The morning at Columbia Law School welcomed Valera Dawson with the sun's glow covered by gray overcast clouds.
Following a night filled with the release of adrenaline and addictive poison on top of the fiftieth-floor leather sofa, Valera had to go back to wearing her cleanest mask. She sat in the back row of the international criminal law seminar room, paying attention to the record drafts on her laptop with a highly focused gaze.
Beside her, Clarissa Molina Valentino sat restlessly. The sweet face of her biological cousin radiated a deep anxiety draft, the remnants of their emotional confrontation regarding Arthur Dawson’s cruelty yesterday afternoon.
As soon as the lecturer concluded the class and left the room, Clarissa directly leaned her body, whispering with a tone of voice full o
