Naomi crouched. You heard it. Old knee. Old knee can still be hurt. He tested his weight carefully.
I'm all right. Nia looked at the cart. Where are you taking this? Down to storage. We'll help.
Walter shook his head. You've got classes. We have 6 minutes. That's not enough. It is if you stop arguing.
Walter laughed despite himself. They walked the cart to the elevator. At the storage room, he reached for his wallet. Coffee is on me. Naomi frowned.
For what? For helping. You don't pay people for being decent. Sometimes I do. Not us.
Walter looked at both twins. Something about the answer caught him. Not the words. The way Naomi said them, like it had been taught, like it belonged to an older voice. His eyes shifted to the gym bag on her shoulder.
The bronze heron pin rested near the zipper. He noticed the shape, not enough to understand. Not yet. Naomi turned before he could look closer. Take it easy on the knee.
Yes, ma'am. Nia grinned. She likes telling people what to do, I noticed. They left. Walter watched them disappear around the corner.
Back upstairs, Ryan stood near the lounge window. He had seen the twins cross the plaza, seen Naomi help Walter, seen her leave without looking back toward the building. Jake came beside him. You're still bothered. Ryan smiled.
Not bothered. He watched Naomi and Nia disappear beneath the trees. Curious about what? Ryan shoved his hands into his pockets. They act like they're above it.
Above what? Everything. Jake shrugged. Maybe they just don't care. Ryan shook his head.
No. He remembered Naomi's expression in the lounge. Calm, controlled, like his opinion had landed somewhere far away from anything that mattered. He hated that look. Because Ryan Whitmore was used to being noticed. His last name was on donor lists.
His father's money opened offices. Professors remembered him. Administrators answered his calls. People adjusted around him. Naomi Carter had not.
He looked toward the hallway where she had disappeared. A small smile returned. That kind always cracks eventually. Jake raised an eyebrow. Ryan turned away from the glass.
Those two will be easy. Neither man noticed Walter Hayes at the far end of the corridor, or the fact that Walter was still thinking about a scratched bronze bird he had almost recognized. By Wednesday morning, Ryan had stopped treating Naomi and Nia like an annoyance. He had started treating them like a project. The first shoulder check happened outside the student center.
Ryan passed Naomi near the vending machines, clipped her hard enough to knock her notebook against the wall, then kept walking without apology. Naomi bent, picked it up, and said nothing. The second happened after lunch. Jake brushed past Nia on a narrow stair landing, then turned with his phone already raised. You got a problem?