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I understand what he’s doing now. He’s widening the ground under the question. “Same system that logs every other feed in this building, Mister Porter.”

“You’re treating this like it’s a gap in procedure,” he says.

“It is a gap in procedure,” I answer. “Matter of fact, it’s a gap in every students’ safety.”

He leans forward now, elbows resting on the desk. “No,” he says. “It’s a controlled interruption. Those are not the same thing.”

“You’re telling me it was intentional,” I say.

“You’re focusing on the wrong conclusion,” he says. “Which tells me you’re already attached to one.”

“You’re avoiding the question, which tells me you’re the person who disabled them.”

“You’ve been present in matters outside your assignment,” he says. “Repeatedly.”

I stop listening to the framing and go back to the point. “And you, Spencer, you’ve been getting on my fucking nerves, repeatedly too.” A long exhale comes out of my mouth before I speak again, “The feed goes dark. At the same time something happens inside the building. Perfect timing. And knowing two of my students have been hurt during that short frame of pure dark, I have more than an excuse to fuck you up, Porter.”

He gets up, bored almost and walks toward the window. “Timing is a dangerous thing to build certainty on,” he says. “It encourages pattern-making where there may only be coincidence,” he laughs lightly before adding, “You’re trying to turn an operational adjustment into intent, that tells me you’ve already decided there’s a person responsible.”

My hand moves to my tie, loosens it slightly, then tighten it around my fist as I step closer.

All I can see is the hands that marked her neck and the blood on her face. I nod once, and for a second I look at him and try to measure it. The distance, the angle, the consequence, because I want to see how far this could go if I stop holding it back.

What if I kill him now.

What if I just⁠—

The thought doesn’t finish, it’s already settled somewhere, waiting for the right moment instead of asking for permission. And that’s exactly why I move.

My fist connects with his face in a hard motion, his head snaps to the side, and there’s a brief, cracked sound that echoes in the room.

“You keep sitting here acting like this is a misunderstanding, like I’m asking you questions because I don’t already know something’s wrong. I’m not. I’m asking because I want to see how far you’re willing to go to protect whoever did this.”

He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him the space to speak yet.

I tilt my head slightly, studying him, and hit again, on the same spot.

“You don’t turn off cameras in one specific place unless you know exactly what’s going to happen there,” I continue. “So either you did it, or you allowed it. And I don’t actually care which one it is.”

It would take nothing from me to kill him right now. I exhale slowly and let it pass because I’m not done yet. Not with him. Not with this.

“If anything happens to her again,” I add. “I won’t be standing here asking you questions. I won’t be standing here at all. And you’re not going to like the version of me that shows up that day.” I adjust my sleeve slowly, calmer as if I didn’t just consider ending this in a completely different way.

“I’m going to find out what you did,” I finish, my gaze locking onto him again. “And when I do, I’ll come back and this time, finish you up.”

Then I turn and walk out.

93

Mireya

Past

Play - Drag Path by Twenty One Pilots

I was never here

The music hits before we even open the door. We’re late to the party again and it’s my fault, I checked on Milo twice before leaving. The bass is deep and violent, as if a second heartbeat is trying to take over mine and I’m not even against it.