Page 54

As fucking usual.

"—so I figured we’d put the Latin translations in the appendix to save room for the actual analysis," Cole says, waving a hand dismissively. "You know how dense those church ledgers can get⁠—"

The door hits the wall with a thud.

Both men look up.

Cole’s smirk freezes mid-word. His eyes land on me, taking in the coat, the sleek hair, the utter absence of the trembling wreck he left me.

"Vivi?" he says, his brow furrowing in confusion. A fraction of his usual smugness returns, his voice dripping with condescension. "What are you doing here? Did you forget to clean out your locker in the basement?"

"Miss Estrella," Hobson says, sitting up quickly, his tone stern, adopting that disappointed-father voice he uses to cut stipends. "I believe I made it quite clear that any further discussion regarding your status would need to be handled through the formal appeals committee. Barging in here⁠—"

Lachlan steps through the doorway behind me.

He doesn't say a word. He just walks into the room and closes the heavy door behind him with a decisive click, leaning his massive frame against the wood, effectively blocking the only exit in the room.

The light in the office seems to dim just from the sheer volume of space he occupies.

I grin. It’s a nasty one, too.

Hobson’s mouth snaps shut. The blood drains from his round, weathered face so fast he looks translucent. His eyes dart from Lachlan’s broad shoulders to the sharp, scarred cut of his jaw, down to the heavy signet ring on my hand, and back up again.

Cole’s feet hit the floor with a clumsy clatter as he sits bolt upright in his chair, his easy slouch vanishing. He shrinks back into the leather cushions, staring at Lachlan like a rabbit staring at a combine harvester.

"Who... who is this?" Hobson stammers, clearing his throat and tugging at his collar. "Security⁠—"

"Security won’t be necessary, Dr. Hobson," I say primly, stepping up to the desk.

I reach into my pocket, pull out the plastic university keycard and the brass key to my basement carrel, and drop them onto the mahogany desk. They make a clatter against the blotter.

"I'm here to surrender my keys," I tell him calmly. "As requested."

Hobson stares at the keys, then up at me, clearly unnerved by how composed I am. "Yes. Well. Thank you, Miss Estrella. It's... it's regrettable, truly, but academic dishonesty⁠—"

"I also brought a delivery," I interrupt, reaching inside my coat.

Cole flinches violently, pressing himself flat against the back of his chair, as if he expects me to pull a gun.

I almost laugh, which is pretty fucked up of me.

Instead, I pull out a heavy, cream-colored linen folder stamped with the gold seal of Biddle, Sterling & Vance, Attorneys at Law.

I drop it on top of the keys.

It’s worse than a gun. He’s gonna suffer.

My smile widens.

"What is this?" Hobson asks, frowning as he adjusts his spectacles.

"Open it," I say.

Hobson hesitates, glancing once more at Lachlan, who is watching him with the dead-eyed amusement of a cat watching a mouse twitch in a corner. Trembling slightly, the department chair opens the folder.

A certified cashier's check sits on top of the legal parchment.

Hobson’s eyes hit the numbers.