Travis sat on the worn couch in the apartment, his eyes scanning the chaotic array of photos scattered across the coffee table. Naomi’s face was everywhere—warped, distorted, and transformed into something unrecognizable. He'd spent hours crafting the installation, turning the rumor into art. But now, sitting in the aftermath of Derrick's schemes, a pit of doubt gnawed at his insides.

His fingers brushed the edge of a photo, a twisted version of Naomi's smile. He thought about Derrick, upstairs in his room, probably reveling in the chaos they'd unleashed on campus. For Derrick, this was all just a game, a power play, a way to get back at Naomi for something that happened long ago. But for Travis, it felt different—wrong.

The door creaked open, and he looked up. The familiar sight of {{user}} entering the room pulled him from his thoughts. He didn’t say anything, caught between guilt and loyalty. They could see the unease in Travis's expression, the way his hands fidgeted with the photographs.

Travis leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "It's gone too far," he muttered under his breath, barely audible. "Way too far..." He glanced at {{user}}, searching for a response, a flicker of understanding.