Done. Security briefed. Game day protocol expanded to include the threat. The building and the rink are covered. Tell her she's safe on this campus.
I read the words twice. The screen glows in my hand long after the first read.
Clara emails the Title IX coordinator. Declan and Gio map the parole violation documentation. Genny makes more tea. Talia sits beside me on the couch and says nothing. No questions. No careful voice. No hand squeezing too long.
The room shifts as the evening wears on. Bodies migrate from the kitchen table to the living room. Chairs scrape. Mugs empty. Phones buzz and go quiet again.
At some point, Cole sits on the floor in front of me with his back against the couch. His head tips back to rest against my knee, and my fingers slide into his damp hair before I think about it.
He goes still for half a second.
Then he exhales.
I hold on.
People leave in stages. Gio and Zoë first. Genny next, squeezing my hand at the door. Declan and Talia after that. Declan pauses at the threshold to look at Cole.
"Take care of her," Declan says.
Cole nods. "Always."
Cole's hand closes around my ankle for one second before he lets go.
Clara kisses Adrian on the way out. "I'll finish the Title IX filing at home."
Adrian is last. He's at the door when he stops, turns, and looks at Dante.
"D."
"Yeah."
"Talk to Addison about your thing." Adrian holds the look. "I know about the dinner. Addison's been where you are. He'll get it."
Dante doesn't move.
Adrian's voice lowers. "You don't have to send your father's men at every problem."
Dante still doesn't respond. But his thumb stops grinding into his palm.
Adrian leaves. The door closes.
Three of us are left.
Cole is still on the floor, my hand in his hair.
Dante moves from the counter to the table and sits with his hands flat on the surface. Mugs cool on the counter. The laptop is closed. Chairs sit pushed back from where people gathered around me. A half-empty mug sits near Clara's notes. Gio's charger is still plugged into the wall.
"He was in my building," I say.
My voice comes out level, almost flat.
"He walked through campus and found my office and asked for me by name and left a card and was polite about it. Everyone he talked to will remember a nice man who just wanted to see his daughter."
"The politeness is his weapon," Cole says from the floor.
"The politeness is a flawless performance that reads as genuine. He stands in lobbies and leaves cards and sounds like a heartbroken father."
Dante's voice comes from the table, low and controlled. "Tell us."
