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At first, they insisted we stay. ‘Your friends won’t be turned out into the street,’ my mother said, chin high. But a house meant for a doctor and his wife, grown quiet since the older children left it, isn’t meant to hold three grown men forced to keep indoors to stay safe. We pace like caged dogs, and every new knock at the door makes my parents flinch. We’re running out of room, and out of safety, even if no one has had the heart to say it aloud.

Word of the visitation reaches us three days before it happens.

A notice goes up in the Hall:

The Dublin Evening Post

Sunday, 15 April 1798

The Lord Chancellor Returning to Trinity to Inquire into the State of Discipline and Loyalty Within the College

Everyone knows that means Clare is coming back to finish what he started.

That night, in the cramped back room where three men have been sleeping shoulder to shoulder, we argue.

“You both have to go,” I tell them. “When Clare calls your names, you answer. You keep your heads down, say as little as you can, and if he offers you a chance to withdraw quietly, you take it.”

James stares at me like I’ve slapped him. “Withdraw? So it looks like I’ve lost my nerve?”

“So it looks like the college hasn’t publicly branded your father’s son a traitor by name in the records,” I say, irritation tightening the words. “A withdrawal they can spin. An expulsion is a weight you’ll carry for the rest of your life.”

Alex leans back against the wall, shoulders pressing into the cold plaster. There’s barely space for us to stand without bumping shoulders. “And what about you?”

“I’m not giving the Chancellor his show,” I say. “I’ve already sent a letter asking them to strike my name from the books before he ever sets foot back in the Hall. If he wants me gone, let him do it without dragging me in to dance for him.”

“He willnae like that,” James mutters.

“That’s grand,” I say. “I hope he chokes on the taste of that disappointment.”

James rakes a hand through his hair. “Ye’re askin’ us to stand there and play obedient while he pulls you apart.”

“I’m asking you,” I correct, “to give him as little as possible to work with. To let them write ‘withdrawn’ beside your names instead of ‘expelled for sedition.’ You believe in the same Ireland I do—that’s why we’re here. But there’s no reason you should pay the same price as me.”

Alex is quiet for a long moment. “You think it’ll work?”

“I think,” I say, “that men like Clare like the sound of their own mercy. If he can claim you left of your own accord, it makes him look generous. Use that.”

James grimaces, but he nods. “Fine. We’ll go. But for record’s sake, I hate it.”

“I know,” I say. “Go anyway.”

Wednesday, 18 April 1798

On the morning of the visitation, as promised, I’m nowhere near the Hall.

I refuse to be paraded like a criminal so they can pretend this is justice. They’ll ignore the letter I sent, of course. Clare wants the stage.

I slip out of my childhood home early, before my father can ask where I’m going and my mother can ask if I’m coming back. I walk past the college gates long enough to see young men filing inside in their best coats, faces tight with curiosity and dread. A porter gives me a suspicious look; I give him none of my time and keep walking.

I hear what happens after from James and Alex.

When he calls my name, there’s complete silence.

No “Present, sir.” No dutiful step forward. Just the air shifting as a few boys glance at one another and then look hard at the floor. My tutor tries—half-hearted—to mumble something about my absence, my studies, my character. It doesn’t matter. The Lord Chancellor has his line ready.

He says he’s known ‘for some time’ what I am. Accuses me of being one of the most active young agitators associated with the United Irishmen. A danger in their midst. An example that must be made. Says the college is well rid of me.

Beside my name, their verdict appears in neat black ink: wilfully disobedient.