Too early? Maya stood and crossed to her desk. She opened a drawer and removed a small spiral notebook. On the first page, she wrote the date. Grant House Cafe DeAtt 48 a.m. Tyler Grant questioned whether scholarship people were allowed in donor section.
Approximately 20 witnesses. She added the social media post beneath it. Then Nicole reports Tyler Grant asked student administration about athletic scholarship conduct conditions. Secondhand information unconfirmed. Nicole watched her.
You've been keeping notes since he started watching me. Why? Maya closed the notebook. Because memory gets emotional. She thought of Daniel, of every competition where he'd made her reconstruct the round afterward.
Not from how it felt, but from what actually happened. Facts first, feelings later. If this turns into something, Maya said, "I don't want to remember what I think happened. I want to know." That evening, she went to second table.
The kitchen smelled of tomato soup, coffee, and industrial dish soap. Earl Simmons was sitting near the p pantry with an employment form open on an old laptop. Helen Carter was wrapping leftover rolls in foil. Ruth, the evening manager, was arguing gently with a refrigerator that had begun making a grinding noise. Ordinary problems, real problems.
Maya felt her shoulders loosen. She helped Ruth pull the refrigerator away from the wall and found a loose vibration panel. Then she sat beside Earl and helped him navigate an online application that had rejected his password three times. Nobody there cared where Maya ate breakfast. Nobody asked what kind of scholarship she had.
When Helen left at 8, Mia walked her to the bus stop. Cold neon from the pharmacy across the street washed the sidewalk pale blue. Helen tucked her hands into her coat. "You're quiet tonight. Long day."
"Bad?" Maya considered lying. Instead, she said, "A little." Helen nodded. She didn't demand details.
After a moment, she said, "Don't let people who don't know you become the loudest voice in your head." The bus appeared at the corner. Maya smiled faintly. I'll try. Don't try too hard.
You'll give yourself a headache. Helen climbed aboard. Maya waited until the doors closed. Then she walked home alone. The next morning, the rumors had changed.
Mia noticed it before anyone told her. Two classmates stopped talking when she entered the physical therapy lab. Another student who normally shared notes chose a different table. Someone had printed the photograph from second table and taped it inside a hallway display case. It had been removed by noon, but people had seen it.
That was the purpose. Tyler didn't need everyone to believe the lie. He only needed enough people to wonder. At 217 that afternoon, Nicole texted Maya, "Come back to the room when you can. Important."
Maya arrived 20 minutes later. Nicole was standing by the window. She didn't sit. My friend contacted me again. Maya put down her bag.
What happened? She said Tyler came back for what? Nicole swallowed. This time he had a name Maya already knew. Mine.
Nicole nodded. He specifically asked what happens if a scholarship athlete is reported for threatening another student. Maya said nothing and he asked whether the scholarship can be frozen while the complaint is investigated. For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the heating vent. Maya looked at the battered gym bag beside her desk.
Inside it, beneath ordinary clothes and notebooks, lay a black belt. Six years of discipline, six years of learning how to control power. And somewhere across Caldwell University, Tyler Grant was trying to turn that discipline into a weapon against her. Nicole's voice softened. "He's planning something," Maya looked up.