He lingered through the flat like rot. Invasive. Inevitable.
Jude had heard a couple of calls. Low murmurs from behind the bathroom door. Fragments he wasn’t meant to catch. Mentions of someone“dragging their feet,”of“money still on the table.”It sounded as though Callum was waiting for payment. For what, Jude didn’t dare guess. He told himself it didn’t matter. Prison debts, old favours, new hands. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his concern. All he wanted was for them to pay him—so Callum would go.
But each time the phone rang, and that clipped, dangerous tone slid into Callum’s voice, Jude’s stomach went cold. Whoever was keeping him waiting wouldn’t stay faceless forlong. And when Callum grew frustrated, when his temper curdled, he always needed somewhere to release it. Onsomeone.
And Jude was right there.
Waiting.
His lamb to the slaughter.
Fuck…he was back there again. Flinching at shadows. Second-guessing the sound of his own breath.
When Monday morning came, and Callum was dead asleep on the sofa, Jude was almost grateful. Grateful for the brief reprieve. The chance to slip out quietly, lock the door behind him, and pretend, for a few precious hours, that his life wasn’t imploding. That everything was normal. And if Callum had been awake, he might have even told him not to go in. And in all honesty, Jude wasn’t sure he’d have the mental strength to disobey him.
Walking into work felt almost suicidal. But he had to. It was the one thing he could still control. The one thread of his old life left to hold onto. If he could keep this, then maybe, when everything else inevitably collapsed, he might still have something worth saving.
At school, he tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. Kept his voice even, smiled where expected. But the walls felt tighter. Corridors louder. Every glance like scrutiny. Every laugh aimed at him. As if the studentsknew. Had figured out that he didn’t belong. That he was a fraud standing at the front of the classroom, barely holding himself together.
He skipped the staffroom entirely, afraid if someone asked how his weekend had been, he might actually answer.
And he avoided Warren.
So much for all that.
Teaching felt impossible. Words blurred on worksheets. Lessons dragged. Every second was spent keeping his breathing even, his hands from shaking. And when the final bell shriekedthrough the halls, Jude felt two things at once—relief that it was over, and dread.
Because now he had to go home.
Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Half the class was at the door when Jude raised his voice enough to catch them.
“Don’t forget to revise the Weimar topics. Timeline, key legislation, and who stabbed whom in the back. Itwillcome up in the mock.”
A few groaned. One muttered something about him being a tyrant. Jude didn’t rise to it. He watched them funnel out, a blur of blazers and restless energy, then exhaled. When the room finally emptied, he slumped into his chair, the legs screeching across the linoleum as if they resented the weight. He dropped his elbows onto the desk then buried his face in his hands. His heart wouldn’t settle. It skittered in his chest as if trapped. His nerves were shot. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
He was falling apart.
Why was this happening to him? Why now? Why had Callum been let outnow?
He already knew the answer to all of it.
“Penance,” he muttered into his hands.
“Huh?”
Jude flinched and looked up.
Slouched in the back row, bag half-zipped, headphones tangled around his fingers, was Alfie Carter. He hadn’t left with the others. He sat quietly, as if waiting for the storm to pass. His blazer was new. So was the muteness. The defiance and bravado from last year had drained out of him, replaced by something smaller. Guarded.
Teacher training kicked in.
Jude stood, walked around the desk, and perched on the edge. “Not heading home yet?”
Alfie shrugged, avoiding eye contact as he fiddled with his headphones. “Waiting for the corridor to clear.”
Jude folded his arms. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Fine. Don’t feel like fighting my way through a crowd. That a crime now?”
