CHAPTER 44
The post went live at 7:04 a.m.
Not from my account.
Not from anyone’s account.
It was everywhere and nowhere at once—hosted on a drive with no owner, embedded in blogs, mirrored on sites that auto-backup activism leaks. A ghost file with a pulse. Once clicked, it spread like heat in dry brush.
Screenshots. Emails. Call logs.
Even a brief, shaky clip from the dorm hallway cameras—of Steph slipping into Admin at midnight.
And the script.
The one I wasn’t supposed to have.
⸻
By breakfast, the campus was drowning in its own silence.
Professors didn’t show up for class. Group chats were either exploding or abandoned. Students huddled in clusters, phones in hand, whispering like the wind itself had secrets.
When I walked into the quad, a path formed.
Not respect.
Not di
