Only three tables were occupied this late. In the farthest booth, a woman with short brown hair sat facing the entrance, eyes tracking every movement. You're Danielle, she said when Danielle approached. Not a question. And you're Lila.
Lila Grant. She gestured to the seat across from her. I was on the squad two years ago. Danielle slid into the booth. Your note said you know what they did.
What they're still doing. Lila's fingers drummed on a manila folder beside her coffee cup. I filed assault charges against Logan Price my sophomore year. Three weeks later, I was off the squad, out of my housing, and basically run off campus. They said you left voluntarily, Danielle said, remembering Noah's research.
A bitter laugh escaped Lila's throat. That's what the official story says. Just like your story says you're unstable and dangerous. Did they hurt you, too? Physically?
Danielle asked. Not like you. They didn't drop me. Lila's eyes flicked to Danielle's sling. Logan cornered me at a house party.
When I reported it, suddenly I was a liar and a. Sierra led the charge. She was just a sophomore then, but she knew which way the wind blew. Lila opened the folder and slid over several papers. Text messages from Sierra telling me to back off.
An email from Dean Holloway suggesting I avoid formal escalation for everyone's sake. And this She pulled out a small external hard drive. Every practice video from my last semester. Unedited. You kept all this?
I knew someday someone else would need it. Lila's eyes hardened. I just never thought they'd be bold enough to physically hurt someone during a performance. The diner door jingled again. Noah hurried in, laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
Sorry, I'm late. Campus security was checking IDs at the main entrance. He slid in next to Danielle. You must be Lila. I've been trying to track you down for weeks.
I keep a low profile these days, Lila said. Noah connected the hard drive to his laptop. Files filled the screen. Practice videos, game footage, team meetings. This is incredible.