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The elevator dinged. Kara walked through the marble foyer and straight into the living room to stand before the windows, arms wrapped around herself.

“You all right?” I asked.

“Fine.”

Fourth ‘fine’ since we’d left the café and Jules.

I muffled my sigh and flopped down onto the sofa, reaching for my cell. Five messages from Emma, one from Paul, all about the memorial service scheduled for Friday afternoon. Emma wanted to meet up afterwards—I suppose it was necessary, though hardly the best time. I pinged them both a reply.

When I looked up, Kara was watching me, her expression flat.

“What?”

“Nothing, Master .” She turned to stare out of the window once more.

The venom was back. I frowned, then shrugged. She’d been blowing warm; we must be overdue for a bit of a chill.

She spun around again. “That was too easy for you.”

I blinked. “You think that was easy?”

“Bits of it, yeah.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Particularly the part where you went from morally right yesterday to morally gray today. You didn’t even blink.”

“It was an act, Kara,” I sighed. “I did what needed to be done without resorting to threatening some woman’s sister’s kids.”

“You threatened her.”

“No, I helped her see the stakes.” I shook my head.

“You think a professional investigative journalist is just going to drop a story over a couple of vague threats? I tried to make her think of the moral responsibility, that the ethical consequences outweighed her desire for a slice of the limelight. But it wasn’t enough, was it?

She was all ‘I’ll pause, but not quit’. So yeah.

The threat was the stick; the juicy Uni Bay story the carrot. It was the best I could do.”

“Well, it worked. Well done.”

“I don’t get your problem. I did what your dad wanted me to. You didn’t have to come. You wanted to.”

“You sold my father out in two lines and you … used me.”

Oh. That’s what this was about.

“Yesterday, you were all, ‘call him Dacien, not dad’, and, ‘I know what kind of man he is’.”

“Jules was only sniffing around Oridian Capital and Novellian. Sure, she knew my father was connected, but you literally told her he was guilty, fingers in everything. You confirmed she was right when all she had was suspicions.”

“You’re being na?ve. You think she wouldn’t have kept digging? I told her nothing she wouldn’t have found out eventually.”

“You know what? I don’t care. That’s not the point.”

I sighed. “What is, then?”

She glared at me, then turned away. “Nothing. Forget it.” Barely a moment passed before she swung back to face me. “It’s a little jarring, watching someone charm a woman into silence, throw my father under the bus, then walk back in here like it doesn’t bother you.”

“It bothered me.”

“Did it? I’m not seeing it.” Her mouth twisted. “You’re more than a grumpy lecturer with a hero complex, but I don’t know what you are anymore.”

“Enough, Kara.” I could hear the frustration in my words. “I didn’t hear you coming up with alternatives. It’s done, it’s behind us, let’s move on.”

“So easy, great. And now you expect a pat on the head.”

“I don’t expect anything,” I said. “Least of all from you.”

Kara’s expression sharpened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” I said, pushing off the couch and walking toward her, “you don’t get to act shocked when someone shows you how your dad plays the game. Not when you happily spend his money.”

She didn’t back up, but her chin lifted in that defiant way she had. “I didn’t choose my parents, and I didn’t chose you either.”

“Finally,” I said. “Some recognition that you don’t want to be here after all. I was beginning to wonder.”

“I … that’s not …” Her glare came back in force. “You’re not just a jerk, you’re an asshole.”

“Keep going and I’ll do what I should’ve done the first night.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Put you over my knee and spank the attitude out of you.”

The silence that followed was instant and sharp. Kara didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

She swallowed hard. “I’m going to my room.”

“Good plan.”

She walked off without looking back.

*

We barely spoke the next day, just coexisted in silence. I wasn’t sure what I could’ve done differently, and decided in the end to just wait her out. Whatever issues she had she’d work through. Or she wouldn’t.

That evening, Kara came into the living room carrying her tablet and frowning. “Have you seen the news?”

“No. I don’t pay much attention; too depressing most of the time.”

She handed me the tablet, the headline prominent: Uni Bay— The Match That Lit The City.

“You read this?” I asked, skimming.

“Yes. There’ve been protests and riots, one in Downtown, one in Elmhurst.”

I paused in my scrolling. “Supes or norms?”

“Both. A weak supe was dragged out of his shop and subject to what the media is calling ‘mob justice’.” She grimaced.

“Then they tried it on someone more powerful, and that went badly for them. That supe didn’t survive either, but he took quite a few with him.

