The vote came at the end.
Derrow called for it formally, her voice steady and clear. "All those in favor of removing Headmaster Twilson from his position at Frosthaven Academy, pending formal criminal proceedings?"
Hands rose around the chamber. I counted them automatically. Unanimous.
"All those opposed?"
Silence.
"The motion carries." Rae's gavel fell with a quiet finality. "Mr. Twilson, you are hereby stripped of your position and all associated privileges. You will remain in council custody until formal charges are filed."
Two enforcers moved forward. Twilson stood without being asked, his movements stiff and mechanical. They didn't cuff him—not here, not in front of everyone. But they flanked him closely as he walked toward the side door.
He paused at the threshold.
For a moment, I thought he would say something. Make some final declaration, some attempt to justify what he'd done. His eyes found mine across the chamber, and I saw the hatred there, undimmed by defeat.
But he didn't speak.
He just turned and walked through the door, the enforcers close behind.
It was over.
Not the whole thing—the formal trial would take months, maybe longer. There would be more hearings, more evidence, more legal maneuvering. But this part was done. Twilson was gone.
I waited for the triumph to hit. The satisfaction of watching the man who'd tried to destroy me led away in disgrace. The vindication of seeing justice served.
It didn't come.
I just felt tired.
The Council handled the remaining business efficiently. Tomlinson was named acting headmaster, a temporary appointment while the council conducted a proper search. He accepted with a brief nod, his expression suggesting he'd rather be anywhere else but understood the necessity.
"This institution needs stability," Derrow said. "Professor Tomlinson has the experience and the respect of both students and staff. He'll serve until a permanent replacement is found."
There were murmurs of approval. Tomlinson had earned a lot of goodwill with his performance at the earlier hearing—the way he'd challenged Twilson, forced him to reveal more than he'd intended. People trusted him.
The chamber emptied slowly. Everyone filed out in small groups, speaking in hushed tones. Staff from the Academy lingered, processing what they'd witnessed. The man who'd runtheir institution for twenty-five years had just been removed for crimes that most of them were only beginning to understand.
"You okay?" James asked quietly.
"Yeah." I stood, my legs stiff from sitting so long. "I just need some air."
We walked out of the administration building into the late afternoon sun. The campus looked the same as always—students crossing the quad, staff going about their business, the ordinary rhythm of Academy life continuing despite everything that had happened in the chamber behind us.
It felt strange. Disconnected. Like watching a movie of a place I used to know.
"It doesn't feel real," I said.
"It will." Cole fell into step beside me. "Give it time."
"I thought I'd feel... more. Happier. Something."
"You thought justice would feel like victory."
"Didn't it?"
Cole was quiet for a moment. "Justice is procedure. It's paperwork and votes and legal proceedings. Victory is something else." He looked at me. "What would victory feel like to you?"
