Chapter 7

The classroom buzzed with the usual dull energy of a Monday morning. Students shuffled in, slumped into their seats, and buried their faces in their books—or their phones, if they thought I wasn’t looking.

But when Scarlet walked in, everything felt different.

She moved with a quiet confidence, shoulders back, her head held high. No nervous glances, no hurried movements. It was like watching someone who’d finally decided they had nothing to lose.

I marked her with a glance as she slipped into her seat, her dark eyes briefly catching mine. There was a defiance there, but not the kind that screamed for attention. It was quieter, more deliberate.

The girl I knew had never looked at me like that.

The lesson passed in a blur. My words came on autopilot as I paced the room, discussing Poe’s descent into madness, but my focus kept drifting back to her. She wasn’t taking notes—not unusual for Scarlet—but this time, she wasn’t pretending to either. She simply sat there, arms crossed, watching me.

When the bell rang, the usual chaos erupted. Students scraped chairs and shuffled toward the door, already half-checked out. I kept my gaze on Scarlet as she slowly packed her things, clearly in no rush.

“Scarlet,” I called out as the last of the students left.

She paused, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag before turning back to face me. “Yes, Mr. Cromwell?”

Her tone was even, neutral, but there was something in her eyes—something guarded.

I leaned against my desk, arms crossed. “You seem different lately.”

She shrugged, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Different how?”

“More confident,” I said carefully. “Focused. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s… unexpected.”

She let out a soft laugh, a sound that felt too controlled, too deliberate. “Maybe I just got tired of feeling like a victim.”

The words hit harder than I expected. I clenched my jaw, guilt gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. I had seen her struggle. I’d noticed the signs—the quiet withdrawal, the dark circles under her eyes—and I’d told myself I was doing enough by keeping an eye on her, by offering her a safe space in my classroom.

But I hadn’t done enough. And we both knew it.

“I should’ve checked in with you sooner,” I said, my voice softer now. “You were going through something, and I…” I trailed off, searching for the right words. “I should’ve done more.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes flickered, just for a moment. “It’s not your job to save everyone, Mr. Cromwell.”

“No, but it’s my job to notice when someone’s struggling,” I replied, my voice firmer. “And I noticed. I just didn’t know how to help.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying me like she was trying to decide whether to let me off the hook. “Well, maybe I’m not struggling anymore,” she said finally. “Maybe I figured out how to help myself.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging between us. There was a strength in her voice, but also a hint of something else—something fragile, like a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

“I’m glad you’re finding your footing,” I said after a moment. “But if you ever need to talk… my door’s open.”

Her lips twitched, almost like she wanted to smile but couldn’t quite bring herself to. “Thanks,” she said quietly, her tone softer now.

She turned to leave, but paused in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. “You know, Mr. Cromwell… You’re not as bad at this as you think.”

Before I could respond, she was gone, leaving me standing in the quiet aftermath of our conversation.

The tension in my chest didn’t ease, though. If anything, it twisted tighter. Scarlet—or whoever she was now—was a puzzle. One I couldn’t ignore. And for reasons I couldn’t fully explain, I didn’t want to.