Standing in the doorway was Captain Sterling. Chloe’s father.
He was in his full uniform, the brass stars on his collar gleaming under the fluorescent lights. He was a massive man, built like a linebacker, with the exact same cold, aristocratic eyes as his daughter.
"Maya," he said smoothly, stepping into the waiting room and gesturing toward his office down the hall. "Come on back."
I froze. My mind raced back to the hospital. Someone with the power to threaten high school kids. Someone pulling the strings. If Thorne was the one who pushed Sarah, Thorne couldn't cover it up on his own. He needed the police to rule it an accident. He needed Captain Sterling.
"No," I said, taking a step backward toward the exit. "I want to speak to a state trooper. Or a detective."
Sterling’s expression didn't change, but his eyes hardened into twin chips of flint. He took two steps forward, effortlessly blocking my path to the door.
"You're in my precinct, Maya," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You have a piece of stolen school property. A USB drive taken from a locked supply closet. We received a call from Principal Thorne’s security team twenty minutes ago. They have you on camera breaking and entering."
My breath hitched. "He pushed her. Your brother-in-law pushed my sister down the stairs."
"My brother-in-law is a respected pillar of this community," Sterling said, stepping so close I had to crane my neck to look at him. "You are an emotionally disturbed teenager who is trespassing and stealing. Now, you have two choices. You give me the drive right now, and I let you walk out that door with a warning. Or, you keep it, and I arrest you for burglary, hold you in a cell overnight, and search you anyway. Which means you lose the drive, you get a felony record, your scholarship is permanently revoked, and your mother has to mortgage her house to pay for your defense."
The walls of the precinct felt like they were shrinking, closing in on me. The raw, terrifying reality of power settled over me. He wasn't even trying to hide the corruption. He knew he didn't have to.
I slowly reached into my pocket. My fingers wrapped around the small silver drive.
If I gave it to him, the evidence would disappear forever. Thorne would win. Chloe would win. Sarah would lie in that hospital bed forever, and everyone would say it was her own clumsy fault.
I closed my eyes. I thought about Sarah's chipped blue nail polish.
"Okay," I whispered, my voice breaking.
I pulled my hand out of my pocket. But I didn't open my fist. Instead, in one explosive movement, I spun around, shoved a heavy wooden waiting room chair directly into Captain Sterling's path, and sprinted for the exit.
"Hey!" Sterling bellowed, stumbling over the chair.
I slammed my body against the glass door, bursting out into the cold rain. I sprinted across the parking lot to my car, diving through the driver’s side door and jamming the keys into the ignition.
I threw the car into reverse, tires screeching against the wet pavement, just as Sterling burst out of the precinct doors. I slammed it into drive and gunned the engine, tearing out onto the main road.
I looked in my rearview mirror, expecting to see flashing red and blue lights, but the road behind me remained dark. They didn't need to chase me. They knew who I was, and they knew my license plate.
I couldn't go to the police. I couldn't go to the school.
I pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour diner on the edge of town, my hands shaking so badly I couldn't unbuckle my seatbelt. I was completely alone. I needed an adult. I needed someone inside the school system who had authority, who wasn't a Sterling or a Thorne, who could take this to the school board or the press.
My mind landed on one person. Mr. Davis.
He was the faculty advisor for the medical track. He was the one who had encouraged Sarah to apply for the scholarship. He was the only teacher who treated the public school kids with actual respect. He was honest. He was safe.
I pulled out my phone and quickly searched the school directory in my email. I found his home address in the faculty contact sheet. He lived in a small subdivision ten minutes away.
I drove carefully, paranoid that every pair of headlights behind me was a squad car. When I finally pulled onto his quiet, tree-lined street, the rain had settled into a steady, freezing drizzle.
I ran up his driveway and hammered on the front door.
A moment later, the porch light clicked on. The door opened, revealing Mr. Davis. He was wearing sweatpants and a thick sweater, holding a mug of tea. He looked confused, and then deeply alarmed as he took in my soaked clothes and the bruise on my face.
"Maya?" he said, quickly opening the screen door and pulling me inside. "My god, child, you’re freezing. What happened? Why are you out here?"
"Mr. Davis, I need help," I stammered, my teeth chattering violently as I stood in his warm, lamplit hallway. "I have proof. About Sarah. Thorne pushed her. I have a video. But Captain Sterling is covering it up. The police are corrupt. They’re going to arrest me."
Davis stared at me, his eyes wide behind his glasses. He set his mug down on a small entryway table, his expression shifting from alarm to deep, paternal concern.
"Okay. Okay, Maya, slow down," he said softly, putting his hands on my shoulders. "You're safe here. Nobody is going to arrest you. Let's get you into the kitchen. I'll get you a towel."
The profound relief of being believed made my knees weak. I followed him into the bright, homey kitchen. It was warm and smelled like cinnamon and old books.
He handed me a dry dish towel, and I aggressively dried my face and hair.
"Show me the video, Maya," he said quietly, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table.
I pulled the laptop out of my soaked backpack, ignoring the fact that it was dripping water onto his pristine hardwood floor. I plugged the USB drive back in and opened the file.
Mr. Davis stood behind my chair, leaning over to watch the screen.
The grainy footage played. The argument. The push. Sarah falling.
When the video finished, a heavy, suffocating silence filled the kitchen.
I looked up at him, expecting to see shock. Outrage. Grief.
Instead, Mr. Davis was just staring at the screen, his expression entirely unreadable. Blank.
"Is this the only copy?" he asked, his voice strangely calm.