(Sean's POV)
She stares at me. Studies me the way she did when I was small and lying about a broken vase.
Her mouth closes. Her jaw tightens. She adjusts her bag on her shoulder — precise, deliberate — and walks to the door. Her heels click on the marble. Even. Measured.
The door shuts.
The silence is worse than the shouting. The shouting was familiar. The silence is new.
My phone buzzes.
Not the board. Not Davidson. Not my mother calling back to finish her sentence.
Jack's school.
I pick up. The voice on the other end is the school secretary — gentle, careful, trained.
"Mr. Clark, we've had an incident. Some of the older children saw the news coverage this morning. They've been — saying things to Jack. He's in the nurse's office. He's asking for you."
My hand locks around the ed
