Nora’s POV
The detention room was damp, the stone walls breathing cold.
A dim bulb swayed overhead, dragging our shadows long and thin.
The teacher who’d marched us here—someone who’d never taught my class—left us with, “Stay put. Next time don’t cross Dean Harte. Do as he says, and he won’t make it hard on you,” then hurried off.
The guard, clearly used to Harte’s punishments, locked the door and offered a weird sort of comfort. “Could be worse. I’ve seen students chained at the ankles and dumped in the wild to chop wood for the kitchen a whole week. Sit tight.”
I managed a tight, grateful smile and nothing more.
When the last footsteps faded, it was just Kade and me. I folded into the corner, arms around my knees, a stone pressing on my chest.
—This was my fault.
If not for me, K
