Chapter 70 Kristen
I froze before I even fully realized what I was doing. The air in the server room felt too thick, like it was pressing down on my lungs, compressing every breath into something shallow and insufficient. The hum of the machines blended with the pounding of my heart, and every footstep outside sounded like a clap inside my skull.
I stood in shadow, pressed against the cold wall beside the exit, my hand hovering over the handle. I’d just succeeded in wiping the system, just barely escaped that hellish registry, and now I was this close to walking out without a trace. I could taste the triumph already, warm and sharp, even though the adrenaline hammered through my veins and made my hands feel numb and unreal.
The steps outside drew closer. Slow. Purposeful. Familiar.
Dean Horowitz.
The same footsteps I had heard so many times in administrative wings, in lecture halls, in places that felt safer. Now they were right outside a room I was not supposed to be in.
His shoes clicked against the tile, a steady metronome that measured the distance between capture and freedom.
I took one breath. Just one. I reached for the handle with gloved fingers. My knuckles brushed metal, trembling.
I could almost slip out. Almost.
Then my phone buzzed.
Just once.
Buzz.
It was enough.
My breath hitched, my eyes widened, and the phone slipped from my grasp, falling through the air like a stone dropped off a cliff.
Clack.
The sound reverberated in that enclosed room like a gunshot.
Oh God.
That was too loud.
Too unmistakable.
Too late.
“Shit,” I whispered to myself, horror tightening every muscle.
The footsteps stopped.
The silence stretched long enough to drown in.
Then his voice came, clipped and precise.
“Who’s there?”
I bolted.
Instinct took over before logic could even protest.
My body turned and I ran toward the door, hoping the shadows would swallow me, hoping the darkness would bend around me, hoping anything but that he would see me.
The corridor outside was lit in harsh fluorescent white — no shadows, no safe places — no invisibility. My sneakers slapped against the tile, my breath kin to a ragged scream, echoing sharp in the narrow corridor.
“Kristen Lockwood.”
His voice came from behind me, unhurried, cold, perfectly measured. Just one name, and I knew I was trapped.
I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t. I kept sprinting, feet pounding, heart tearing at my chest like it wanted out. Panic had me clumsy, reckless, thoughts flooding with every possible escape route that didn’t exist.
And then — before I could even find my next step — time snapped.
I didn’t see the motion. I didn’t hear the command. One second I was running, the next I was suspended in air, pulled backward with a force that dragged me off my feet without me even touching the floor.
My body felt weightless. It felt unreal. It felt wrong.
In a blink I was no longer running.
I was standing in front of him.
Right in his line of sight. No shadows. No hiding. No distance.
I should have been terrified. I should have struggled. I should have begged.
But my breath froze in my throat before any of that could happen.
His face was unreadable, his eyes cold and sharp like blades behind a mask of calm.
I was exposed.
Completely.
“Miss Lockwood,” he said, his voice neutral, quiet, devoid of accusation, like he was stating a fact rather than confronting a criminal.
My mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I tried to speak.
I tried to explain.
My voice was gone.
I stood there, shaking, heart hammering so loudly it felt like it might tear me apart from the inside out.
He tilted his head the slightest fraction, like he was studying the trembling figure in front of him with a sort of detached interest.
“What are you doing here, Miss Lockwood?” he asked, formal and dispassionate.
I opened my mouth again.
I tried again to say something.
Anything.
My throat burned.
My thoughts collided in chaotic spirals.
Nothing coherent emerged.
Nothing at all.
Someone in another life would have called that silence shame or fear.
In that moment it was just pure helplessness.
He waited.
Long enough that I felt the panic spread in slow waves through every nerve in my body.
He did not raise his voice.
He did not sigh.
He merely waited.
And I kept silent.
My stomach twisted. My lips quivered. My breath felt sticky in my lungs.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to explain. I wanted to run.
But no sound came.
He studied me with those unblinking eyes as though I was a puzzle he could not yet categorize.
Finally he spoke again.
“Then I will have to write you up,” he said.
The words hit me in slow motion.
Write me up?
My head swam.
My eyes flicked upward to his face, searching for any sign of amusement, or lightness, or human emotion.
There was none.
The Dean’s expression remained perfectly controlled and utterly unreadable.
“This goes into your file,” he continued. “Unless you can defend yourself, this may result in expulsion.”
Expulsion.
The word landed in my chest like a lead weight.
Expulsion.
Not detention.
Not a warning.
Expulsion.
My face felt hot. My chest constricted. I wanted to pull my hair out. I wanted to puke. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear.
I had known there were risks.
I had known consequences could happen.
But hearing it said aloud made it real in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
My mind flailed. How could I defend myself? How could I even speak when every word felt heavy and impossible?
I stayed silent again.
Just stared.
He seemed to note that.
His gaze hardly wavered.
“Your actions tonight were unauthorized,” he said simply. “You accessed restricted systems without clearance. That alone is a violation of academy policy.”
My stomach twisted even further.
My palms felt wet inside the gloves.
I kept thinking I should say something. Anything.
But my throat was a desert.
He nodded as though reading my expressions rather than waiting for my words.
And then he delivered the sentence.
“You will return with your guardian. They will plead your case. Otherwise you are done here.”
Nothing about his voice suggested mercy.
Nothing hinted that he expected a dramatic defense.
Nothing even sounded particularly angry.
It was matter of fact.
It was official.
It was devastating.
I stood there like a ghost, processing his meaning, feeling the impact of each word reverberate through me like a physical blow.
Return with my guardian.
Plead my case.
If not, I was done here.
Phoenix Academy — gone.
All the work I had put in.
All the questions I was chasing.
Gone.
And it was my own fault.
Every thought I had about what this moment might feel like was shattered by the cold reality of what was happening right then.
I felt hollow.
I felt numb.
I felt… exposed.
He gestured toward the door.
“Dismissed,” he said.
I didn’t speak.
I didn’t argue.
I just turned.
I walked out of the server room.
I walked through the corridors with my head bowed.
I walked past empty hallways that felt too bright now, too loud now, too unforgiving in their normality.
I walked until I saw Anna waiting outside, her expression shifting from casual to panic the moment my shoulders came into view.
“What happened?” she asked, eyes wide, voice low.
I exhaled slowly, the air escaping like it was physically ripped from my lungs.
“I am viscerally fucked,” I said with a flat edge, my voice hollow and strange in my own ears.
Anna blinked, then exhaled and let out a laugh that was more shock than amusement.
“That’s what happened,” she said matter-of-factly.
I watched her for a moment, feeling a strange disconnect, like this was happening to someone else.
The walls that had once felt like obstacles were closing in. The secrecy, the danger, the rebellion — it all weighed on me now with a crushing finality.
I was exposed.
Completely.
And the consequences were just beginning.