“I’m trying to go home.”
“You took my editor position.”
“I applied for a position.”
“You knew it was mine.”
“It wasn’t anybody’s.”
Camille laughed sharply. “Briarwood needed you.”
Laila knew immediately what she meant.
She also knew Camille wanted her to ask.
This time she refused.
“Move.”
Camille stepped closer.
“You don’t want to hear it?”
“No.”
“Because you know.”
Laila bent toward her bag.
Camille kicked it slightly away with one shoe.
Several students reacted.
Laila straightened.
“Do not touch my stuff.”
“Or what?”
“Nothing. Just don’t.”
Camille smiled.
“There she is.”
Laila’s stomach tightened.
Months of messages.
Real personality.
Temper.
Aggressive.
Sophie’s warning returned.
People who need proof sometimes manufacture it.
Laila looked around the studio.
At least four phones were visible now.
One student held a phone openly.
Another had begun recording near the backdrop.
Laila understood.
“You want me to react.”
Camille laughed.
“You think everything is a setup.”
“No.”
Laila pointed toward the phones.
“I think you’ve spent months telling people I’m aggressive, and now you’re blocking me from leaving while everybody records.”
The room became quiet.
Camille glanced behind her.
The audience was no longer automatically hers.
That mattered.
Laila bent and picked up the camera bag.
She placed it on the metal table.
Camille stepped closer again.
“You really think you’re smarter than everybody.”
“No.”
“More talented?”
“No.”
“Then why do you act like this place owes you something?”
Laila stared at her.
“What exactly am I asking for?”
Camille said nothing.
“My job is checking out cameras.”
Silence.