest amount.
Hannah stood there.
Hannah Brooks.
Writing club vice president. Perfect handwriting. Perfect eyeliner. The kind of girl who wore vintage sweaters like she'd been born in a catalog.
Hannah's smile was polite.
Not friendly.
Not hostile.
The smile of someone who'd already decided what you were.
Nora didn't stop walking, but she angled slightly toward the vending machine alcove like she was choosing a route, not a conversation.
Priya matched her step.
Hannah matched it too.
Three girls walking in a line like they were late to something.
Boring.
Nothing to see.
Nora's heart thudded anyway.
Hannah kept her voice soft.
"I filed it," she repeated.
Priya laughed lightly.
"Okay," Priya said, like Hannah had confessed to liking a weird protein bar. "Why."
Hannah's eyes flicked to Nora.
Then away.
She didn't want Nora's reaction. She wanted Nora's silence.
"I'm tired," Hannah said. "Of him."
Nora didn't believe her.
Not because Hannah couldn't be tired.
Because nobody filed a complaint at Ashford out of pure moral exhaustion.
They filed it because they thought they could win.
Or because they thought they were already losing.
Nora kept her voice level.
"What did you say," Nora asked.
Hannah's lips pressed together.
"You want the exact language?" she asked.
Priya's grin was sharp.
"Yes," Priya said. "We're big fans of exact language."
Hannah's smile tightened.
"I said he was creating an environment where students felt coerced into personal disclosure," she said. "I said he used grading and the prize as leverage. I said he blurred professional boundaries."
Each sentence landed like a stone.
Coerced.
Leverage.
Boundaries.
Words that sounded like policy.
Words that could get someone fired.
Or get someone protected.
Nora's mouth went dry.
"And you put your name on it," Nora said.
Hannah lifted a shoulder.
"I didn't have to," she said. "The report can be anonymous. But I put my name anyway."
Priya whistled softly.
"Brave," Priya said.
Hannah's eyes flicked again.
"That's one word," Hannah said.
Nora watched Hannah's hands as they walked.
No shaking.
No fidget.
Hannah wasn't terrified.
Which meant either she was lying… or she had protection.
Nora felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle.
Protection meant leverage.
Leverage meant someone else knew.
A runner.
Aldridge.
Or a family name.
Nora kept her voice flat.
"Why tell us," Nora asked.
Hannah's gaze sharpened.
"Because you two are the only people he cares about right now," she said. "And I'm not stupid."
Priya's smile vanished.
Nora's stomach dropped.
Hannah continued.
"He's going to assume it's you," Hannah said, nodding toward Nora. "You're the scholarship kid. You're the one who can't afford a scandal. You're the easy villain in his narrative."
Nora felt heat rise up her throat.
She forced it down.
Boring.
Clean.
"Or he'll assume it's Ethan," Hannah added. "Because he's the one who can afford to make noise."
Priya's eyes narrowed.
"So you want what," Priya asked.
Hannah didn't hesitate.
"I want you to be careful," she said.
Nora almost laughed.
The same line the runner had used.
Be careful.
Nora's voice went colder.
"Don't," Nora said.
Hannah blinked.
"Don't what," she asked.
"Don't repeat his script," Nora said.
Hannah's eyes widened.
For half a second, the catalog-girl mask slipped.
Then it snapped back.
"I'm not repeating anyone," Hannah said.
Priya's voice turned sweet.
"Then where did you hear it," Priya asked.
Hannah's steps didn't falter.
She looked straight ahead.
"I didn't," she said.
Lie.
Nora felt the lie like a smell.
They reached the vending machine alcove.
A narrow hallway with too much fluorescent light and not enough exits.
Nora stopped there.
Not because she wanted to.
Because the crowd flowed around them, and stopping in the alcove made them background.
Three girls deciding between chips.
Boring.
Hannah leaned against the wall like she belonged.
Priya crossed her arms.
Nora kept her hands at her sides.
Still.
Controlled.
Hannah looked at Nora with a careful kind of pity.
"He's going to make you say it," Hannah said.
Nora's jaw tightened.
"Say what," Nora asked.
Hannah's eyes dropped.
"To admit you're writing about him," she said. "To admit you're sleeping with him. To admit you're getting help. To admit you're… compromised."
The word hit Nora like a slap.
Compromised.
She felt her pulse in her wrists.
Priya's voice was calm.
"We aren't giving him anything," Priya said.
Hannah gave a small, humorless smile.
"You think you control that," she said.
Nora stared at her.
"You filed a complaint," Nora said. "So you think you control it."
Hannah's chin lifted.
"I control my part," Hannah said.
Nora leaned a fraction closer.
Not intimate.
Not secret.
Just enough.
"And what's your part," Nora asked.
Hannah's eyes met Nora's.
