Claire’s POV
My knees threaten mutiny. I brace my palms on the cold stone ledge near the fountain and let my head dip, just for a second. I do not crumble.
Straightening, drawing in a breath that feels earned, I take gulps of outside air. The campus noise presses back in, laughter, footsteps, the low drone of conversation, but it no longer pierces the same way. The wound is still there, raw and aching, but it isn’t bleeding freely anymore, and I feel relief. I know this is the end of that chapter of Cruise here.
I replay the confrontation despite myself. Not his words, but my own. Steady, clear, and apologetic. I didn’t beg him to understand. I didn’t explain myself into exhaustion. I didn’t fold. Somewhere between the accusation and the ring flashing in the sun, something in me locked
