Chapter 74 Kristen
I didn’t move for a long time.
Just sat on the edge of the bed in the dorm room I’d fled to after Dean Horowitz’s judgment, hands clasped so tightly I thought my knuckles might crack. I was still wearing the same clothes I had when I got pulled out of the system room. The same clothes I wore when the Dean had dismissed me like an empty file, as though I was just a placeholder with no real history, no real person behind it.
The air in the room was thick. Not warm. Not cold. Just stagnant, like every possibility I had been clinging to was slowly suffocating in silence.
Anna paced.
Back and forth, back and forth, eyes flicking to the window like the entire school watched our conversation through invisible cracks in the brick.
“They don’t call guardians unless it’s serious,” Anna said finally, voice low and tense. She stopped mid‑pace and faced me, eyes dark with worry. “Like probation serious. Expulsion serious.”
I stared ahead. Quiet. I felt hollow in a way I had never known before. My chest felt compressed, my thoughts disjointed, like I was watching myself from far away without the ability to influence anything.
“I’m not probation material,” I said quietly, more to myself than to her.
Anna paused, expression softening with sympathy. “You didn’t do something small. And you didn’t do it quietly either. Opening restricted files in a super‑secure registry? That’s the kind of trouble that gets attention.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. All I felt was that emptiness. That echo in my chest that had started back in the system room when everything that was supposed to define me was just redactions and black blocks.
And now the only person who might actually fix it had been called into battle with the Dean — a battle I couldn’t watch, a battle I was too afraid to fight myself.
Anna scaled back her pacing and sat on the other end of the bed, close but not touching. “Unless your dad’s friend can talk the Dean down…” she hesitated, the uncertainty in her voice like a mirror showing me the steep cliff we were teetering on.
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.
I knew what she meant.
Leo Moretti had told the Dean what he thought already, but that was one thing to scold someone and another to sway a board of faculty and administrators who were notorious for burying any hint of controversy in policy and precedent.
“If he doesn’t…” Anna murmured.
I stayed still. I watched the room breathe around me. I watched the shadows skip across the wall as the light outside changed. I watched my own fingers clenched into brittle tension.
But then something inside me shifted. A tiny spark. Quiet at first, but growing.
“He’ll convince the Dean,” I said.
Anna blinked at me. A crease of hesitation pulled at her brow. “Yeah, maybe,” she said slowly. “But if he doesn’t —”
Kristen. Voice firmer this time. More certain than I’d felt in hours.
“He’ll convince him.”
The truth in that sentence was sharp and cold and entirely mine. I said it again, slower, like I was testing it against logic and expectancy.
“He’ll convince him.”
Anna stared at me, expression a blend of alarm and curiosity. “Kris… what are you thinking?”
I didn’t respond right away. My eyes traveled over the room — the window, the empty desk, the abandoned coffee cup from earlier. My brain wasn’t racing with panic anymore. It was moving in calculated loops, silent and purposeful.
Finally I spoke. Quiet. Controlled.
“He won’t let me fall.”
Anna’s eyes widened slightly. “Come on, Kristen. That’s just… hope talking.”
I shook my head, but not in denial.
He really wouldn’t let me fall.
Not the soft, protective version of him who hovered and acted like a guardian.
Not the brusque, exasperated man who couldn’t hide irritation when I defied him.
No.
The version of him who looked at danger like it was something he could break. The version of him who carried tension like a shield, like it was the only thing keeping him in motion.
That version wouldn’t let me fall.
Not without a fight.
“He can’t,” I said, eyes narrowing slightly with that internal ferocity that had marked me since the moment I decided to dig into the database.
“He’s wired too tight.”
Anna hesitated. “Kristen… I mean, I get that you believe in him — sort of — but hope isn’t going to change policy.”
I wasn’t talking about hope.
My voice was lower now. Thoughtful. Sharper.
“He just needs a little push,” I said, more to myself than to her, like I was unraveling a thread I had suddenly found at the edge of every plan I had ever made.
“He needs to believe I need him.”
Anna’s gaze didn’t soften. But it did linger on me in that way friends do when they realize the person standing in front of them is no longer the same person who entered the room hours ago.
There was resolve etched into my posture. Quiet. Dangerous. Focused.
I stood up.
Anna watched every movement, almost instinctively bracing herself.
I didn’t look at her as I reached for my coat.
I simply slid it on, the sleeves cool against my skin, the weight of it grounding me.
I pulled my phone off the nightstand and checked the time. Too early for meetings. Too late for anything productive. But not too late for action.
Anna stood then, worry tightening her features.
“Kristen,” she said, voice wavering just slightly, “don’t do anything stupid.”
I smiled then. Not sweet. Not apologetic. Just cold and calculated.
“I won’t,” I said.
Beat.
“I’ll do something smart.”
I opened the door.
The hallway beyond was quiet, empty, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside my head. But I walked forward with a certainty that felt unusual and electrifying. Not reckless. Not random. Focused.
My lips curved into a slow smile as I closed the door behind me. Not because I was happy. Not because I felt light. But because this was the moment I crossed a threshold I had been circling since the database.
I knew what I was about to do.
I knew what I needed.
And the man who had frustrated me, infuriated me, annoyed me, and undeniably challenged every boundary I had ever set…
He was the only one who could help me now.
And I was done asking politely.
I stepped down the hall, mind guided by that spark of calculated resolve.
I would make him convince Dean Horowitz.
Not by begging.
Not by pleading.
But by letting him know exactly what was at stake.
What I was worth.
And what it meant if he failed.
I would give him a reason to choose my side.
Not because I was helpless.
But because I refused to be thrown away.
I would make him see that losing me was not an option.
Not for him.
Not for anyone.
And as I walked toward the stairs, that cold, quiet smile stayed on my lips.
I was done waiting.
It was time to act.