Midday sun slanted through Veridian House's stained-glass windows, casting jewel-toned shadows across oak desks. Vivian Vaughn prodded Bryce Fitzwilliam's ribs with her Montblanc pen. "Your migration patterns baffle ornithologists, Fitzwilliam. Return to your natural habitat."
Bryce retaliated with a strategic kick beneath the writing slope. "This habitat's got better views." His gaze drifted toward Lynette Hayes—scholarship student and Veridian's reigning academic queen—whose spine remained arrow-straight despite Ms. Echidna's venomous attention.
Ms. Echidna's stilettos halted mid-aisle. "Mr. Fitzwilliam? Does Miss Vaughn's aura impair your concentration?"
Bryce deployed his mother's charity-gala smile. "Merely admiring Lynette's transcendental focus, Ms. E."
The lie hung unchallenged. Faculty tolerated Vaughn-Sterling antics; their endowments funded Echidna's Bergdorf habit.
Bryce: (Kicking Vivian's chair) "Sleeping Beauty's snoring violates noise ordinances."
Vivian: (Eyes closed) "Your cologne violates Geneva Conventions."
Scott: (Stage-whisper) "Echidna's eyeing Lynette like she's smuggling state secrets."
A lace handkerchief—heirloom linen monogrammed LH—fluttered from Lynette's pocket.
Bryce: "Psst! Hayes! Your dignity's escaping!"
Lynette: (Flushing scarlet) "Oh god—"
Ms. Echidna: (Materializing) "Something more compelling than Milton, Miss Hayes?"
Lynette froze, handkerchief half-retrieved. Ms. Echidna's smile curdled. "Display your distraction."
Silence choked the room. Lynette clutched the linen like a lifeline, knuckles bleaching to bone-white. Echidna's persecution of scholarship students was legend: last month, she'd eviscerated Cambridge hopeful Rajiv Singh over a split infinitive.
"Just..." Lynette's whisper dissolved.
Bryce's chair screeched backward. "It's a damn handkerchief! Her grandmother's!"
Ms. Echidna's lacquered nails tightened on her lesson planner. "Sit. Down."
Bryce loomed over his desk. "Make me. Or better yet—apologize."
The dismissal bell tolled like divine intervention.
Ms. Echidna: (Spitting) "My office! Now!"
Bryce: "Tuesdays I polish my halo. Try never."
Students: "Echidna just got Fitz-slammed!"
"Ten-to-one she cries in the faculty lounge!"
Ms. Echidna fled, Chanel suit quivering. Lynette vanished before Bryce could speak.
Vivian: (Applauding slowly) "How gallant. Too bad she prefers Prince Charming to court jesters."
Bryce: (Miming arrow through heart) "Alas, my lady's heart belongs to Stone."
Corridor chaos swallowed their banter. Dylan Sterling intercepted Vivian at the bronze gargoyle fountain. "Echidna's filing formal censure."
"Let her," Bryce scoffed. "Father chairs the board's disciplinary committee."
A freshman careened around the Corinthian column, shrieking: "STONE'S IN CUFFS! COPS DRAGGED HIM OUT!"
The hallway imploded.
Anastasia Volkov: "Finally! Trash taking itself out!"
Scott: "Bet he hacked the bursar's office!"
Dylan: (Grabbing the freshman) "Source?"
Gavin Rossi: "Saw it! Three uniforms marched him to a squad car!"
Vivian's pulse hammered against her ribs. She'd post bail. Burn evidence. Bury witnesses—
Mr. Thorne's Baritone: (Amplified by megaphone) "VERIDIAN HOUSE! ATTENTION!"
The homeroom teacher stood atop a neoclassical plinth, silencing the mob.
Mr. Thorne: "Holly Frost was assaulted last night off-campus! Stone intervened, subdued her attacker, and called police!"
Students: "Bullshit!" "Since when's Stone a hero?"
Mr. Thorne: "Officers came today to collect his commendation statement! Next rumor-monger cleans latrines with toothbrushes!"
Bryce whistled. "Commendation? Bet he looked divine in vengeance mode."
Vivian sprinted toward the Headmaster's office. Stone's borrowed time just expired.
Through the leaded glass, Vivian watched Adrian Stone exit the administrative wing. No cuffs. No police. Only Dean Blackwood's hand on his shoulder—a gesture vibrating with paternal pride.
"Mr. Stone exemplifies Eldenwood's honor code," Blackwood announced to gathered faculty. "His actions saved Miss Frost from grievous harm."
Adrian's gaze sliced through the crowd. Found Vivian. For three suspended heartbeats, his Arctic eyes thawed—a fleeting fracture in the ice.
Then Kane Volkov shouldered past, silk scarf trailing like a gang lord's standard. "Careful, Sentinel," he purred. "Heroics make enemies."
Adrian didn't flinch. "Better enemies than accomplices."
The threat hung between them: Kane's crew controlled the docks where Holly Frost was attacked.
Vivian's phone vibrated—Cobra's encrypted alert:
>> Stone's attacker: Sergei Volkov (Kane's cousin). Motive: Frost refused protection payments. <<
She met Adrian's eyes across the marbled foyer. I know, her lifted chin declared. And I'm already rewriting the narrative.