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She wasn't invincible.
Elara Voss knew that better than anyone.
She had died once, after all.
So no—she didn't believe she was untouchable. She didn't believe she was safe. She didn't even believe she'd win.
But that had never been the point.
> Winning was a luxury.
> Surviving on her own terms — that was the goal.
---
The second name on her list wasn't a professor.
It was worse.
**Dr. Adrian Calloway.**
Vice Chancellor. Department Head. Public darling. The man who gave speeches on integrity and quoted Shakespeare in front of cameras.
Elara remembered the night he smiled at her — when she was nineteen, terrified, and cornered in a conference room with no exit.
He'd leaned in close and said: *"You're lucky I believe in second chances."*
> And then he buried her anyway.
---
"Why him next?" Rowan asked softly as they sat under the old tree near the east gate.
She hadn't told him much. Not who she was. Not what she was doing.
But she told him this: Kessler was only the first.
"Because he's the kind of man people believe," she said, staring into the branches above. "And people like him never get caught unless someone claws open their mask."
Rowan paused. "You could just move on, you know."
She looked at him — not angry, not offended.
Just quiet.
"I tried that. It got me killed."
---
Her plan wasn't simple this time. Calloway wasn't sloppy like Kessler.
He was methodical. Calculating. Charismatic. Untouchable.
She had to **be careful**.
She started small.
Watching him.
Logging his hours. Who he met. When he locked his office door. What assistants he kept on rotation. She found a pattern — he dismissed female interns every 4–6 weeks. Quietly. Always with glowing references. Always signed confidentiality forms.
But no one ever spoke.
No one… except one.
---
**Cassia Nevers.**
A dropout. Vanished mid-term three years ago.
Rumor said she had mental health issues.
The file said she failed due to "academic dishonesty."
Elara remembered her well — not her face, but the way she *disappeared*. Like a file being deleted in real life.
> She traced her.
> Found her living four cities away.
> Working at a gas station.
> Using a different last name.
It took three days and five hours of silence to get her to talk.
But when she did, she cried.
"I told them. I told the board. I sent letters. They said there wasn't enough proof. He said he'd ruin my family. So I left."
Elara didn't promise justice. Didn't say sorry. Didn't even touch her hand.
She just said, "Do you still have your keycard?"
Cassia blinked. "Why would I—?"
"You kept it," Elara said, not as a question, but a certainty.
Cassia nodded. "It's in a drawer somewhere."
"I need it."
---
**March 16th. Midnight.**
Elara walked through the side entrance of the faculty wing, dressed in black, her hair tied back, her gloves snug. She wasn't breaking in — not exactly.
The system still thought Cassia Nevers was a student assistant.
She walked fast. Purposeful. No hesitation.
Adrian Calloway's office smelled like cedarwood and polished ego.
She didn't touch anything she didn't have to.
She plugged in her personal drive — a silent script that mirrored his folders. Emails. Contracts. Personal memos.
And then she found it.
**Confession files.** Dozens.
Deleted voice messages. Edited logs. Hidden folders behind password-locked fake names.
A trophy wall of **ruined girls**.
> *He kept them. He kept all of them.*
> *Because he didn't think anyone would ever come back for them.*
---
Her hands were cold when she left.
Not from fear.
From control.
From holding herself together long enough **not** to cry.
She didn't cry for Cassia. Or herself.
She cried for no one.
Not anymore.
---
The next day, Adrian Calloway smiled on stage during a panel about digital transparency. He quoted Orwell. He told jokes. The audience applauded.
And in the third row, Elara Voss sat with folded arms and an empty notebook.
> "Smile while you can," she thought.
> "You're already dead. You just don't know it yet."
---
**Later that night**, Rowan found her on the dorm rooftop, looking out over the city.
"You've been quiet," he said.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
She exhaled slowly. "How easy it is to bury people and call it a misunderstanding."
Rowan leaned on the railing next to her. "You're different."
She looked at him. Not smiling. But softer.
"No," she said. "I'm just not afraid to get my hands dirty."
---