With a resigned sigh, I left my room and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. I needed something to take the edge off before dealing with Charles Cartwright. The thought of enduring one of his lectures, complete with his condescending tone and razor-sharp criticisms, made my brain go numb.
I opened the liquor cabinet and reached for the strongest bottle I could find—an aged whiskey that looked older than me. Harris wouldn’t approve, of course, but he wasn’t here to stop me. Pouring a generous amount into a tumbler, I knocked it back in one go, the burn spreading warmth down my throat and into my chest.
I poured myself a second glass but froze mid-sip when I heard muffled voices coming from the hall. The low, tense tones told me it wasn’t just a casual conversation. Setting my glass dow
