Chapter 6

The hallway smelled like stale coffee and judgment. I kept my eyes on the marble floor, counting the cracks between tiles—anything to avoid the whispers that followed me like a shadow.

"Look who's back."

"Can't believe they let her stay."

I gripped my bag strap tighter. Three weeks of suspension, three weeks of hiding in my room while the world decided I was a liar. And now I had to walk through it.

"Élise Moreau."

I froze. Monsieur Dubois stood outside his classroom, gold-rimmed glasses catching the autumn light. His voice was low, almost gentle—nothing like the sharp tone he used during lectures.

"Monsieur Dubois." My throat felt dry.

He glanced around, then nodded toward the empty classroom. "A moment, please."

I followed him inside. The room smelled of old paper and chalk dust. He closed the door, and the noise of the hallway vanished.

"Your exam," he said quietly. "I've reviewed the timestamp logs."

My heart lurched. "I didn't—"

"I know." He removed his glasses, polishing them slowly. "The answer key was submitted at 9:47 AM. But your exam file shows you started at 9:12 and didn't submit until 10:03. The key appeared in your account at 9:47, but you were still writing. It doesn't add up."

I stared at him. "You believe me?"

"I believe in evidence." He put his glasses back on. "But I need more proof. Think, Élise. Who had access to your notes before the exam?"

The answer hit me like a punch to the chest.

Camille. A week before the exam, she'd asked to borrow my notebook—the one with all my essay outlines. She'd returned it with that perfect smile.

"Camille," I whispered.

Dubois's expression didn't change. "That's a serious accusation."

"I know." My voice shook. "But I'm done staying quiet."

For the first time in three weeks, I felt something other than fear.

Hope.