Morning broke beneath a low iron sky, the sort that pressed upon the chest and made breath feel borrowed rather than owned.
Elara Roman sensed the shift before she saw it.
Silence.
Not the quiet of peace.
The quiet of watching.
As she crossed the courtyard, conversations faltered. Heads leaned together. A laugh — too sharp — broke and died.
Her steps slowed.
A girl near the fountain leaned toward another and whispered, none too softly:
"That's her."
Elara continued walking.
She had learned long ago that dignity was sometimes the last possession left to a woman under siege.
Still, the whispers followed.
Like thorns dragged through silk.
Inside the humanities corridor, the air held a charged stillness. Her reflection in the glass doors startled her — pale, shadowed, resolute.
A voice rose behind her.
"Did she really seduce him?"
Another voice answered, gleeful:
"Please. She's been working that innocent act since the semester started."
Elara closed her eyes briefly.
