“But you weren't.” I keep my voice steady. “You got them out. That's what matters.”
“The east wing is gone. Three classrooms. The computer lab.” She presses a hand to her forehead. “We have state testing in two weeks. I don't know where we'll put the students. I don't know how we're going to?—“
“I'll find you a space.” The words come out before I think them through. “Tomorrow. I'll have somewhere for your students by tomorrow.”
She stares at me like I've spoken a foreign language.
“I mean it. ELK will cover the repairs. All of them. And until the building is ready, your students will have somewhere to go. I promise.”
Her eyes search my face, looking for the lie. I've seen that look before. Someone who's heard too many promises from men in suits.
“Why?” she asks simply.
“Because my reputation is the only thing I truly own, Mrs. Okonkwo. And because those kids deserve better than this.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. Then she nods once, sharply, and turns back toward the building.
Ethan appears at my shoulder as she walks away. “Where exactly are you planning to find classroom space by tomorrow?”
“I'll figure it out.”
“Kai—“
“I said I'll figure it out.”
Emma touches my arm, light and brief. “I'm going to step back. Let you work. I'll be nearby.”
“You don't have to stay. I can call you a car.”
“I'm not leaving you alone.” She holds my gaze. “I just don't want to be underfoot.”
She slips into the crowd before I can argue.
I spend the next hour in a blur of logistics and damage control. The fire captain has questions. The insurance adjuster needs a walkthrough. I'm on the phone with facilities securing temporary classroom space. Through it all, my eyes keep drifting to the crowd.
Emma is talking to a group of teenagers near the corner bodega, buying them sodas and listening as they point toward the school.
“What's she doing?” Maddox asks without looking up from his screen.
“I have no idea.”
His typing doesn't slow. “Useful or liability?”
“What?”
He narrows his eyes. “Your girl. Which one is she?”
“That's not how I see her.”
“You should. The right person makes you sharper.” He glances toward where Ethan is coordinating with the fire captain. “Clearer.”
I don't answer. I watch Emma hand a soda to a kid in a hoodie, crouch to his level to listen.
Twenty minutes later, she returns carrying a cardboard tray and a small paper bag.
“Coffee,” she says, handing one to Ethan. “Black. Sugar packets in the bag if you need them.”
Ethan blinks, then takes the cup. “Thanks.”
