"Ah, should I walk you girls to the nurse's office?"
Zoe Taylor stood up with a bright little smile, sugary and smug all at once.
Before she could take a step, Lydia Westbrook reached out and caught her arm.
Her eyes slid sideways, cool and sharp as a knife's edge.
The look said: Enough.
Zoe shut her mouth at once, puzzled at why Lydia seemed angry, but wise enough not to push it.
Lydia took a packet of wet wipes from her pocket and pulled one out.
She held it out toward Ginevra Volkova.
Ginevra stepped lightly aside, avoiding her hand.
"No, thank you," she said, voice very calm.
Then she turned, pressed the broom she was holding into Jaynara Stevens's hands, and added simply,
"Let's go."
The words were soft, but final.
She walked out of the back door of the classroom without another glance.
Jayna and Calista Renner exchanged a look, then followed.
As she left, Jayna glanced back over her shoulder.
Lydia stood frozen in place, eyes fixed on her.
There was nothing neutral in that look.
It was a clean, concentrated hostility—strange and yet, in a bitter way, familiar.
Jealousy was like that.
Of all the feelings that leaked out of people's eyes, it was the easiest one to recognise.
Once the three of them were gone, Lydia turned without a word and tossed the wet wipe into the trash can.
"You okay?" Zoe asked, blinkingly unsure.
"I'm fine," Lydia said.
Her tone was flat, but she bit down on one finger so hard that when she pulled it back, a bright bead of blood rose where her teeth had broken the skin.
Downstairs, Jayna walked behind Ginevra, every step making her angrier.
She couldn't stand what had just happened.
She couldn't stand that Ginevra had stepped in front of her so naturally, taken the ink meant for her, and then walked away as if it were nothing more than a bit of dirt.
Yes, she knew perfectly well the ink had been aimed at her face, her shirt, her hair.
And yes, she knew Ginevra had moved without thinking.
But that didn't make it easier to swallow.
If anything, it made the ache worse—worse than if she'd been splattered from head to toe herself.
She caught Ginevra by the sleeve and tugged, steering her toward the little flower bed by the ground-floor windows.
"Stay still," she said, already reaching for the packet of tissues in her pocket.
She dampened one at the outdoor tap and stepped in close.
Very close.
The morning light caught on her lashes as she looked up, making them tremble every time she blinked.
She pressed the cool tissue to the stain on Ginevra's cheek, moving in tiny, careful strokes.
She wiped as though she were afraid of leaving her own fingerprints behind.
Ginevra just watched her.
Her gaze was steady, patient.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" Jayna demanded, grabbing another tissue and working at the smear along Ginevra's jaw. "Say something."
"I'm fine," Ginevra said at last. "You're the one who's still angry."
Jayna glared up at her, eyes shining.
"What do you think?" she snapped. "I'm furious. I was this close to losing it back there. I wanted to rip Zoe's hair out by the roots. And then she has the nerve to act all sweet and hand you wet wipes? I could've chopped off her hand right then."
The words were raw and violent, but coming from her, with her face all crumpled in worry, they somehow sounded almost… innocent.
Ginevra thought about the difference in their sizes, about Zoe's solid frame.
"You'd lose," she said simply.
Jayna stared for a heartbeat, then huffed out a breath.
"…Thanks for the encouragement," she muttered.
She flicked the used tissue aside and grabbed another, frustration fizzing just beneath her skin—not only at Zoe, not only at Lydia, but at whatever nameless thing had settled in her own chest.
"All I know is they've gone too far," she said. "This isn't some harmless prank. It's disgusting."
Ginevra lowered her eyes to her uniform.
The ink marks spread like bruises across the white fabric.
To her, it really wasn't a big deal.
"It doesn't matter," she murmured. "As long as you're not hurt."
Jayna stared at her like she was from another planet.
This girl is broken, she thought helplessly.
She'd been the one to step in front, to take the mess square on, and all she cared about was whether Jayna was upset.
"If I'd met you earlier," Jayna said, a crooked smile tugging at her lips, "I'd have tried to fix this problem of yours."
Ginevra blinked.
"What problem?"
"You're too kind," Jayna said. "Too quiet when people cross the line. It's dangerous."
She pulled back a little to look at the result of her careful work.
The ink was gone from Ginevra's face, but her skin had been rubbed faintly pink where Jayna's fingers had lingered.
The colour suited her.
Jayna found herself staring.
Up close like this, Ginevra's features were almost overwhelming—clean lines, fine bones, a beauty so precise it made Jayna's chest tighten.
People said staring too long at a beauty made you lose your sense of proportion.
She was starting to believe it.
