Page 85 of The Drama King

Stephanie paused, a sweater half-folded in her hands. For a moment, her careful composure cracked, and I glimpsed the girl who'd spent hours helping me with homework, who'd brought me soup when I was sick, who'd offered to stand between me and whatever was hunting me.

"It's about survival," she said finally. "Mine and yours."

"Explain that."

"People are watching, Vespera. They're connecting dots: Robbie's disappearance, your situation with Dorian's pack, the way you've been struggling lately." She resumed folding with renewed precision. "My parents got calls. Questions about my associations, my judgment, whether I understand the implications of my friendship choices."

Ice flooded my veins. "What kind of calls?"

"The kind that matter. Donors, alumni, people with influence. Someone's making sure that anyone connected to this mess faces consequences." She finally looked at me, and I saw genuine fear in her eyes. "If I stay, if I keep defending you, they'll destroyme too. And then neither of us will have any power to fight back."

"And if you abandon me?"

"If I distance myself now, at least one of us survives this with our future intact."

The logic was sound, ruthless, and completely devastating. I wanted to argue, to point out that friendship meant something, that loyalty couldn't be calculated in terms of social capital. But studying Stephanie's face—scared, guilty, but resolute—I realized she'd made her choice weeks ago.

"How long have you known?" I asked quietly.

"Two weeks. Since the transfer request was approved." She turned back to her packing. "I kept hoping something would change, that maybe the pressure would ease off. But it's only getting worse."

Two weeks. She'd been planning her escape for two weeks while I'd been struggling through rehearsals, thinking I still had one person in my corner.

"I should pack faster," she said, glancing at the clock. "The RA is supposed to help me move everything tonight."

Tonight. She was leaving tonight, and I was finding out by accident.

"For what it's worth," Stephanie said as she sealed another box with tape, "I'm sorry. You deserve better than this."

"But not from you."

She flinched again but didn't deny it.

I grabbed my rehearsal bag and headed for the door. There was nothing left to say, no point in making this harder for either of us. She'd made her calculation, chosen her survival over our friendship.

"Vespera..."

I paused in the doorway.

"Be careful," she said quietly. "Whatever's coming, be careful."

The door closed behind me with a soft click, and I stood in the hallway trying to process what had occurred. My last ally had negotiated her surrender, leaving me completely alone against whatever was coming.

And I still had rehearsal to get through.

Thetheaterbuildingfeltlike walking into a predator's den.

I'd grown to dread the familiar smell of old wood and stage makeup, the way the overhead lights cast everything in harsh relief, the intimate space of the rehearsal room where there was nowhere to hide. But today, with Stephanie's betrayal still raw in my chest, even the hallway felt hostile.

Wells was already setting up when I arrived, arranging chairs and reviewing his notes with the kind of focused intensity that meant we were diving into serious character work. The other actors trickled in gradually: ensemble members chatting among themselves, supporting players running lines, everyone maintaining the careful social dynamics that kept the theater department functioning.

Dorian arrived exactly on time, as he always did, carrying himself with the confidence of someone who owned every space he entered. His eyes found me immediately, and I saw his nostrils flare slightly as he registered my scent. Whatever emotional turmoil I was experiencing, he could smell it like blood in the water.

"Places, everyone," Wells called. "We're working Act Four, Scene One today. The church scene where Beatrice and Benedick finally admit their feelings."

My stomach dropped. Of all the scenes to work today, it had to be the most emotionally vulnerable one in the entire play. The moment where Beatrice drops her defenses, reveals her heart, and asks Benedick to kill Claudio for slandering Hero.

"This scene is about truth," Wells continued, moving to the center of the room. "Everything that's been hidden, everything that's been protected by wit and cruelty, finally comes to the surface. I need you both to access real vulnerability here."