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James shifts on his feet, shoulders tight, fingers pressed against his sides. Alex tries on his usual easy smile, though it quivers at the corners. My posture stays rigid, my face set in that calm, level mask that gives nothing away.

The three of us stand together like a crooked trio—one nervous, one pretending not to be, and one past caring about this meeting.

I break the tense silence. “They should be left out of this. Whatever charges you’ve prepared, they’re mine to answer. Not theirs.”

A slow, humourless smile spreads across Lord Clare’s face. “Mr Emmet, don’t overestimate your influence here. You misunderstand the situation. In matters of sedition, association is action enough. These two have made their loyalties plain enough by standing at your side.”

I look to where the two of them stand. “Being my companion isn’t an offense.”

“Anyone who aligns himself with you—and with your criminal of a brother—is cause enough.” He lets his words hang for a moment, then adds, almost lazily, “Your concern for rule breakers is noted.”

Heat flashes up my spine at the mention of my brother. My fingers curl so sharply my nails bite into my palms. For a heartbeat, my vision narrows; I can almost see the walls of a cell instead of the panel of fellows before me.

They’re more of the same disgraceful English lapdogs in an Irishman’s skin, getting their thrill from cutting young men off at the knees.

It could have been me in that cell—would have been, if the men planning the rising with Thomas had thought me fit to sit at their table. Maybe if I had been, Thomas wouldn’t be sitting in a cell right now.

Provost Kearney folds his hands atop the table. “In times like these,” he continues, picking up Clare’s thread, “it’s more than enough. The Board is not blind to your… associations, Mr. Emmet. Nor to those who keep close company with you. Students tied to sedition constitute a risk to this institution.”

I step forward. “You’re condemning them without cause.”

“We are protecting the college,” Clare says. “And if that means removing disruptive influences, then aye—your companions fall under that scope.”

James draws breath beside me, ready to protest, but I cut across him. “Whatever you think of my actions, they don’t deserve punishment.”

James touches my arm, a quiet pressure meant only for me. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. I understand his intention.

The provost waves a hand as if brushing aside an argument he’s heard too many times. “This isn’t punishment. It’s a precaution.”

My fingers curl once at my side before I still them. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Lord Clare leans back, studying us as if we’re specimens on a tray. “It means this, Mr. Emmet: your conduct is now formally before the Chancellor and the Board. In the weeks ahead, the university will make a thorough inquiry into sedition within these walls. Until that is concluded, you three will absent yourselves from college life. No lectures, no societies, no further mischief.”

Kearney adds, “You are to quit residence at once. Your names remain on the books—for now—but your presence on the grounds is no longer required.”

For now. As if I’m naive enough to think this will bode well for me and my future.

“So that’s it?” I hiss. “You push us out and call it precaution.”

Clare smiles, thin and satisfied. “Consider it an opportunity, Mr Emmet. If you wish to avoid the spectacle of a public expulsion, you may always apply to withdraw your name quietly before matters come to a head. Whether that courtesy is granted…” He lets the sentence trail off with a small shrug. “That remains to be seen.”

“They shouldn’t be dragged down for my sake.”

Lord Clare’s eyes flick toward James and Alex again—this time with something close to disdain. “It’s too late for that, Mr Emmet. That’s the inconvenience of association.” He lets the words linger, then adds, almost idly, “If you truly wish to keep others safe from the consequences of your convictions, you’d do well to be more careful whom you drag into your orbit in the future. Men like you rarely go down alone.”

The remark lands harder than I care to admit, a cold truth buried inside the insult.

“And of course,” Clare adds, “Refusal will compel the Board to take a firmer hand, and I assure you, none of you want to test the consequences attached to that course.”

I bow my head once, more out of habit than respect. When I look up, my voice is quiet but sure.

“If the truth isn’t welcome here,” I say, “then I won’t mourn leaving.”

The provost nods once. “This conversation has been recorded. You may collect your belongings from your quarters. After that, you are to leave the premises without delay.”

No one bothers to dismiss us.

The beadles step forward immediately. One takes hold of my arm, another clamps a hand around James’s shoulder, and a third pushes Alex toward the door. None of it’s gentle.