The burden didn’t lift because justice was served. It lifted because the threat was brought out into the open.
“You’ve been circling this long enough,” I tell him, pointed. “It’s time you tell your truth.”
The dean recoils, because itwashim. It’s always been him. He didn’t commit the crimes himself. But his silence made them possible.
He harbored monsters long after he knew exactly what they were. Protected them. Enabled them. And as I watch him now—small behind that desk, stripped of authority and illusions—I understand something with brutal clarity. Evil doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it sits comfortably in an office, convinces itself it’s maintaining order, and calls silence a kindness.
And that, just like everything Scott-Evans ever did, is unforgivable.
“Start at the beginning.”
When Titan speaks, there’s no room for debate. He doesn’t need to raise his voice. There is no authority within Goliath more unsettling than him, and the dean knows it. I can see it in the way his eyes lift to meet Titan’s, then falter. His gaze flicks between us, searching for an entry point, a version of the truth that might still protect him. And realising there isn’t one.
He finally begins with a restless shift in his chair, his body jerking upright, steeling himself to deliver the confession he can no longer avoid.
“He was always wrong,” the dean murmurs in a low voice. “From a very young age. He would do things—things no child should do.” He swallows. “He strangled the family cat. Boiled their exotic bird.”
The words sit heavy in the air.
“I begged my sister to get him help,” he continues. “Proper help. But she was convinced he’d grow out of it. If I’m honest, I think his father had more influence over that decision. He refused to accept the possibility that his son was… damaged. He didn’t want the stigma of a sociopathic child. Everything was dismissed as boys being boys.”
The dean shifts in his chair, uncomfortable but committed.
“It escalated as he got older. He got into fights. There were incidents where the allegations never quite stuck. Every single one of those incidents, lawyers were involved, and hefty settlements. Anything to maintain the illusion of the perfect family, the perfect son.” His mouth twists. “The generous contributions to the institutions he attended were not out of goodwill, but an insurance policy.”
He exhales slowly.
“They weren’t protecting him from consequences. They were teaching him there wouldn’t be any.”
“No one tried to intervene?” I ask.
The dean exhales slowly, like stale air has been sitting in his lungs for years. “Anyone who tried was shut down. Myself included.”
He hesitates, then continues. “My son, Daniel, was the same age. They were similar in some ways—intelligent, observant—but that’s where the resemblance ended. One of them was light. The other…” He trails off, then shakes his head. “It was decided—by his parents—that Daniel might have a stabilizing influence on William. That if they spent time together, some of it might rub off.”
“And you agreed to that?” I ask.
“I didn’t,” he admits. “But my wife felt sorry for William. She thought isolation would only make things worse. She guilted me into allowing it, on occasion.”
My jaw tightens. “They were together in the summer of 2016.”
The dean’s mouth presses into a thin line. He squeezes his eyes shut, the motion sharp, almost pained, as if the memory itself is physical.
“That was the day everything changed.” He’s quiet, thoughtful as he speaks. “For all of us.”
Titan doesn’t let the silence linger. “Go on,” he urges, voice calm, unyielding.
And the dean opens his eyes, staring straight ahead, as though steadying himself for what comes next.
WRITTEN CONFESSION - “UNKNOWN”(DANIEL STOCKTON)
We were driving down a dirt road toward the festival grounds. There were miles of nothing. One house every hundred feet, if that.
There were two girls walking along the side of the road.
Marcus started yelling at them. Laughing, cajoling. Calling out things that made my body tremble with fear. William leaned forward and told me to slow down. Then to stop.
I told him no. I said they were kids and we should just keep driving. I reminded him the festival was ahead and this was a bad idea; we should just leave them alone.
