LEO’S POV
The drive to campus dragged longer than it should have. Streetlights streaked across the windshield in pale orange smears. My knuckles ached from gripping the wheel, fingers locked tight.
Paul's voice looped in my head, the calm, clipped way he said "intervention," the thick folder of photos sliding across the conference table. Each image sharper than the last. Each one twisting the knife deeper. The picture they painted was ugly, calculated, and it pointed straight at me.
I pulled into the guest lot behind the dorm, the same spot from the quad event weeks ago. The fairy lights were gone, replaced by harsh sodium lamps buzzing overhead. A vending machine hummed in the corner, spitting out a can for someone out of sight.
I killed the engine and sat there, staring at the empty
