PRIYA
The printer sheet looked innocent.
That was the problem.
A clean white page with a clean black sentence.
No logo.
No watermark.
No identity.
It had slipped into Maren's office like a thought.
Like someone had walked right up to the machine and fed it in.
Which meant they could walk right up to this door too.
Priya didn't look away from the paper.
She couldn't.
If she looked away, she'd start imagining hands.
Cal's hands.
Or Aldridge's.
Or some third person who moved through buildings like they owned the air.
Maren took the sheet from Ethan without letting it flutter.
No drama.
She read it once.
Then she flipped it.
Blank.
"Time," Maren said.
The campus safety officer checked his watch.
"Five twenty-two," he said.
Priya's stomach tightened.
Less than two hours.
Maren wrote the time down.
Scratch.
Then she looked at the printer like it was a witness.
"Did anyone touch this printer after we printed," she asked.
Marcus' voice came out too fast.
"No," he said. "I didn't. I swear."
Daniel shook his head, frantic.
"No," he whispered.
Ethan's face stayed still.
"No," he said.
Priya lifted her hands.
"I've been holding my phone like it's radioactive," she said. "I didn't touch anything."
Maren nodded.
"So someone else did," she said.
The officer's jaw tightened.
"There's a hallway camera," he said. "We can review—"
Maren cut him off.
"Later," she said. "Right now we contain the seven o'clock post."
Priya's phone buzzed.
Her own.
A call back.
Hannah.
Priya answered immediately and hit speaker before Maren could ask.
"I'm downstairs," Hannah said, breathy. "I'm coming up."
Maren's voice was calm.
"Hannah, stop," she said. "Do not take stairs alone. Wait by the lobby desk. Campus safety will escort you."
The officer blinked.
Then nodded.
"I'll go," he said.
He stepped out.
The door clicked.
Priya hated the click.
It sounded like vulnerability.
Maren didn't move.
She looked at Nora.
Nora's face was still.
Boring.
Clean.
But her hand was curled around her pen like it was the last real thing in the room.
Maren spoke.
"Nora," she said, "I need you to keep not reacting."
Nora blinked once.
"I know," she said.
Priya wanted to scream.
Not reacting was supposed to be a choice.
Now it was a job.
Ethan's gaze was on the door.
His body was angled toward it like he was ready to intercept reality.
Priya's mouth tightened.
"Okay," Priya said. "When Hannah gets here, we pull moderator view. We get screenshots of the scheduling settings, the pin, the account name, the device type if it shows it. We document everything."
Maren nodded.
"Yes," she said. "And we do it without touching her phone."
Priya made a face.
"How," she asked.
Maren's tone didn't change.
"Hannah will hold it. You will point. Ethan will take notes. I will observe and write. That is a chain of custody."
Priya inhaled.
Respect.
Maren was cold.
But cold kept you alive.
The door opened.
The officer returned with Hannah.
Hannah looked like she'd run here.
Hair messy.
Eyes red.
Hands shaking.
But she held her phone like it was evidence, not comfort.
Good.
Maren gestured her in.
"Hannah," she said. "Sit. Breathe. Then open moderator view."
Hannah sat on the edge of the chair like she didn't deserve to take up space.
"I didn't do it," she whispered.
Priya's voice went surprisingly gentle.
"We know," Priya said. "Show us."
Hannah unlocked her phone.
Priya felt her own skin crawl.
Unlocked phones were doors.
Hannah opened Slack.
Writing Club.
Pinned draft.
The headline sat there like a weapon.
Maren's pen moved.
Scratch.
"Moderator tools," Maren said.
Hannah tapped.
A menu appeared.
Priya leaned closer.
There.
A section labeled Scheduled.
A list.
One item.
The leak.
Hannah tapped it.
A details pane slid up.
Scheduled by:
A name.
Not Cal.
Not anonymous.
A real account.
Priya's stomach flipped.
"Hannah," Priya said, voice flat. "Read that line out loud."
Hannah's voice shook.
"Scheduled by… Daniel Park," she whispered.
Daniel made a sound like he'd been stabbed.
"No," he said. "No. That's not possible. I didn't— I can't—"
Nora turned her head slowly.
Not fast.
Not emotional.
But enough.
The first real movement.
Ethan's eyes went to Daniel.
Cold.
Maren's voice stayed flat.
"Hannah," she said, "do not move. Keep the screen where it is. Do not scroll."
Hannah froze, phone held out like an offering.
Maren leaned in, not touching.
She read.
Then she said, "Device."
Hannah whispered, "It says iPhone."
Daniel shook his head violently.
"I have an Android," he said, voice breaking. "You know I do. I swear."
Priya's pulse hammered.
A frame.
Or a breach.
Or both.
Maren's pen scratched harder.
"Take note," Maren said.
Ethan's voice was low.
"Noted," he said.
Priya stared at the line again.
Scheduled by: Daniel Park.
iPhone.
And then she saw something else.
A small gray line under the schedule details.
Last edited by.
Priya's throat went dry.
"Hannah," Priya said. "Scroll down. Slowly. Only down. Nothing else."
Maren's eyes flicked.
A warning.
But she nodded.
Hannah scrolled.
Another line appeared.
Last edited by:
Professor Aldridge.
The room went silent.
Not waiting-room silence.
Not documentation silence.
A different kind.
The silence of a trap snapping shut.