For a moment, Hannah looked almost honest.
Then she said, "I'm not going down alone."
Nora's stomach turned.
There.
The real sentence.
Not tired of him.
Not moral.
Self-preservation.
Priya's laugh was sharp.
"Okay," Priya said. "So who else is in it."
Hannah hesitated.
That hesitation was everything.
Then she swallowed.
"I told the chair," she said. "And I told Dean Whitmore's assistant. Because that's how things move here."
Dean.
Administrative.
Bigger than Aldridge.
Nora's mind raced.
If the dean's office knew, Aldridge would know.
Maybe already.
Maybe before Hannah finished typing.
Because Aldridge collected reactions.
And the biggest reaction on campus was bureaucracy.
Nora's phone buzzed.
Once.
A vibration like a warning.
She didn't check it.
Priya checked hers.
Her face changed.
A sharp intake.
Nora felt the cold spread.
"What," Nora asked.
Priya looked up.
"Aldridge just posted an announcement," Priya said.
Hannah's eyes widened.
Nora's mouth went dry.
"What announcement," Nora asked.
Priya swallowed.
"Mandatory integrity review," she said. "Today. Noon. Prize finalists only."
Nora felt the hallway tilt.
Noon.
Finalists only.
Private.
No witnesses.
Aldridge taking them off-stage.
Taking them somewhere cameras didn't matter.
Hannah's voice went thin.
"He knows," Hannah whispered.
Priya's smile returned.
Not humor.
A blade.
"Of course he knows," Priya said. "He always knows."
Nora forced her voice flat.
"We go," Nora said.
Priya nodded.
Hannah grabbed Nora's wrist.
Her fingers were cold.
"Don't let him isolate you," Hannah said.
Nora stared at her.
"You just isolated us," Nora said.
Hannah flinched.
Nora pulled her wrist free.
She didn't yank.
Yanking was a tell.
She walked out of the alcove.
Priya matched her.
Behind them, Hannah followed.
Not because she cared.
Because she was already in it.
Nora's phone buzzed again.
This time, she checked.
The shared notes file.
One new line from Ethan.
He wants us alone. He's calling it integrity.
Nora's breath hitched.
Ethan had been warned too.
Which meant the runner wasn't just a messenger.
He was a trigger.
Nora typed with her thumb without slowing her walk.
Boring. Process. No confession.
She hit save.
She didn't add anything else.
Anything else would be a thread.
They crossed the quad.
The statue watched.
Tour groups passed.
A campus pretending it was just a campus.
Nora kept her face neutral.
But inside, she felt the walls closing.
Integrity review.
Aldridge's favorite phrase.
Because it made the victim sound guilty.
Noon came fast.
They reached Aldridge's building.
The old stone steps were wet.
Nora climbed them like she was going to class.
Not like she was walking into a courtroom.
Priya stayed at her shoulder.
Hannah hovered behind.
At the door, a small sign had been taped up.
FINALISTS. ROOM 214.
No other names.
No other instructions.
Just a funnel.
Nora's stomach tightened.
She pushed the door open.
Room 214 was bright.
Too bright.
The blinds were open.
Sunlight spilled across the long table.
Aldridge stood at the window with his hands clasped behind his back.
Ethan was already there.
Standing.
Calm.
Boring.
His eyes met Nora's.
A quiet question.
Are you okay.
Nora didn't answer with her face.
Answering would be a tell.
Aldridge turned.
He smiled.
"Ah," he said. "My two finalists."
His gaze flicked to Priya.
Then to Hannah.
His smile didn't change.
But his eyes sharpened.
"I'm afraid this meeting is for finalists only," Aldridge said.
Priya's voice was light.
"Of course," Priya said. "I'll wait outside."
Hannah didn't move.
Aldridge looked at her.
"Hannah," he said, as if they were friendly.
Hannah's throat moved.
Aldridge's smile widened.
"You've been busy," he said.
Nora's heart slammed.
There.
Proof.
He knew.
Aldridge gestured to the door.
"Outside," he repeated.
Hannah's face went pale.
She looked at Nora.
Like Nora could save her.
Nora kept her face neutral.
Saving people was how you got used.
Priya touched Nora's shoulder once.
Anchor.
Then she stepped out.
Hannah followed, slower.
At the door, Hannah turned back.
Her eyes were wide.
A silent apology.
Or a warning.
Then the door clicked shut.
The room went quiet.
Aldridge walked to the table and placed a folder down.
Manila.
Plain.
Evidence-colored.
He slid it toward Ethan.
Then toward Nora.
"Integrity," Aldridge said softly, like a prayer.
Nora didn't touch the folder.
Ethan didn't either.
Aldridge smiled.
"Oh," he said. "You've practiced."
He leaned forward.
His voice dropped.
"Show me your process," he said. "Out loud."