Page 19 of The Drama King

"She's not what I expected," Corvus replied, his voice measured as always. "More resilient. Smarter."

I set my phone down, suddenly more engaged. "Meaning she didn't break down crying?" I couldn't help the smirk that formed. Most scholarship students crumbled after a week of Corvus's psychological warfare. I caught Dorian's glance—a brief moment of shared amusement that reminded me of the shower, of his fingers in my hair, his lips barely touching mine. I pushed the thought away, focusing on the conversation.

"She pushes back," Corvus explained with that clinical tone he always used when reporting. "Most scholarship students either collapse or lash out when pressured. She does neither. She... adapts."

That was unexpected. I'd seen our little games play out dozens of times before. The pattern was always the same: intimidate, isolate, eliminate. But adaptation? That was new.

Dorian's eyes narrowed, his full attention on Corvus now. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"Not necessarily." Corvus showed him his notes, always the meticulous observer. "We just need a different approach. Standard intimidation isn't working as well as it should."

"Like what?" I asked, leaning forward. I wasn't usually the strategist of our little trio, but this was getting interesting.

"Build her up, then tear her down," Corvus explained. "She responds to intellectual validation. We can use that."

"Praise her, then crush her," I said, grinning despite the small twinge of guilt I felt. "Classic." I'd seen Dorian use this approach before, though usually on faculty members who questioned his family's influence, not students. It was effective but brutal.

"Something like that," Corvus said, "though with more subtlety. Dorian, you're in the perfect position for this with your scene partnership."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Why me specifically?"

"Because she'll value your approval more," Corvus said. "You're the acknowledged talent. If you praise her work and then withdraw that praise, the impact will be devastating."

"Makes sense," I agreed, stretching my legs out on the couch, trying to look more casual than I felt. The leather was cool against my calves. "Hit her where it hurts."

I watched Dorian consider this, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the arm of his chair—always a sign he was plotting something particularly nasty. I'd seen that same gesture right before he orchestrated Professor Henley's very public breakdown last semester.

"What's your take on her actual abilities?" Dorian asked Corvus. "Academically, I mean."

Corvus hesitated, which caught my attention immediately. Corvus never hesitated.

"She's smart," he finally admitted. "Her analysis of Elizabeth Proctor was... impressive. She understands character motivation on a sophisticated level."

Dorian's gaze sharpened. "You sound almost impressed, Corvus."

I glanced between them, sensing a shift in dynamics. Corvus impressed by a scholarship student? That was a first.

"I'm simply assessing her accurately," Corvus said, straightening in his chair defensively. "Underestimating her would be a mistake."

"Of course," Dorian replied, though his tone suggested he wasn't buying it. "What about her vulnerabilities? What can we use?"

"Academic validation is the primary one," Corvus said, reading from his notes. "She's terrified of not belonging intellectually. Secondary is her concern for her friends, especially the male Omega."

"Cut the clinical bullshit," I interrupted, suddenly impatient with all the analysis. Sometimes Corvus got too caught up in his psychological assessments. "Bottom line it. Can we break her or not?"

I noticed Corvus pause again—another red flag. This scholarship girl had really gotten under his skin.

"Yes," he finally said. "But it will take more work than usual. And more time."

"Time we have," Dorian said, turning back to his casting notes. "The fall showcase is perfect. Especially with the scene I've arranged."

"The Taming of the Shrew," Corvus noted. "Fitting."

"More than you know," Dorian replied with that dark smile that always made me uneasy. "I have special plans for our little showcase."

I shifted on the couch, a familiar discomfort settling in my chest. Three years of this—of watching Dorian systematically destroy anyone he deemed beneath him—and I still hadn't grown completely comfortable with it. But questioning him was never an option. Not when he'd been there for me after my own family had turned their backs.

"She's still likely to break," Corvus continued, focusing on his notes. "But we might need to adjust our expectations about how and when."