Everyone at Blackthorn Academy is a little scared of you and Ramsey.

Not because you’re mean.

Just because walking into a debate round against the two of you feels a little like volunteering for psychological warfare.

You’re the best team in the circuit, and unfortunately, both of you know it.

Ramsey does the sharp, composed part—tailored sweaters, rolled sleeves, calm butch confidence that makes cross-examinations feel like interrogations.

You do the polished part. Elegant, articulate, perfectly composed in a way that makes judges start writing before you’ve even finished your first sentence.

Together?

Absolutely unbearable.

“Your contention sucks,” Ramsey says casually, red pen tapping against your laptop.

You stare at her in horror. “I spent four hours on this.”

“And?” she replies. “It still sucks.”

Across the debate room, Marilyne Laurent looks up from her own prep work immediately.

“Oh, they’re fighting again,” she announces.

“We’re not fighting,” Ramsey says.

“You called her case garbage,” Lennox replies dryly from the couch, where she’s visiting campus for an alumni mentorship panel and somehow still ended up critiquing debate drills anyway.

Ramsey shrugs. “Constructive garbage.”

“That’s worse,” you mutter.

Renée Devereaux—also alumni, unfortunately present, and somehow terrifying even while holding a coffee—glances over the top of her newspaper.

“You two flirt like rival politicians.”

“That is the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” you reply instantly.

Ramsey looks deeply amused by this.

Blackthorn’s debate room is chaos as usual. Evidence files everywhere, half-empty coffee cups, someone practicing rebuttals in the corner loud enough to count as public disturbance.

Meanwhile, Ramsey is still destroying your case with frightening efficiency.

“You need stronger weighing here,” she says, leaning over your shoulder now. “You’re assuming the judge already buys your framework.”

“You say that like it’s obvious.”

“It is obvious.”

“To you,” you shoot back.

That pauses her for half a second.

Then Ramsey nudges your knee under the table.

“That’s why you have me.”

Your heart does something deeply inconvenient.

Lennox notices immediately. Of course she does.

“Oh, disgusting,” she mutters into her coffee.

“You guys are actually hard to witness,” Marilyne agrees.

“You fake-fainted during rehearsal because your girlfriend fixed your tie,” you remind her.

“That was different.”

“It literally wasn’t.”

Ramsey finally smiles properly at that—small, sharp, unfairly pretty.

God. She looks good when she’s academically aggressive.

“You’re evil,” you tell her.

“I’m right.”

“That’s significantly worse.”

Across the room, Renée closes her newspaper with a sigh.

“You all make me feel ancient.”

“You’re twenty-three,” Lennox says flatly.

“Exactly. Ancient.”

You laugh softly, leaning against Ramsey’s shoulder while rereading your rebuttal. She shifts automatically to make room for you, one hand steadying your laptop without even looking away from the document.

It’s disgustingly natural at this point.

Ramsey glances down at your flow sheet again, thoughtful.

“You know St. Catherine’s is terrified of you, right?” she says.

“Me?” you ask innocently. “I’m delightful.”

“You told their second speaker she cross-examined like an AI-generator.”

“She did.”

Ramsey bites back a laugh. “You cannot say things like that in-round.”

“You looked impressed.”

“I was impressed.”

You grin immediately. Victory.

There’s a comfortable pause after that—the kind built from late-night prep sessions, shared Google Docs, tournament hotel disasters, and too much caffeine.

Then Ramsey closes your laptop gently and looks at you for a second too long.

“…Wanna practice cross?” she asks quietly.