"It's my fault." Despair laces Darcy's every word.
"Oh, no, Ms. Bozeman," Dr. Ellison says. "Fiascoes of this magnitude do not come in single-serving sizes. It took all three of you to put Mr. Patel in grave danger."
You knew she was angry. You didn't realize how furious she was. You shrink back from her.
"What about the fellowship?" Darcy trails off.
"I would not deny you that opportunity." Dr. Ellison takes off her spectacles and cleans them with an electric blue pocket square that reminds you of the painter's tape. "But Dr. Whipple may hold this against you."
Darcy's despair takes on a frantic tinge. "But I need—I can't—" She stares at her hands, which tremble.
Dr. Ellison puts her spectacles on again. "Do not be late tomorrow. Dr. Whipple does not abide tardiness." She stands. "Try your best not to kill any of my students during the intervening hours." She leaves without a glance back at either of you.
"Dr. Whipple's going to blame me," Darcy mumbles. "It was my scheme."
"Dr. Ellison wasn't too happy with either of us," you say.
Darcy shakes her head, refusing to be comforted. "I gotta get some sleep."
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