Secrets were sacred at Welton Academy. The Dead Poets Society was more than a club—it was a rebellion, an escape from the rigid expectations of their fathers and teachers. They had sworn to keep it hidden, to protect it.

And you had almost broken that vow.

You hadn’t meant to. It had slipped out—a near confession in the wrong company. Someone had asked what you did in your free time, and the words had been right there, pressing against your tongue. You had caught yourself before saying too much, but not soon enough. Charlie had heard. And before you knew it, the entire Society was looking at you like you had set fire to their only refuge.

The vote had been quick. Charlie had been the first to say it: “We can’t risk it. If they almost said something once, what stops them from doing it again?”

And one by one, they had agreed. Even Todd, though he could barely meet your eyes. Even Knox, who usually stayed out of things like this. And finally, Neil, his expression unreadable as he cast his vote with the rest of them.

You were out.

The halls were silent. Everyone was already in their rooms, preparing for lights out. You sat stiffly on the edge of your bed, staring at the blank wall, still feeling the weight of the decision hanging over you.

Then came a knock. Soft. Hesitant.

The door creaked open before you could answer, and Neil stepped inside, his face half-hidden in the dim light. He closed the door behind him, hovering near the entrance like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, finally, he sighed. “I think they were too harsh on you.”

He moved closer, pulling out the chair from your desk and sitting down across from you. His uniform was slightly disheveled, like he had been running his hands through his hair in frustration. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward slightly.

“I mean, I get why they did it. We all do. But…” He hesitated, shaking his head. “I don’t think you would have actually told. Not really.”