20. Consequences

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that makes your footsteps sound like gunshots and your heartbeat feel like a war drum. I ducked into the nearest empty classroom, the door clicking shut behind me like a judgment.

My legs gave out before I made it to the second row of desks. I slumped into a chair, elbows hitting the desk, forehead falling into my hands. 

His words replayed again. Like a curse I couldn't shake.

"At least animals don't stink of desperation and cheap perfume."

My throat burned. I blinked up at the ceiling like that could stop the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. No way in hell was I going to cry. Not over him. Not over this.

My hand shook slightly as I pulled out my phone. Freya had probably gone full feral by now since I left her without even thinking. I hadn't even looked back when I stormed out of the library.

[To Freya]

In an empty class near East Hall. Needed space. Don't tell anyone. I'm fine.

I hit send. Stared at the screen. Locked it again.

I wasn't fine. But saying it out loud would make it real.

The room smelled like dust and leftover chalk and the kind of stale air that clung to old knowledge. I let my fingers curl into fists. Maybe I should've hit him harder. Or not at all. Or said something crueler. Or nothing.

Why had he looked at me like that? Like he meant it. Like breaking me was personal.

And why did I even expect anything from him? Ugh, I'm so stupid.

As I tried to stop the tears from coming out, I didn't even hear the door open.

Just the voice.

"You're Maeve Sinclair, right?"

I flinched, turning sharply. A younger student, first-year, maybe, stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding his backpack like a shield.

"Yeah, I am. What?"

"The Headmaster's looking for you."

The Headmaster?

Of Moonveil Academy?

That sounded ominous.

I stood, shoving the chair back harder than necessary. My phone buzzed again, probably Freya responding, but I didn't check. I just walked, past the wide-eyed student, through the too-quiet halls, back toward the place I never wanted to be summoned to.

The Headmaster's office sat like a throne room tucked at the top of the main building's east wing. The door loomed, dark mahogany with a golden crescent moon etched at its center. Two stone lions flanked it, because subtlety clearly wasn't in the Moonveil vocabulary.

I knocked. Once.

"Enter."

The voice was smooth. Deep, baritone. Smooth.

I stepped inside.

Headmaster Dorian Halbrook looked up from behind his enormous carved desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was dressed in emerald robes that shimmered faintly under the stained-glass light filtering through the high window.

His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back with precision, not a strand out of place. The sharp arch of his brows gave him a permanent expression of amusement, even when his eyes, glacial gray, held none.

"Miss Sinclair," he said, voice like silk. "Please, sit."

I didn't move.

He tilted his head slightly, as if that conveyed patience. "You're not in trouble. Not yet. Please, sit."

With the grace of someone barely resisting the urge to scream, I sat. 

He observed me for a moment, silent before clearing his throat.

"I imagine your day's been... eventful."

I didn't answer.

"You're probably wondering why you've been called here."

I raised an eyebrow. "I've got a few guesses."

He smiled faintly. Not kindly. "Let's dispense with pretense, shall we? Moonveil, as I'm sure you're aware, prides itself on decorum. On restraint. On legacy. You, Miss Sinclair, are a guest in a house built on old names and older expectations."

I clenched my hands in my lap. "So I'm here because I don't know how to behave?"

"You're here," Halbrook said, standing to pace behind his desk, "because your presence draws attention. And lately, the wrong kind."

He circled around to face me, tone still cool, deliberate. "Now. Given the visibility of the recent... disruption in the library, and the fact that several students have already filed forum threads, we'll need to make a statement of sorts."

My brows furrowed. "Forum threads?"

How had this even reached him already? The slap had barely cooled. I'd been in an empty classroom, hiding, for all of ten minutes. Who ran faster—his informants or the whispers in the walls?

I narrowed my eyes. "What kind of statement?"

"Detention."

I blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Entirely." He smiled like a cat with its paw already on the trap. "Two weeks. Supervised. Afternoon sessions. Consider it… a cooling-off period."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "For what, exactly? For existing?"

His expression didn't flicker. "You've caused disruption, Miss Sinclair. Whether you intended to or not. This is not a punishment, it's maintenance."

"Right," I said, standing so fast the chair scraped against the polished floor. "Because slapping an heir after he insulted me to my face apparently qualifies as disruption."

His gaze didn't waver. "Words can be forgotten. Actions leave marks."

My throat tightened. "He told me I reeked of desperation. Of cheap perfume."

Silence.

Not shock. Not concern.

Just silence.

Then, calmly: "And yet it was you who raised a hand. That is what people saw."

I felt it then, like the room had shrunk, like the air was thicker just around me. Like truth didn't matter here, only the shape of the spectacle. Of who was allowed to cause a scene and who was expected to swallow it.

"So you dragged me here to remind me I'm replaceable."

"No," he said simply. "I called you here to remind you you're visible. And visibility has a cost."

My jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

The kind of rage that sat too still in your chest, the kind that coiled like a snake, ready to strike, pulsed through my ribs.

I took a step toward the door.

"Miss Sinclair," he added, just as my hand reached the brass handle.

I stopped. Jaw still tight.

"I suggest you begin thinking more carefully about your future at Moonveil," he said. "It would be a shame to lose such a promising student… over something as trivial as pride."

I didn't answer.

Didn't thank him.

Didn't slam the door behind me.

But God, I wanted to rip it off the hinges.