“Anyway,” Ethan continued, his tone lifting again, “I got some insane footage. Probably gonna use it for my senior thesis. My parents think I was building my professional network the whole time, so everyone wins.”
I smiled. “The perfect crime.”
“Exactly.” He took a sip of his latte, then glanced at me. “What about you? How was your summer? I know you did those rowing camps.”
The question hit different than I expected.
“It was fine. Two high-performance camps. Back-to-back. Barely had a week off between them.”
“Jesus. That sounds brutal.”
“My dad set them up. Said I needed the edge going into sophomore year.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. We reached the steps of the law building, and he slowed.
“Bet that was fun,” he said.
“Yeah. Real fun.”
He studied me for a second—not interrogating, just checking in. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m good.”
“Cool. You know where I am if you’re not.”
“I know.”
We climbed a few steps together. The morning light pushed through the stained glass above us, scattering color across the stone floor inside the archway. Blue, gold, red. Everything filtered and beautiful and untouchable.
“Hey,” Ethan added, stopping at the top, “that footage I got in Berlin? Some of the best stuff was people just being themselves. No performance. Turns out that’s rarer than you’d think.”
He said it light. Threw it away like a joke. But it hung in the air between us.
Then he grinned. “Anyway. Go learn about tort law or whatever fresh hell pre-law throws at you today.”
“Thanks, Ethan.”
He gave me a two-finger salute and headed toward his own building, loose and unbothered, humming under his breath.
I stood there for a second. Watched him disappear around the corner.
Then I took a breath and went inside.
The lecture hall wrapped around me in cool air and dark wood. Tall windows. Rows of seats rising up like theater seating. I slid into a middle-row seat and dropped my bag beside me.
Dr. Merritt strode in a minute later. Everyone sat straighter. She dropped her bag on the desk and swept the room with a quick, cutting gaze.
“If you are in this class because someone else wants you to be, you will fail.”
My spine locked.
“The law is built on identity,” she continued. “On choice. On knowing what you stand for—and what you stand against.”
The words landed heavy.
I thought of Liam’s raw energy, his anger, his power.
I thought of Ethan’s ease.
