His face darkens. Red climbs his neck. Anger flashes there, sharp and helpless.
Interesting.
The dean starts again, louder this time, words spilling out like he’s trying to regain control of the conversation. The man removes one hand from his pocket and lifts it.
Just that.
The dean falls silent.
The man turns, walks down the steps, and gets into the car without looking back. The door shuts. The engine pulls away from the curb, smooth and fast, gone before I can even blink.
The dean remains on the steps, huddled with the men in suits. They speak in tight circles for a few seconds, heads close, shoulders hunched. Then they scatter and melt back into the crowd, pretending they were never there.
Eventually, the dean straightens his jacket and goes back inside. Like nothing happened.
My grip tightens on my bag strap until my fingers ache. Anger settles low in my chest—hot, patient, familiar. I stay near the quad for a few more moments before I start to move.
5
JUSTIN
Clara slips into my office with a tablet tucked under her arm and that sharp, unreadable smile she wears like armor.
“You’re back already,” she remarks. “I thought you’d still be at St Augustine’s.”
I glance at the clock on my screen. She’s right—if I were still on assignment, I wouldn’t have been back until late afternoon at the earliest.
“It didn’t take long,” I say.
She closes the door behind her, deliberate. That alone tells me she’s curious. Clara never asks questions she doesn’t already have half the answers to.
“So,” she leans against the edge of my desk. “How did it go?”
I don’t answer right away. I turn my chair slightly, look out over the city instead. The silence stretches. Clara lets it. She’s good at letting my thoughts lead the way.
“They wanted reassurance,” I say finally. “Not solutions.”
Her mouth tightens. “That’s usually the case.”
“They wanted us to make it go away,” I continue. “Containment. No ripples.”
“And?” she prompts.
“About two hundred and fifty reasons why we couldn’t do that.”
“Such as?”
“Two hundred and fifty students as witnesses. You can’t put a lid on that. Plus, there was no vetting of the attendees.”
“Ouch,” she winces.
“Exactly. You know the amount of misinformation that arises from situations like this. We’d be chasing our tails.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“Honestly? My gut tells me this was targeted. Nothing to do with the university. It’s specific to the victim.”
“But he was on university grounds,” she argues.
