“I see,” Richard says. “It’s just a little troubling how inconsistent your grades are. You must know how that looks, right? I see your performance struggled only briefly about halfway through the semester, but it still raises questions. I just want to make sure there aren’t anyoutside influencesaffecting your work, like extra help from one of your professors, outside of class.”
There’s a pause. I can practically feel Jackson’s pulse thrumming from where I’m standing.
“Nothing like that.” His voice is steady but small.
“That’s good. The department has to maintain certain…boundaries. It’s easy for a professor to take an interest in a promising student, but it’s not always for the right reasons. We all know how rumors start around here and catch like wildfire. Whispered things travel faster than fact.”
My chest tightens.
Every word sounds careful, wrapped in concern. But underneath it, I hear the accusation. The quiet warning. The power play.
Richard leans back further, steepling his fingers. “Professor Kendall sometimes has…unconventionalteaching methods. It would be a shame if students started whispering about favoritism, wouldn’t it?”
Jackson looks up at him then, sharp and startled, but he doesn’t speak. I can tell he wants to. I can almost see the thought form and die on his tongue.
Richard’s voice softens again, silky as smoke. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Jackson. I just know how easily perception can ruin someone’s reputation. And I’d hate for your academic promise to get tangled in something messy.”
Jackson swallows hard. “I understand, Professor, but with all due respect, I think you might have the wrong idea.”
“I hope I do.” His tone warms again, as if dark, chilly storm clouds never passed right over all our heads. “You have potential, Jackson. Don’t let anyone convince you that you owe them for recognizing it.”
My jaw is the next to tighten, then everything else.
How fucking dare he…
Owethem?
He stands, a quiet signal that the meeting is over. Jackson rises too, offering a stiff, politethank youbefore stepping out. I move quickly, ducking into the alcove by the stairwell before he exits the office. When he passes by, he doesn’t notice I’m there. His head is down, his expression distant, the muscles in his own jaw tight too.
Only after he disappears down the hall do I exhale.
Richard’s door closes softly behind him, and the sound echoes through the hallway. I stare at swirls in the old wood grain of the wall in front of me, my thoughts spinning too fast to hold onto.
Professor Grant has always been a man who thrives on control, who likes to remind the rest of us that tenure is a privilege he helped make possible. I’d seen flashes of his temper in faculty meetings, but this…this was quieter. More dangerous. The kind of threat you only hear if you’ve been listening too long.
And I have.
Hearing him talk about me like that—like I’m the danger, the corruption—makes me realize something that settles like lead in my stomach.
Maybe he’s not entirely wrong.
Maybe the most dangerous thing in Jackson’s life really is me.
Three weeks.
That’s all the time I have to convince myself of something I’ve been fighting to believe for five years.
That I’mnotthe reason Dylan decided to leave.
Because on quiet nights, when the wind whistles through the cracks in my windows and the river sounds too much like a whispering voice I almost recognize, I still wonder if I did something to make him go.
And the more I look at Jackson, the more terrified I am that history isn’t finished with me yet.
That it’s dragging me back to that same bridge.
To watch someone else I care about disappear.
These last two months ofthe semester were hell, a slow-burning, intoxicating hell.