"Stop staring," Ginevra said quietly.
Jayna jolted, finally dragging her gaze away.
Honestly, she liked looking at her from this distance, liked tracing the slope of her nose, the shape of her lips, the scatter of tiny, near-invisible freckles on her skin.
But she forced herself to move, to go rinse the cloth instead of devouring her with her eyes.
"Ginevra," she said, as if the thought had just floated into her mind, "with a face like yours… has anyone ever confessed to you?"
Ginevra let out a small sigh and handed her the rag.
"Clean," she said.
Jayna took it, walked to the bucket, and began wringing it out.
"I'm just curious," she went on, tilting her chin. "You're so… charming. It's hard to believe no one's tried to chase you."
The word hung between them, soft and dangerous.
Charming.
Irresistible.
Ginevra swept dust into the pan, remembering a boy in their first year who had thrust a letter at her with trembling hands.
She'd looked at him in silence, expression unreadable, and handed it straight back.
He'd gone completely white and practically fled.
She allowed herself a brief, private smile and kept sweeping.
Jayna watched her for a moment, then sighed.
"I don't think we should keep cleaning together," she said suddenly.
Ginevra looked up, brow creasing.
"Why not?"
Because if we stay side by side, I'll stare at you all afternoon and the stairwell will never be finished.
Jayna scrambled for something that didn't sound insane.
"Our efficiency'll be terrible," she said quickly. "I'll go see how Calista's doing. You stay here."
She turned away before her blush could betray her.
What's wrong with me?
When Ginevra smiled at her now, her heart didn't just flutter—it stumbled.
"Am I actually going crazy?" she muttered as she climbed the stairs.
"Yes," Calista said the second she appeared. "I've already swept all of the third floor and wiped every railing up here, and now you turn up? Your timing's a joke."
She hefted the bucket with a grunt, irritation etched all over her face.
Jayna, startled, rushed to take it from her, earning herself a magnificent eye-roll.
"What?" Jayna asked. "What's with you now?"
"Why did you have to mess with Lydia's group of all people?" Calista sighed.
"You saw it," Jayna said, frowning. "They started it."
"Because of Ginevra."
"Yes," Jayna answered.
No hesitation.
No shame.
She couldn't stand by and watch.
And Lydia had been clearly provoking her, too.
"You saw what she's like," Jayna added, voice dropping. "Ginevra's too gentle. So I don't want anything to happen to her. Not this time. Not ever."
The words slipped out easily, like something that had already lived in her chest for a long time, waiting.
Then she lowered her head and got back to work.
Calista stared at her for a quiet, stunned second.
She'd known Jayna for years. She'd seen her obsessed with games, with exams, with snacks, with dramas.
She had never seen her like this.
This wasn't just concern.
It was the kind of bone-deep stubbornness that said: I've picked my side, and there's no going back.
"…Fine," Calista said finally, turning away. "Whatever you decide, I'll back you up."
She knew Jayna's mule-stubborn streak too well.
Once she chose a person, a path, she would walk it to the end, even in the dark.
Just like she was doing now with Ginevra.
By the time they finished talking, they had already swept all six flights of stairs. Dust clung to their cuffs and hair; their shoulders ached from the work.
Roy had promised that other classes would come help with the stairwells.
So far, not a single extra helper had appeared.
Jayna tossed the rag at Calista.
"You handle the rest of this," she said. "I'm going to the bathroom."
"Again?" Calista yelled after her. "You keep hiding in there to slack off. Why don't you just move in permanently?"
She grumbled, but she still picked up the cloth and kept wiping.
In the girls' restroom, Jayna walked straight to the mirrors, then stopped herself.
She really was exhausted; her lower back ached, her fingers were wrinkled from water.
She wanted nothing more than to lean against the sink and breathe.
She lifted her hands to smooth her hair, then froze when she heard footsteps approach.
"Zoe, wait for me in the bathroom," came a familiar voice from the corridor.
That sounded like… Megan Wells.
Jayna immediately retreated, backing into a stall and sliding the lock into place.
The last thing she wanted was to be seen fussing with her hair while everyone else worked—and have someone's gossiping tongue run wild.
The door swung open.
"Is it true?" Zoe's voice asked, low and tense.
"Of course it is. I just heard it in the dean's office," Megan replied.
Jayna went still.
"Someone reported that people in our class are reading banned books," Megan said. "They've already told Mr. Quinn."
"Seriously? That's bad," Zoe hissed. "He's notorious for not cutting anyone slack. He hates rulebreakers."
"Yeah. And apparently he's coming to check our classroom as soon as cleaning's done," Megan said. "If he finds anything, whoever gets caught is finished. Public criticism, punishment, and the district inspectors are here today too."