Norms are in outrage over his ‘retaliation’. ”

“Retaliation? For defending himself?”

“There’s been more since then. One last night, another this morning.

A supe went on a rampage. They’ve closed Fifth Street while they investigate.

” She gestured at the tablet. “Reports are saying civil unrest is up twenty percent, there’re protests outside SPAR HQ, and some dickhead minister is calling it ‘growing pains’.

” She paused. “Northline News is drawing parallels to the riots of the 90s.”

“Northline is right-wing bullshit.”

“A lot of people watch it.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “I don’t get it,” I said. “I mean the supes on the campus that night. That’s what’s triggered all this.”

She shifted uncomfortably, giving me a worried look.

I held a hand up. “Okay, maybe the supes on Halloween night were there because of me. We don’t know that for sure, but … if they were, how could they have known I was there? And why have my powers only awoken now? Why not … last year, or when they first appeared?”

“I could ask my father. He might have some insights.”

“No …” I sighed. “He already knows too much.”

Kara tensed. “I’m sorry—it’s my fault. You don’t know what they’re like. My mom guessed almost straight away, and when my father started …” She broke off, hugging herself. “It’s no excuse. I know that.”

It hadn’t been her fault—not fully, anyway—they’d figured it out as soon as I’d turned up. But I was still pissed she’d given me no warning before our very polite formal dinner where they both threatened to kill me, so saw no reason to let her off the hook.

“Too late to worry about that now.” I gestured at her tablet. “Maybe this is just tensions boiling over, a flash in the pan. It might fade out in a week.”

She didn’t look convinced, but I hadn’t convinced myself either. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s hope so.”

*

It was bitterly cold; everyone kept their coats on. But there were too many people to hold it inside.

New Providence Bay University’s quad had never been so quiet. No rallies, no flyers, no late-night undergrads drunkenly howling at the moon. Just rows of folding chairs and too many faces trying not to make eye contact.

I stood at the back, Kara beside me. She wore black—not a dress, not mourning lace, just black, simple and crisp. Her eyes never left the podium. Was that control or detachment? I wasn’t sure. We’d hardly exchanged a word since Tuesday, and to be honest, I’d enjoyed the peace.

The Dean spoke. Then a student rep. Someone read a poem. Names were read out slowly, with many moments where the silence stretched too long and still didn’t feel long enough.

Someone had set up a projection loop behind the stage—photos of the dead shared from phones, social media, or yearbook shots. The occasional awkward pose from a campus event. Ordinary lives, ended for nothing.

I didn’t know most of the names, but I remembered some of the faces. A regular from the bar. A girl who’d always sat at the front in my seminars, as if proximity to the whiteboard could raise her grade.

Kara exhaled beside me. It wasn’t quite a sigh, just the barest reminder she was still there.

At last it ended, and people dispersed in clumps. Some lingered at the flower-strewn memorial wall, others left like they couldn’t get off campus fast enough.

Emma came over, also in black, her blonde hair in a neat braid, eyes rimmed red but still shining. Paul wasn’t far behind, shoulders hunched, suit slightly too big, like he’d borrowed it from someone with fewer gym hours. No sign of Crystal, but it was rare for him to have a second date.

Emma tried for a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey Xan. Kara.”

She came in for a hug, and I hesitated, but let her.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said into my chest, then stepped back quickly, brushing at her cheeks. “I mean—not that you wouldn’t be. You’re you.”

Paul offered a solemn nod, hands in his pockets. “Is it wrong to be glad that’s over?”

No one said anything, but the silence wasn’t disagreement.

Emma’s gaze flicked to Kara. “You two—did you come together?”

Kara didn’t answer, her face expressionless.

“We crossed paths,” I said.

Emma nodded, awkwardly. “I—I’ve been baking,” she offered. “I made lemon bars. If you give me your address, I can package them up and post them. You always liked those, right?”

I didn’t, actually. I’d eaten them once, politely. “Sound good, but it might have to wait. I don’t have a permanent address right now.”

Kara tensed, but said nothing.

Emma smiled, just a little. “Well … my parents are waiting. Long ride home.” She gave me another hug. “Meet up soon?”

“Sure,” I said, because it was easy. I didn’t know if it was the background of the memorial or the changes in my life, but the whole interaction was so awkward I just wanted it done with.

Paul gave me a clap on the shoulder, nodded to Kara, and left.

Kara watched them go, unreadable. “She’s sweet. I can see why you like her.”

“She’s nineteen and a norm.”