Marcus whispered, "Oh my God."
Daniel looked like he was going to faint.
Ethan didn't move.
Nora didn't blink.
Priya felt her own mouth curve into something sharp.
Because now it wasn't a rumor.
It was a screen.
A timestamp.
A file.
Maren's voice went even colder.
"Hannah," she said, "keep that screen open. Officer, take a photo of it with your body camera."
The officer blinked.
"I— we don't—"
Maren's gaze cut him.
"Then take a photo with my office camera," she said.
Priya's breath caught.
Maren had an office camera?
Of course she did.
Boring people always had tools.
The officer moved.
Hannah's hands shook harder.
Nora spoke, voice flat.
"So he touched it," Nora said.
Maren didn't look away from the screen.
"Yes," Maren said. "He touched it."
Priya's voice went sharp.
"And he framed Daniel," she added.
Maren nodded once.
"And someone printed a message in my office," Maren said.
She finally looked up.
Her eyes landed on the door.
Like she could see through it.
"Which means," Maren said quietly, "we have a person inside this building."
Nora's phone buzzed in her pocket.
Once.
Then again.
Maren held up a hand.
"Do not open," she said.
Priya swallowed.
Hannah whispered, "It's going to post."
Maren's gaze went back to the screen.
"We can unschedule it," she said.
Priya's mouth tightened.
"And then he posts somewhere else," Priya said.
Maren nodded.
"Yes," she said. "But we will unschedule it anyway. Because every action leaves a trail."
Hannah's thumb hovered.
Maren's voice went flat.
"Hannah," she said. "Cancel the scheduled post. Now."
Hannah tapped.
A confirmation popped up.
Cancel scheduled message?
Hannah looked like she was going to cry.
She hit confirm.
The scheduled post vanished.
For half a second, Priya felt relief.
Then Hannah's phone buzzed.
A new message in the channel.
From an account called Cal.
One line.
NICE TRY.
And beneath it, a link.
An external link.
Not Slack.
Public.
The room went cold.
Priya's stomach dropped.
Because the link preview loaded instantly.
A post.
Already live.
Already titled.
FINALIST LEAKS.
Already set to share.
Already burning.
Maren's voice stayed calm.
"Copy the URL," she said.
Priya blinked.
"Why," she asked.
Maren looked at her.
"Because it is evidence," she said. "And because takedown requests require the original link."
Priya nodded, throat tight.
Hannah's fingers shook as she copied it into a notes app.
Maren continued.
"Now screenshot the moderator view," she said. "Not the post. The history. Scheduled by. Edited by. Time."
Hannah obeyed.
Click.
Each screenshot a nail.
Daniel whispered, "I didn't do it."
Nora's voice came out flat.
"I know," she said.
Priya turned her head sharply.
"You know," she repeated.
Nora's eyes didn't move from Hannah's phone.
"His first move was to make us blame someone," Nora said. "Daniel is convenient."
Daniel's breath broke.
Ethan finally spoke.
"How," Ethan asked. "How did he get Daniel's name on that screen."
Hannah swallowed.
"It looks like… an integration," she whispered. "Like the account is tied to an email. Or someone renamed it."
Maren's pen scratched.
"Or someone with admin privileges did it," Priya said.
Maren nodded once.
"Yes," she said. "And that narrows the list."
The officer stepped closer.
"We need the external site host," he said. "We can contact—"
Priya cut in.
"It's already shared," she said. "He's counting on the first five minutes. That's all it takes."
Maren's gaze stayed steady.
"Then we do what we planned," Maren said.
Priya's mouth tightened.
"Our statement," she said.
Maren nodded.
"Send it now," Maren said. "Scholarship office. Club moderators. Department admin. Anyone tagged. Put it in their inbox before the rumor hits their feed."
Nora's stomach tightened.
Inbox.
Not feed.
Boring channels.
Slow channels.
But channels that counted.
Maren pointed at Ethan.
"Mr. Cross," she said. "You will take the URL and the screenshots. You will email them to me from my desktop with a subject line that makes it impossible to ignore."
Ethan nodded.
"Yes," he said.
Maren pointed at Priya.
"Priya," she said, "you will call the scholarship office. Not email. Call. Get a human. You will say the word extortion."
Priya swallowed.
"Okay," she said.
Maren looked at Nora.
"Nora," she said. "You will not read the post. Do you understand."
Nora blinked once.
"Yes," she said.
Maren's voice softened by a fraction.
"It is poison designed to make you react," she said. "Your job is to stay boring."
Nora's mouth tightened.
"Okay," she said.
And then Nora's phone buzzed again.
Not the burner.
A different vibration.
A campus number.
Incoming call.
The screen flashed one name.
Professor Aldridge.
Priya stared.
"H-he's calling you," Hannah whispered.
Nora didn't move.
Her voice came out flat.
"Do I answer," she asked.
Maren's gaze went cold.
"No," she said. "We call him back on record."
The phone kept buzzing.
Ethan watched it like it was a bomb.
The call went to voicemail.
Immediately, a new message appeared.
Aldridge.
One line.
If you do not speak to me, the scholarship office will hear it from someone else.
Priya's smile turned sharp.
"Someone else," she whispered.
Nora's stomach went cold.
Because she knew exactly who someone else was.
And she knew exactly what time it was.
Because the clock on Maren's wall said 5:29.
Ninety-one minutes to seven.