Corvus answers, his voice clinical but not cold. "Initially? Because you were competition. A scholarship student threatening the established hierarchy. But then..."
"Then you became an obsession," Dorian finishes. "The more you fought back, the more we wanted to break you. And the more we wanted you."
"That's fucked up," I point out, whisking the eggs harder than necessary.
"Profoundly," Dorian agrees. "And we can't undo it. Can't take back the months of psychological warfare, the fear we made you live with, the way we tried to break you down to nothing. But we can try to do better. If you'll let us."
I plate the eggs, add the bacon I managed to save, and carry everything to the island. We eat in silence for a while. Then I set down my fork.
"I need Robbie safe," I say. "He was expelled because of me. Because he helped me, gave me suppressants, tried to protect me from you. And you destroyed him for it."
"Yes," Corvus says simply. "We did."
"So fix it." I lean forward. "Get him back into school. Clear his record. Give him his future back."
"That's extensive," Corvus says, but he's already thinking. "The expulsion would require manipulation of administrative records, strategic pressure on key decision-makers, calling in significant favors—"
"I don't care how hard it is," I interrupt. "I care that you do it. That you prove you can fix what you break."
"And Stephanie?" Oakley asks quietly.
"She abandoned me." The words still hurt. "When things got bad, when I needed her most, she chose her own safety over our friendship."
"But you want us to make sure she's safe anyway," Dorian says, understanding in his voice.
"I want you to make sure she CAN come back if she wants to. I want her to know that being my friend won't destroy her life. That you won't punish her for choosing me."
"Done," Dorian says immediately. "Both of them. Safe. Protected. We'll make it clear that anyone who helped you is off-limits."
"And Robbie gets back into school," I press.
Corvus nods slowly. "It will take time. Resources. But yes. I can make it happen."
"How long?"
"If I prioritize it completely?" He's already calculating. "Forty-eight hours. Maybe less if I call in the right favors immediately."
"Then you have twenty-four hours." I take a sip of coffee, watching his eyes widen slightly. "Prove you can do the impossible, Corvus. Prove that when it matters, you don't just strategize—you execute."
"Twenty-four hours is—"
"What you have." I hold his gaze. "Starting now."
The challenge hangs in the air, but there's no hostility in it. Just a clear boundary, a specific demand, a way for them to show they're serious about being better.
"We'll prove it," Dorian promises. "Whatever it takes."
Afterbreakfast,Doriantakesme outside.
The lake house grounds are beautiful—sprawling lawn leading down to clear water, surrounded by trees that provide privacy. The lake itself is calm, reflecting the morning sky.
"It's gorgeous," I breathe, walking down to the dock.
"My family's had this place for generations." Dorian follows, hands in his pockets. "I used to come here as a kid. Before everything got complicated."
"What was it like? Before?"
He's quiet for a moment, staring out at the water. "Easier. Simpler. My brother and I would swim all day. My parents actually liked each other back then."
