Faye
The lecture hall pulses with energy, students flipping through notes, the projector’s hum blending with the faint aroma of coffee and beignets wafting from the campus café. I’m at the front, my laptop open, my cybersecurity ethics presentation loaded, weeks of work distilled into sleek slides, my voice steady despite the morning’s clash with Jude.
My jeans hug my hips, my black tee soft against my skin, my curls loose, brushing my shoulders, tendrils catching the light. The memory of Ezra’s dorm kiss—his lips on my neck, hands roaming—sparks a heat I shove down, my focus sharp, the photos’ sting and Jude’s denial fueling my resolve.
Vivienne’s in the back row, her blonde hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights, her smirk a silent threat, her i********: clip—Still nothing—a fresh
