Page 81 of Ruthless Court

I try wearing the last pair anyway, wore them over night. Making the last pair stretch out past its feasibility.

The left lens feels like sandpaper.

By the time I reach the bathroom mirror, my eye is red and watering. I remove it, throw both contacts away, and reach for the tortoiseshell glasses.

Rain has turned my hair into a frizzy mess, so I twist it into a high bun. Mascara and lip gloss make me look slightly less exhausted. An oversized forest-green hoodie, black leggings, and Uggs complete the picture.

Lila looks up from her desk.

“You look cozy.”

“I look like I’m about to investigate a murder at a boarding school.”

“That too.”

I grab my backpack.

The seminar meets in one of the oldest buildings on campus. Stone arches, narrow staircases, ivy crawling around windows that refuse to close properly.

It’s my favorite classroom.

I arrive early and claim the seat in the back corner beside an outlet. My laptop battery is unreliable, and the old building has exactly three usable plugs. The professor prefers to speak in the old annex auditorium with stadium seating and stage lighting.

Students drift in while rain taps against the windows.

Professor Aldridge arranges papers at the front.

I’m opening the assigned reading when the door swings wide.

Conversation thins.

Kane Haverhill steps inside wearing black sweats, a fitted Stanford quarter-zip, and the expression of someone arriving wherever everyone has been waiting for him.

His hair is damp.

A gym bag hangs from one shoulder.

He scans the room, then stops when he sees me.

Recognition sharpens his face.

“Sandy?!”

I lower my eyes to the article, sink in my seat. Pretend I didn’t hear him. He walks toward me. His shadow reaches the desk first.

“You’re in my seat.”

“There are eleven others.”

“This one’s mine.”

“It’s attached to the university. I sat here last week.”

“I wasn’t here last week.”

“Clearly.” I bristle or “the week before that.”

“Training. I attended via Zoom,” he shrugs.