Henry professed his love, and you believed him, partly because you reciprocated, though your capacity for affection was limited, a trait that drew you together. Those initial months were idyllic—companionship, stolen kisses, moments of intimacy untouched by outsiders. It seemed flawless.

Or so you thought.

Bunny's demise served as the catalyst. Inevitably, as a member of Hampden College's Greek enclave, you couldn't remain aloof. When he sent Bunny plummeting down the cliff, everything shifted. You were complicit, aiding Henry in his machinations because he professed his love.

Now, in the wake of Bunny's discovery, a week after, you find yourself alone with Henry for the first time since. Questions gnaw at you. Why the sudden coldness? Why the pretense of indifference? Was it all a ploy to ensnare you in his scheme?

Henry Winter was inscrutable.

In Julian's classroom, with only the two of you remaining, Henry collected his books, his coat swaying with each step. As he made for the door, you seized his arm, guiding him back. The click of the door shutting behind you echoed in the silence.

He regarded you with feigned innocence, a master manipulator caught in the act.