Chapter 40 Flaws Of The Council
Kaitlyn’s gaze lifted slowly toward mine. The headache in her expression dimmed, not vanished, just redirected. All eyes followed the tilt of her attention.
“Is there something you’d like to add, Lexie?” she asked.
I steadied myself, lifting my chin just a fraction, refusing to shrink under the spotlight she imagined herself holding. “My star,” I said, then corrected quickly, voice lowering into professionalism. “I mean, how will I be rated?”
“Oh, that.” Kaitlyn exhaled, leaning back again. “To attend Monday meetings or access council privileges as Secretary, Lexie requires a minimum three-star rating.”
Emily tapped the table once with a finger, light, thoughtful, not disruptive. “Which means,” she continued, “she must compete in the upcoming competition with the outsiders.”
When they say outsiders, it means another school.
Kaitlyn nodded, already dialing down the moment. “I will contact Principal Greaves for that. The meeting is adjourned
Kaitlyn and her two followers, Evander and Naomi, were the first to leave the council hall. Before she left, she was like, “Have a nice day, Lexie.”
I remained seated with the seniors. I hadn’t come to debate or discuss with them, I was searching. Searching for something new. Something strange.
I rose and stepped toward the shelves, convinced—maybe incorrectly, maybe foolishly—that a clue might be hidden there. A clue that could reveal an inner room. One that might lead me closer to the daylight ring.
That was when the others began talking.
“Ugh… I can’t even begin to describe how much I despise Kaitlyn’s leadership,” Reverie said, throwing her head back dramatically. “She thinks she can bulldoze over everyone and call it governance.”
“She’s executing her mandate,” Stephen replied calmly, adjusting his collar slightly. “Imperfectly, yes, but she has achieved incremental progress for the council.”
“Spare me, Stephen,” Reverie snapped. “Not all of us can swallow orders like you do.”
“Sam, that’s enough,” Reis interjected, leaning backward just a little.
“Enough?” she echoed, incredulous. “He’s defending her after that stunt she pulled during the meeting. In front of a junior.”
That junior was me.
I stayed facing the shelves, pretending to skim the spines of books, though I absorbed every word. Every jab. Every slip of truth they thought I wouldn’t hear.
“The school system is shifting,” Emily added, smoothing her skirt before standing. “They could have appointed another elite replacement for Sally, but they picked trials instead. Merit-based evaluation. It was a fair structural choice.”
Reis chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Fair in theory. Radical in practice. Trials, this year, and add a scholarship student? In Gravenmoor? Scholarship students don’t even show their face to any officials concerning this school.”
“Precisely,” Sam shot back, pointing a finger vaguely in the air. “And do you know what else needs reform?”
“What?” Emily asked.
“Letting 11th graders occupy high-ranking seats. I can’t stand the idea that someone younger gives directives and expects obedience from final-year students. And now a scholarship student replaces Sally. In a senior seat.”
“What are you doing?”
Reis’ voice cut through the room like a blade striking a bell.
I froze. He noticed me. My fingers had been inches from the wall clock, hovering near the embedded compass beneath its glass face.
“I—uh…” I stepped back and straightened, my uniform drenched, hair plastered to my forehead. “I was… checking the clock.”
“Checking it for what exactly?” Sam snapped, already on her feet. “Haven’t you seen a clock before?”
“Sam,” Emily warned sharply. “We should be leaving the hall before Kait or any of her followers sees us here,” Emily added.
“But we need to question her intentions towards…”
“Sam?” Emily warned again.
Sam glared at her, snatched her bag, and marched toward the exit. She paused briefly, gripping the door handle, breath uneven, eyes flicking between Emily and me. Then she stormed out.
Reis followed, swinging his bag over his shoulder and slamming the door behind him.
Stephen lingered, standing slowly, deliberately, like someone choosing his breaths before his words.
“Sam is not unkind,” he said softly, eyes lowered. “Her delivery lacks diplomacy, but her motives are not always malicious. Today was… excessive. My apologies, Lexie.”
I nodded once.
He exhaled, almost unapparent, then left, closing the door gently behind him.
Emily remained. The silence between us stretched thin, taut, almost vibrating.
I picked up my bag and headed toward the door when—
“Lexie?”
I turned. She stood near the table, one hand resting on a stack of files.
“Don’t tell Melissa I was here,” she said quietly. “She doesn’t know I’m a council member.”
That sentence hit me harder than any wall ever could.
I blinked. Why would she keep that from her?
“It’s a secret,” she said simply. “You don’t need to know why. Is that clear?”
“Mmm.” I nodded again.
She studied me one last time, then turned back to gather her things.
As I walked out, my heart buzzed with questions. Curiosity. Concern. Doubt. But ultimately, one conclusion anchored itself in me like stone sinking into deep water:
It was none of my business.
After that, I headed to the cafeteria, where I found Oliver exactly as expected—buried in concentration. His food sat untouched to one side of the long oak table, cooling steadily, while his pen moved in rhythmic strokes across paper.
Gravenmoor’s café was vast, cavernous even, its walls paneled in carved dark wood etched with symbols older than the school itself. The entire room carried a vintage, almost ceremonial charm, as though every meal served here was part of some quiet tradition.
I carried my tray of snacks toward him and slid into the seat opposite his.
“Hey, bookworm,” I said, settling in, one leg crossing over the other.
He raised his gaze slowly, unimpressed but curious. “Really? Bookworm?”
“Well,” I shrugged, tearing open my snack wrapper, “what else would suit you? Your entire universe spins on paper and library dust.”
Oliver straightened in his chair, shut his notebook, and stacked it deliberately atop the others. “Bold words from someone I’m assisting with Latin translation.”
I froze mid-chew, mouth half-full. “The manush-” I began, voice muffled. “Manuscript?”
He nodded once, already understanding. “Yes. Manuscript.”
A faint sigh slipped from him, half amused, half resigned. “Eat carefully,” he said, sliding his drink closer. “Slowly, too. We don’t need you choking on punctuation.”
I took a sip, only then did I notice the dark steaming cup.
“Coffee,” I blurted, voice sharp with surprise.
“Yes,” he said, brow arching slightly.
“You drink coffee?” I repeated, leaning forward now, stunned in a way that felt almost comical even to me.
He blinked. “What exactly is so shocking about coffee?