ne – The Cla

the low murmur of students. The air smelled of old books, melting snow on wool coats, and the faint, citrusy scent of Professor Duval's cologne. He was a tall, impeccably d

on the board in a fl

ic: Ethics i

er once with a sound that cracked th

y sustainable model. The other will argue the con-that efficacy, not ethics, is the primar

cond row, didn't move. She merely adjusted the cuffs of her cream-coloured sweater, her expression one of serene readiness. Her notes

ame cut thr

you will be paired w

lling mid-sentence. A faint, inc

t to be ki

im of his perfect glasses, a sly,

mademoiselle. It has a far bet

better than any prepared debate. At the back of the room, Dami Adeyemi uncoiled himself from his

ce a low rumble meant only for her, though the ent

e. Her dark eyes, usually so calm, sparked with compet

white in the dim room. "Educa

– The Deb

entless, gentle tap of snow against the windowpanes. Sofia stood first, placing her hands neatly on

icient rulers, but a graveyard of powerful ones who lacked ethics. They built empires on bones, and those empires crumbled into dust, taking families, cultures, and entire

ng of appreciative nods. D

tand behind his desk; he leaned against it, crossing his

a shifting sand. One man's 'ethical' is another man's excuse for weakness. A leader's primary, perhaps only, responsibility is to deliver results-security, prosperity, order. If a kingdom is fed, its bo

rom the back row. So

e role of a Roman dictator," she shot bac

t justice while someone else gets their hands dirty building the walls

were pragmatic, edged with a cynical humour that disarmed the room. Hers were pr

pped after he dismantled her argument about civic

g at his lips as her eyes narrowed. "Just because you say something w

ommand obedience, but a leader who

er who follows an order he dislikes over the poet who writes a

become a purely personal, electrifying duel. The class was rive

rving with the delighted air of a theatre c

uppressing a smile. "A most... entertaining display.

en. "For what? We wer

val clarified, his eyes twinkling. "This was a performance,

gave a slight, theatrical

at six, m

fia's jaw tightened, a muscle feathering in her cheek. The class, r

e – Detenti

ched towards a vaulted, dark-wood ceiling, and the only light came from green-shaded lamps on long reading tables, casting pools of gold onto the p

t reading a word. Across from her, Dami was engaged in the meticulous, pointless task of sharpening a collection of pencils to

nce, his voice a low murm

uch when you're thinking

k up. "You're sp

take

ant, caught a detail on her hand, which was clenched at the edge of her book. A smudge of deep blue

s tone shifting from tea

overing the smudge instantl

and deductive, was working. "It looked like wing

ted, her voice tighter, a note o

lightly, his own detention-forgotten pencils lyin

aze, her own blazing.

ftly. "You're listening to the way I'm

stic and taut, long enough to feel like a different form of conversation altogether. In the lamplight, she could see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, the fai

the parquet floor. Madame Laurent, the head librarian, glided i

her voice like the rustling of dry pages, "you will spend the rest o

eceded into the labyrinth of shelves, Dami leaned i

good band. 'Dami and th

almost escaped her. She s

ays I

giving... expire

space, quickly muffling it with his hand as Sofia shot

spered, his eyes crin

," she shot back, throwin

e. On his lips, it was a challenge, a provocation. On hers, thrown back at him, it

fter Detention,

aving behind a deep, hushed silence and a blanket of pristine snow that glittered under the antique golden glow

tly around herself, the collar t

, don't you?" she muttered, her

his long wool coat, seeming utterly unaffected by the cold.

e impo

e said, glancing sideways

but he didn't miss the way the corner of her

ed with such effortless convict

e delu

with a snowflake for landing

urst from her, bright and clear, hanging in the frozen air between them like a little bell. It was a so

ference slipping for a single, unguarded heartbeat. His gaze was inten

he said, his voice quieter no

inated by the pattern of their intertwined footprints in the sn

ne – Sparks

bled roofs piled with snow. His, the more modern Aetos House, stood to the right, its windows dark. Nei

, pulling his hand

ou tomorrow

er chest, a feeble shield

quiet snow. He smirked, that familiar

o him now. But the wind, capricious and carrying, brought his final, murmured w

be

eat that had nothing to do with the cold. She didn't turn around. She couldn't. She just stood the

a with a long lens. A flash, unnoticed by either of them, had briefly illuminated the scene. The click of the shutter was swallowed by the storm's aftermath, but the digital image now glowing on the small screen was crystal clea