The Art of Words and Whispers

The school halls buzzed with the usual morning energy, but there was a distinct shift in the air. The Reinhardt children had returned after their break at the Smith estate, and while their time away had been lighthearted, something about stepping back into the rigid structure of school made Leina feel sharper, more attuned to the undercurrents she hadn't noticed before.

Today was debate practice.

Leina sat in the auditorium, flipping through her notes as the other students gathered around. She wasn't the type to seek the spotlight, but debate was different. It wasn't about showing off—it was about precision, control, and dismantling weak arguments with calculated logic. Here, she had an edge.

Across the room, Malvern Curtis was seated in his usual spot, fingers tapping nervously against his notebook. He had been in the debate club longer than Leina, yet he still hesitated, second-guessing himself whenever it was his turn to speak.

Alexander, meanwhile, sat in the back, arms crossed, watching everything with a passive yet knowing expression. He wasn't part of the debate club, but he had come to observe—because Leina was here. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

"Alright," the coach clapped his hands. "Today, we're focusing on rebuttals. We'll pair up, one-on-one."

Leina barely lifted her eyes from her notebook as the coach assigned partners, though she caught the sharp intake of breath from Malvern when their names were called together.

Malvern.

She sighed inwardly. He had always been quiet around her, awkward in ways that made her aware of his every shift and hesitation. She knew he was intelligent—probably one of the better debaters on the team—but he lacked confidence. She wasn't sure if she found it irritating or endearing.

They took their places at the podiums, facing each other. Malvern adjusted his glasses, trying to look composed, but Leina could see the way his fingers gripped the podium a little too tightly.

The topic: Is censorship necessary in education?

Leina had drawn the "against" side. Perfect.

She began smoothly, laying out her argument with ease. Her words were sharp but not unkind, her tone measured and confident. She didn't hesitate, didn't falter. This was her domain, and she ruled it without apology.

Then it was Malvern's turn.

He started off shaky, stumbling slightly over his first sentence. Leina held back a sigh, already expecting him to retreat into himself like he always did. But then—

A shift.

Malvern took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and met her gaze head-on.

"The idea that all information should be freely available to students ignores the fact that education is a guided process," he said, his voice clearer than before. "Just as we don't place toddlers in university classes, we shouldn't expose young minds to material they aren't ready to process. There is a responsibility to curate information, not as suppression, but as structure."

Leina blinked. That was… decent. More than decent.

For the first time, Malvern wasn't looking away when their eyes met. He was standing his ground.

The match continued, both of them parrying with words, their arguments colliding like blades. The audience murmured, impressed by the rare balance of skill between them.

By the time the session ended, Leina was… intrigued.

"You improved," she said as they stepped down from the podiums.

Malvern adjusted his glasses again, looking embarrassed. "I—uh. Thanks."

She tilted her head. "Keep it up."

With that, she walked away, leaving Malvern standing there, stunned, before a small, victorious smile crept onto his face.

Meanwhile…

Alexander wasn't paying attention to the debate.

He should have been—after all, watching Leina argue with the sheer confidence she carried was always entertaining—but his mind was elsewhere.

The Reinhardt incident still didn't sit right with him.

He hadn't seen Leina that day at school. Hadn't seen any of the Reinhardts, actually. Then later that night, he had overheard his parents speaking about it—something about a man lurking near the school, something about security concerns.

His father had dismissed it in his usual, detached manner, but his mother had sounded more wary.

And Alexander… he didn't like things that didn't make sense.

His gut told him there was more to this, but he didn't know what yet.

As the debate session wrapped up, he leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against his arm.

For now, he would watch. Observe.

And when the right moment came, he would figure out exactly what had happened that day.