I turned on the water and cupped my hands beneath the stream, bringing it to my face. The cold helped. It cleared some of the fog, forced my breathing to slow.
But not enough.
A tightness built in my chest, the delayed reaction hitting all at once. Frustration came first. He’d gotten the jump on me. I’d let my guard slip for half a second, and it’d been enough.
Then something quieter crept in. Fear. Not of Logan. Not anymore. Of what could’ve happened if Luke hadn’t been there.
My fingers pressed into the edge of the sink. I forced the thought down before it could take hold. That wasn’t how I operated. I didn’t spiral. I adjusted.
Still, a tear slipped free before I could stop it.
I swiped it away immediately, irritated with myself more than anything else. I wasn’t falling apart over this. I refused.
I grabbed a handful of paper towels and dabbed at my face, cleaning the blood and any sign of the moment that had broken through my control. Once I was satisfied, I removed my shirt from beneath Luke’s sweatshirt, not wanting anything on me that Logan had damaged because I wasn’t damaged.
By the time I stepped back into the hallway, my expression was neutral again.
Voices carried from the reception area. More than before. I rounded the corner and took in the scene all at once. Luke straightened when I came into view, his gaze moving over me once, quick and precise, checking for anything new before settling.
My mom stood near the wall, her posture rigid despite the way her hands hovered as if she didn’t know where to touch first. Edwardo stood beside her, steady and composed, his attention already moving through the room in a way that reminded me too much of myself.
And then there was Luke’s mom. She stood apart from the rest, composed. Her posture was perfect, her expression smooth, her gaze sweeping over me once. Assessing. Not a trace of sympathy crossed her face. Not even an attempt at it. Just a mask.
Mom closed the distance between us the second she saw me. “Mila?—”
Her hands hovered near my face, my shoulders, as if she was trying to decide where I was hurt without making it worse.
“I’m fine,” I assured her, even though the word felt insufficient.
Edwardo moved closer, his gaze assessing me quickly, efficiently, cataloging every visible mark. “What happened?”
I told them. Not everything, not the adrenaline-fueled blur, but enough. Logan cornering me. The shove. The way it escalated.
Edwardo listened without interrupting. His expression tightened slightly at certain points. When I finished, his gaze shifted to Luke.
He took in Luke’s knuckles, still red and raw, then glanced toward the office where Logan sat. Respect flickered in his expression before it smoothed back into something controlled.
Edwardo’s gaze shifted to Principal Miller. “Step outside.”
Miller opened his mouth.
Edwardo didn’t raise his voice. “Now.”
Miller moved. “Of course.”
Edwardo moved toward the office without another word. The door remained open, but his presence filled the space in a way that made it clear the conversation inside was no longer public.
Edwardo stepped into the office and closed the distance without hurry. He didn’t sit.
Logan shifted in his chair.
Edwardo’s voice stayed low, too low to carry, but every word resonated.
Luke went still beside me, his focus locked on the office, his jaw set as he tracked every shift inside. He didn’t interfere. He didn’t need to.
Edwardo didn’t gesture. He didn’t pace. He stood there and dismantled whatever they thought this was. By the time he stepped back, neither Logan nor his dad looked the same.
Logan, who’d been slouched in his chair, straightened. His father’s posture shifted, tension creeping into his shoulders. The color drained from his face as Edwardo continued.
