Ginny tried to brush off the lingering unease from last night's dinner as she walked across campus, her bag slung over her shoulder, fingers absently fidgeting with the strap.
Lyle had already slipped into his usual string of early meetings, his schedule filling like clockwork, while Cass seemed to have retreated into himself.
Cass' responses were clipped, his eyes distant—already somewhere else, even as he walked beside her. Sometimes she worried about Cass, that the weight he carried might be settling too deeply.
But Lyle would just offer that calm, reassuring look of his, telling her not to overthink it.
That Cass deals with things in his own way.
Lyle always made things sound so simple, and she wanted to believe him. But last night... the screams, the way they'd all sat there, frozen in place—it didn't feel like something any of them could simply shake off.
By the time Ginny reached her classroom, she'd managed to push the unease down, focusing on her upcoming presentation.
She set up her project, her hands slightly clammy, and watched her slides blink to life on the screen. Neat and precise, exactly as she'd planned. Weeks of late nights and coding sessions were behind each line, each function meticulously crafted.
Taking a steadying breath, she turned to face the class, her voice clear despite the tightness in her chest.
"Today, I'll be talking about a project I've been working on called the Crime Rate Prediction System. The idea is simple: it uses past crime data to predict where and when crime might happen in the future. By analyzing trends, law enforcement can better decide where to focus their efforts, helping to prevent crime before it happens."
The room was silent. A few faces were attentive, others glazed over in that familiar way students drift in and out of attention. Her professor sat in the front row, his calm, piercing gaze giving nothing away.
She pressed on, explaining the system's components—data collection, trend analysis, machine learning algorithms. Each element she'd carefully assembled to work in seamless harmony.
But as she opened the floor for questions, the atmosphere shifted.
A student near the back raised his hand, his voice skeptical. "How accurate is this model? Crime's affected by a lot of variables. How can you predict something so... random?"
She nodded, prepared for this question. "Good point. Crime is affected by many factors, some harder to measure than others. But by examining patterns and outside data, we can model general trends. It's not about predicting exact incidents, but offering insights on where to focus efforts."
Another hand went up—a girl near the front, her brow furrowed. "What about privacy concerns? Using all that data could lead to profiling, couldn't it?"
"Yes, absolutely," Ginny replied, feeling the tension that question brought into the room. "Privacy is a huge consideration. This system uses anonymized, aggregated data, focusing on trends, not individuals."
She glanced at her professor, who watched her with an unwavering stare, his expression unreadable. Another question came, pressing her on biases in data, how algorithms could reinforce prejudices. She answered quickly, each response practiced and polished, even as a strange tightness grew in her chest.
Finally, the questions died down, and her professor stood, looking at her thoughtfully.
"Your project is clearly well-researched, Ginny," he said, and she felt a small flutter of relief. But then his head tilted, his eyes narrowing. "But I have one last question. Why did you choose this project?"
She froze, caught off-guard. Her mind blanked.
Why had she chosen this?
"I… just thought it was… useful. Important, maybe."
"You have months to refine this project." His tone was calm but unmistakably pointed. "But a project without purpose, without intention, Ginny, is just code. It's… a bit disappointing. Especially for someone with your abilities."
The word "disappointing" struck her like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples sending unease in every direction. She could feel her classmates' eyes on her, some sympathetic, others merely curious, waiting to see how she'd respond.
But she had no answer. Not one that felt honest.
So she nodded, swallowing the urge to say something—anything—to fill the silence.
"Understood, Professor."
"Good." He gave her a small nod of approval, though his expression stayed distant, analytical. "You're dismissed."
She gathered her things, her hands a little shaky, and slipped out of the classroom. The hall outside bustled with students weaving in and out of classrooms, laughter and conversation filling the air. But Ginny felt detached from it all, as though she were watching everything through glass, removed from the energy around her.
"Ginny!" Lyle's voice cut through the haze. He weaved through the crowd with that calm, steady confidence, his expression lighting up as he reached her. "How'd the presentation go?"
She shrugged, forcing a small smile. "It went... okay. Lots of questions."
The two of them moved down the hall, slipping past groups of students as they walked toward Cass's building.
"Your professor grilled you?"
"A little." She exhaled, crossing her arms. "He asked why I chose the project. I didn't have an answer."
Lyle nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe you'll figure it out. Sometimes the answer's there—you just don't see it right away."
They were only a few steps away from Cass's classroom when they heard it—a loud, angry shout echoing down the hall.
Ginny froze, the hair on the back of her neck rising, while Lyle's posture changed instantly, his usual calm vanishing as he took off down the hall, his strides quick and purposeful.
"Lyle!"
She called out, but he didn't stop, his gaze fixed straight ahead, something fierce and protective flashing in his eyes.
Students gathered around the commotion, wide-eyed, whispering as Lyle pushed through, his presence commanding, his tone sharp as he called out.
"Alright, everyone, back up! Give them space!" His voice was steady but firm, a calm authority that only the student council president could pull off. "What's going on here?"
Someone mumbled about a fight, but the details were lost in the chaotic rush of voices, students stumbling back as Lyle broke through. Ginny followed, her heart pounding faster with each raised voice, the unease inside her swelling.
As they finally pushed through the crowd, Ginny's eyes widened at the sight before her.
Cass lay sprawled on the floor, bloodied and still, arms limp by his sides, his usually bright eyes closed. A larger student was on top of him, fist raised, his face twisted with an anger that was almost inhuman.
Lyle's face went pale. "Hey! Get off my brother—now!"
But the boy didn't respond, his focus locked on Cass's motionless form.
His fist rose again, knuckles bruised and bloody, and only then did Ginny notice the streaks of blood across Cass's cheek, dark and shocking against his pale skin.
Panic flared in her chest, and without thinking, she lunged forward.
"Stop! He's—he's already out! Just stop!"