I pocketed my phone and finished my food, aware of Felicity watching me the entire time. She didn’t push. She didn’t make demands. She simply existed in my space with a comfort that suggested she planned to keep existing there indefinitely.
"For what it’s worth," she said as I stood to leave. "I think the Crucible is going to be interesting."
"Interesting good or interesting bad?"
"Interesting." She smiled up at me, and the light caught her eyes in a way that made my chest do something inconvenient. "With you, I’m never quite sure which one it’s going to be. That’s part of the appeal."
I left before she could say anything else that would make the walk to the faculty building more complicated than it needed to be.
The faculty conference room was on the third floor, accessible via an elevator that moved slowly enough that I suspected it was designed as a punishment for students who preferred vertical transportation to stairs. I took the stairs.
Petra was already there when I arrived.
She sat at the long conference table with her leather planner open and her posture perfect, looking exactly like someone who had arrived fifteen minutes early to establish territorial dominance. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual severe style, and her emerald eyes tracked my entrance with the kind of attention usually reserved for prey animals.
"Belmont." Her voice was cool. Professional. Completely at odds with whatever had been happening between us since that moment in my room when she’d walked in on me and Camille.
"Lang." I took the seat across from her rather than beside her. Strategic positioning.
"You’re early."
"So are you."
"I’m always early. Punctuality is a baseline expectation, not an achievement."
The room was empty except for us, which meant we had approximately ten minutes before whatever faculty member was running this meeting showed up. Ten minutes alone with Petra Lang, who had won the female representative seat by one vote and clearly blamed me for making her victory less decisive than she’d wanted.
"About Friday," I started.
"I don’t want to discuss Friday."
"We’re going to have to discuss Friday eventually. The joint coordination meeting with 1-A happens in three days and we need to present a unified front."
"I’m aware of the timeline." Her pen tapped against her planner in a rhythm that suggested agitation. "I’m also aware that you and I have fundamentally incompatible approaches to leadership."
"We haven’t tried working together yet. Hard to know if we’re incompatible when we’ve spent more time antagonizing each other than cooperating."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting we attempt civility?"
"I’m suggesting we attempt professionalism. Civility is optional."
The corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but closer than I usually got from Petra Lang. "That’s almost reasonable."
"I have my moments."
She studied me for a long beat, her expression unreadable. Petra Lang was hard to get a read on because she worked actively to make herself hard to read. Every gesture calculated, every word measured, every reaction filtered through whatever internal framework she used to navigate the world.
"The Crucible changes things," she said finally. "The joint exercise with 1-A isn’t just about our class’s performance. It’s about how we’re perceived relative to them. How you and I are perceived as representatives."
"You mean Dravid will be watching to see if we can coordinate with his precious top-tier students."
"I mean everyone will be watching." She leaned forward slightly, and I noticed she was wearing a subtle perfume, something floral with an edge to it. "Faculty. Administration. The ranking assessment board. This exercise carries weight beyond the immediate grades."
"I’m aware."
"Are you?" Her voice sharpened. "Because from what I’ve observed, you seem more interested in cultivating personal relationships than professional ones. Your time has been devoted to Felicity Hardy, to Camille Ortega, to whatever arrangement you maintain with your girlfriend in 1-A. Your actual leadership responsibilities have been secondary."
The accusation landed harder than I wanted to admit.
"I won the election," I said. "Same as you."
"You won the election because you gave a speech that made people feel good. That’s not the same as being qualified to lead." She held up a hand before I could respond. "I’m not saying you’re incompetent. I’m saying your priorities are misaligned with the position’s requirements."
"And yours are perfectly aligned."
"Mine are appropriate." Her chin lifted slightly. "I understand what this role demands. I’ve been preparing for institutional leadership my entire life. You’ve been preparing for... what, exactly? Chaos? Improvisation?"
"Survival."
The word came out before I could filter it, and something in Petra’s expression shifted. Not softening exactly, but a brief crack in the calculated facade.
"Survival," she repeated.
"That’s what I’m good at. Assessing situations. Adapting to them. Making decisions under pressure when the plan falls apart and you have to figure out what comes next." I met her gaze directly. "You’re right that I’m not a traditional leader. I didn’t grow up planning for this. But the people who voted for me did it because they trust me to handle the situations that can’t be planned for."
Petra was quiet for a moment. Her pen had stopped tapping.
"That’s..." She paused, apparently searching for the right word. "Less incompetent than I expected."
"High praise."
"Don’t let it go to your head." She returned her attention to her planner, but something had shifted in the air between us. The hostility wasn’t gone, but it had moved aside to make room for something closer to grudging acknowledgment. "We’ll need to present a coordinated strategy for the Crucible. 1-A’s representatives will expect us to be organized."
"Who are 1-A’s representatives?"
"Sloane Fitzgerald and Quinn Adler."
"Sloane," I said with a smirk.
Petra’s eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite identify. "Your girlfriend, yes. I’m aware of the relationship. Everyone is aware of the relationship. It’s been the subject of considerable discussion among students who enjoy speculating about other people’s personal lives."
"That sounds like a specific complaint."
"It’s an observation." She closed her planner with a decisive snap. "The coordination meeting will be challenging enough without adding romantic complications. I expect you to maintain appropriate boundaries."
"You expect me to what, exactly? Pretend I don’t know her?"
"I expect you to prioritize the meeting’s objectives over your personal attachments." Petra stood, gathering her materials. "Is that going to be a problem?"