He had seen Trevor mock her. He looked directly at Nia. For half a second, she thought he might speak. Instead, he looked down at his cup. Another student stepped into the elevator beside her.
Someone who had been in the classroom when the anonymous post circulated. She gave Nia a sympathetic smile, then said nothing. The elevator doors closed. Nia stared at her reflection in the brushed metal. That was the part she had not been prepared for.
Not Trevor. Not Madison. Not even Sloan. The silence. The way decent people could see something wrong and still convince themselves that saying nothing was neutral.
By the time she reached the lobby, the hope she'd carried into Wellington had become something heavier. She stepped outside. A cold wind moved across the entrance plaza. Traffic hissed on wet pavement. Nia stood beneath the stone canopy and pulled out her phone.
One new message. No sender name. No number she recognized. Just five words. You're not the first.
Nia stopped breathing for a second. Then another message appeared. Check the disciplinary archive. She looked back through the glass doors toward Wellington's spotless lobby. Students moved beneath donor plaques.
Administrators crossed polished floors. Everything appeared orderly, respected, clean. Nia looked again at the anonymous message. If she wasn't the first, then Trevor's confidence suddenly meant something different. Maybe he'd done this before.
Maybe Sloan had heard complaints before. Maybe the silence around Wellington wasn't accidental. Nia tightened her grip on the phone. For the first time, the question was no longer whether the institution would protect her. It was how many people the institution might already have failed.
Nia did not go home. Not yet. She crossed Wellington's main lobby with the anonymous message still open on her phone and headed toward the athletic center. The disciplinary archive was not a public room with dusty files and a sign on the door. Most of Wellington's records were digital, protected by administrative access.
But Nia knew enough from her program orientation to understand that formal complaints generated case numbers and case numbers left traces. She needed names, dates, patterns, anything. The athletic center lobby was bright with white light reflecting off polished floors. The air smelled faintly of rubber mats, disinfectant, and expensive coffee from the cafe near the training rooms. Nia walked toward a bank of public computer stations near the student services desk.
She had barely reached them when Ryan stepped into her path. Busy morning? Nia stopped. Trevor was behind him. So were Madison, Derek, and Ashley.
All five. Nia's eyes moved once across the group, then to the open hallway behind them. Several adult students were nearby. A trainer was stacking towels at the far counter. Two staff members were speaking beside the stairs.
People. Witnesses. Trevor smiled. Heard you went to Sloan. Nia's stomach tightened.
That information had traveled fast. Move. Ryan leaned slightly closer. That's not very friendly. I don't need to be friendly.
Madison lifted her phone. Nia noticed immediately. Put it away. Madison smiled. Why?
Because you don't have permission to record me. We're on campus. Trevor stepped closer. You really thought going upstairs was going to help? Nia said nothing.
That made him push harder. Sloan knows who we are. Ashley shifted uncomfortably. Trevor, he ignored her. You should have listened yesterday.
Nia looked at him. I listened. Then why'd you report us? Because you wouldn't stop. Ryan moved between Nia and the computer station.