"Does anyone else know?"
"No. Just me," Megan answered. "I only heard because I was in the office dropping a form off. Ms. Harper probably doesn't even know yet."
"Oh. Then don't spread it around for now…"
More girls came in, the water from the taps roared, and the rest of their conversation dissolved into indistinct noise.
When their footsteps finally faded out, Jayna burst out of the stall, dodged a knot of first-years, and bolted from the bathroom.
"Calista! Where's Ginevra?!"
Her voice cracked with urgency.
Sweat beaded on her forehead; her breathing came fast, almost ragged.
She'd already checked the third floor and the first.
No sign of her.
Calista nearly dropped the bucket.
"I don't know where she went," she said, startled by Jayna's wild expression.
Jayna dragged in a deep breath.
She knew Ginevra almost certainly had The Quiet Reason in her desk—the novel Jayna had begged to read together.
There was no time to puzzle over who had reported the class, or why.
All she could see was one outcome:
If Mr. Quinn walked into their classroom and only one desk had a contraband book hidden inside…
It would be very, very bad.
"Calista," Jayna said, voice low and hard, "whatever happens in the classroom later, you say what I say. You follow my lead."
"What's going on?" Calista asked, confused. "Why?"
"Did you hear me?"
The way Jayna snapped the words made Calista flinch.
"…Yeah," she said quickly. "Okay."
Jayna turned and almost ran.
At the classroom door, she paused just long enough to take in the scene:
Students laughing as they wiped desks, dragging mops across damp floors, stacking chairs upside down on the tables.
No one knew that a storm was about to hit.
And still no Ginevra in sight.
"Ethan, have you seen Ginevra?" Jayna asked, slipping in through the back door.
Ethan Johnson, mask hanging under his chin, stared at her in surprise.
"You guys already finished?" he asked.
"Forget that. Have you seen her?"
Jayna scanned the room quickly.
Because the floor was wet, every bag had been shoved inside the desks.
If she made for Ginevra's desk now and started rummaging, everyone would see.
Too many eyes.
Ethan pointed toward the corridor.
"I just saw her with Roy," he said. "They went that way together. I figured you three were already done."
Roy.
Of course.
Jayna's jaw tightened.
She grabbed Ethan's sleeve.
"Block this spot for me," she murmured. "I need something from her desk. If you've got any loyalty at all, don't say a word."
"Oh—okay, okay," he said.
He stepped in front of Ginevra's desk, tall frame shielding it from view, and started mopping the same patch of floor with exaggerated care.
Jayna crouched behind him and eased the desk out just enough to slide her hands inside.
Books crammed every inch of space.
She flipped past textbooks, notebooks, exercise books, fingers moving fast, breath loud in her ears.
At the very back of the lowest stack, she finally saw it.
The familiar cover of The Quiet Reason.
Relief flooded her.
She hooked two fingers around the spine and began to pull—
"What are you doing?"
The voice came from just above her head.
Ethan froze.
"We were just… I was… we…" he stuttered, looking down at Jayna helplessly.
Jayna stood slowly, schooling her expression into something mild.
Of course it was Zoe.
"I'm looking for something," she said evenly.
"Looking for something," Ethan echoed.
"In Ginevra's desk?" Zoe asked. "Want help?"
She took a step forward, but Ethan shifted to block her path again, mop squeaking across the tiles.
Jayna patted imaginary dust from her skirt, then opened her palm.
There, in the centre, lay a metal button, small and gleaming, with a delicate engraved pattern.
"Found it," she said. "The button from my shirt. This blouse is imported from Italy—you can't find these buttons anywhere else. If I lost it, I'd be heartbroken."
Her tone was easy, almost bored.
Zoe glanced down.
There was a button in her hand.
"Is that so? Then that's great," she said lightly.
She slid past Ethan just enough to lower her head and glance into Ginevra's desk.
Books, stacked neatly.
Nothing obviously out of place.
She straightened with a small smile.
"Have you heard?" she asked. "Mr. Quinn is coming to inspect later."
"I hadn't heard," Jayna replied, meeting her gaze without flinching.
"What? Mr. Quinn? Seriously?" Ethan yelped. "What's he checking?"
Zoe shrugged, lips curving.
"Who knows?" she said. "I only heard a rumour."
Before Jayna could answer, a voice cut in from the hallway, strained but clear, moving closer with each step.
"Mr. Quinn, you can't just search my class because someone filed a report!"
Ms. Harper.
Her protest rolled through the open door like the soft, distant rumble of thunder—
Right before the storm finally broke.