Valdez didn’t run.
He didn’t hide behind emails, delays, or the soft armor of academic bureaucracy.
He stayed in his office.
Waiting.
By 2:18 p.m., the hallway outside his door felt unnaturally still. Word of the compromised defense had already spread in that precise, whispering way academia excelled at. Doors closed faster. Eyes averted. Screens turned slightly away when I passed.
Containment protocols had begun.
I didn’t knock.
I opened the door and stepped inside.
The office looked exactly as it always had—floor-to-ceiling shelves heavy with annotated casebooks, a desk too pristine for someone who claimed to live in research. Sunlight sliced through half-drawn blinds, striping the room in clean bars of light and shadow.
Valdez sat behind the desk, reading.
Not scrambling.
Rea
