The library was nearly empty when Aria slipped inside the next afternoon.
It was one of the only places at Crescent High that didn’t feel like it was watching her. The vast reading room smelled of old paper and dust, sunlight slicing through the tall windows and painting gold bars across the tables. Students whispered in corners or bent over open books, their voices swallowed by the cathedral-like hush.
Aria kept her head down, clutching her notebook, weaving past shelves until she reached the back alcove where the light was softer, the shadows deeper. She sank into a seat, the leather chair cool against her legs, and finally let out the breath she’d been holding since the debate.
She could still hear the echoes—Damian’s words slicing her open in front of everyone. Tell me, Aria—do you
