Crestview University was a sight to behold. Beautiful structures, green lawns and huge fields. The environment was buzzing with lots of energy, with thousands of people…both young and old…going about their tasks. Cameron was both surprised and in awe of the view, it was a sanctuary for someone coming out of a chaotic and controlling environment like him. It was in this moment that he fully grasped the meaning of freedom… and him being free… and it was overwhelming. He moved into his single dorm room and stood in the center of it, listening to the unfamiliar silence. It was his, his personal space. No one could enter without his permission.
He attended his first classes in a half-daze half-awake state of mind. His notes were taken mechanically and his senses were on high alert for threats that weren't there. No one sneered at his clothes. No one shoved him in the hallway. The professors spoke to him with neutral respect. He was not used to such normal and common respect and social interactions.
He wasn't free from his trauma…not yet… but it's no longer unbearable. The nightmares persisted, now set in the unfamiliar space of his dorm. He would wake up gasping, expecting to see Chloe's face or Lucas's cold smile, only to find the pale glow of the exit sign under his door. His hypervigilance made casual socialization an agony. A friendly question from a classmate felt like a formal war. A sudden laugh in the cafeteria made him flinch.
He lives in a bubble of quiet pain, moving between his dorm, the library, and lectures, living with scars no one sees.
His only anchor was his secret mission. In the university library, with its vastly superior resources, he resumed his search. He accessed archives and both old and new databases, digging deeper into the non functional Willow Creek Children's Foundation. He found lists of board members, old tax filings, and finally, a connection. One of the foundation's major donors, eighteen years ago, was linked to Sterling Family Holdings.
The name 'Sterling' meant nothing personal to him. It was just another powerful family name, like Blackwood. But the connection to Willow Creek was a direct link between his adoption and possible origin. His heart hammered against his ribs as he cross-checked. Sterling Holdings was a formidable entity, a privately held conglomerate with hands in everything from tech to media. The current president was Alexander Sterling.
He stared at the sleek, corporate headshot of Alexander Sterling...a man in his thirties with an air of icy, unapproachable authority. He felt nothing. No pull, no recognition. This was just data. A potential clue, not an answer. The idea that this empire could be connected to him felt absurd, like a starving orphan imagining he's a lost prince. He stored the information away, it was just a piece of a puzzle.
——————
A week into the semester, his freshman seminar on "Ethics in Data" held a guest lecture. The professor announced that the speaker would be a representative from the program's premier corporate partner, discussing real-world applications of their ethical framework.
Cameron sat in the back, head down, doodling meaningless shapes in his notebook when the room hushed as the guest entered. Cameron glanced up.
And time seemed to stop.
It wasn't Aaron Blackwood. It was a senior director from the Blackwood Group's ethics compliance division, a woman in her fifties with a sharp, intelligent face. But the logo on the podium, the very mention of that name, sent a violent jolt through Cameron's system. His palms grew damp. The carefully constructed wall between his past and present came crumbling down. He didn't see the lecture, wasn't listening to what she says. The only thing he sees is the view from that terrifying office, the winter-grey eyes assessing him like a malfunctioning asset.
His chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. The walls of the lecture hall seemed to press in, the voices becoming a muffled roar. He had to get out from there. Muttering an excuse to no one, he stumbled from his seat and into the cool, tiled hallway. He leaned against the wall, sucking in ragged gulps of air, trying to ground himself. "You're safe. He's not here. It's just a company". He kept chanting like a mantra in his head
"Hey. You okay?"
The voice was feminine, bright and filled with concern. Cameron flinched, hard, and looked up.
A girl about his age stood a few feet away, her head tilted. She had a friendly, open face, curly brown hair pulled into a messy bun, and was clutching a tablet and a leaking iced coffee. She looked… normal. Harmless.
"Fine," Cameron managed, his voice tight. "Just… felt sick."
"Tell me about it. Professor Hayes's lectures have that effect on me too," she joked lightly, then her expression softened. "Seriously, you're white as a sheet. Want to sit down?" She gestured to a bench nearby.
The kindness was so foreign, so unexpected, that it disarmed him more than any threat. He nodded and followed her to the bench.
"I'm Leah," she said, sitting at a respectful distance away. "Undeclared major, currently leaning towards 'existential crisis.'"
"Cameron," he said. "Computational Analytics."
"Oof, a brainiac. I'm impressed." She took a sip of her coffee. "First year?"
"Yeah."
"Me too. It's a lot, huh? Like being dropped on an alien planet where everyone else got the guidebook."
Her words were so unexpectedly accurate that a huff of air, almost a laugh, escaped him. "Yeah. Something like that."
They sat in silence for a moment. It wasn't the heavy, threatening silence of the Reed house. It was just quiet.
"The Blackwood stuff can be intense," Leah said, nodding back toward the lecture hall. "They're like the final boss of corporate partners. Everyone's obsessed with getting an internship there."
Cameron just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"Well," Leah said, standing up. "If you're sure you're okay… I've got a study group for Chem 101 that I'm already late for. A disaster in the making." She gave him a small, genuine smile. "Hang in there, Cameron. It gets less weird. Maybe."
She waved and hurried off, her coffee on the verge of spilling.
Cameron stayed on the bench, the ghost of her kindness lingering. It was the first human interaction he'd had in weeks that wasn't transactional or mandated. It was small, but it felt like the first drop of rain on parched earth. He wasn't ready for friendship, the very idea triggered alarms, but the acknowledgment, the simple seeing without malice, had eased the tightness in his chest.
He returned to his dorm, the panic subsiding. He had data (Sterling). He had a fragile, new memory of human decency (Leah). And he had, for the first time, a fleeting sense that the soil here, while unfamiliar, might not be entirely poisoned.