He came out of the heavy double doors of the building four minutes later.
He didn't rush, but he didn't dawdle either. He simply navigated the steps and sat down beside me. He didn't crowd me; he left that customary, respectful pocket of air between us, but his presence was so heavy it felt like a physical shield against the wind.
For the first time since Sienna had cornered me, the frantic, jagged ice in my chest began to thaw.
"Tell me exactly what she said," Zane commanded. His voice was low, dropping into that tactical frequency that made everything feel like a solvable problem. "Word for word."
"She said it's more than the Southvale story. That Bianca found something about my mom." I looked out at the empty parking lot, my throat tight. "That was the end of the script. Sienna couldn't... or wouldn't give me the rest."
"Did she look like she wanted to?"
I thought about Sienna's face; the way her eyes had darted away, the exhaustion etched into her features. "Yes. She looked like she was choking on it."
Zane was silent for a long beat, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Okay. Strip away the fear for a second. What is there to know about your mother? Not the 'scary' stuff... just the facts of her life."
I took a breath. "She's a single parent. Has been since I was eight. My dad didn't disappear into thin air; he just... opted out. No drama, no child support, just gone. She's worked two jobs ever since, sometimes three. She's currently doing double shifts to cover the 'extras' the scholarship doesn't reach." I paused, my face heating up. "Last year, things got lean. She had a credit card debt, nothing massive, nothing illegal but one of her jobs cut her hours and the interest caught up. She's been chipping away at it ever since."
Zane didn't flinch. He didn't offer that annoying, pitying look people give when they hear the word debt.
"It's not shameful," I added, my voice defensive. "It's just how we survive."
"I know it's not shameful," he said, his tone flat and absolute.
"But Bianca won't present it that way. She'll take a hard-working woman's struggle, strip the context, and frame it as evidence of 'instability.' She'll imply my mom isn't a fit guardian, or that our financial 'fragility' makes me a risk to the school's image. She'll turn 'we work hard' into 'we don't belong here.'"
Zane turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Is any of that true, Mila? Do you not belong here?"
"No," I said, the word coming out stronger than I expected.
"Then it doesn't hold up. A parent working themselves to the bone to provide a future isn't a conduct violation. Credit card debt isn't a scholarship disqualifier. On paper, she has nothing."
"On paper isn't how Bianca wins."
"On paper is the only thing Osei respects," Zane countered. "And I'm meeting him tomorrow morning. I'm bringing the CCTV, Priya's statement, and the full timeline of the harassment. I'm putting the truth on his desk before Bianca can even get her heels through the door." He paused, a shadow of something grim crossing his face. "He's handled her 'type' before. Two years ago, a kid in Year Ten was systematically hunted by a group of girls until he broke. The school buried it, and Osei was livid about the lack of accountability. He's been waiting for a chance to do it right."
I stared at him, truly seeing him. "How do you know all this? You're like a walking archive of Crestwood's dirty laundry."
"I've been here four years," he said simply. "I pay attention to the things people think nobody notices. It's useful."
We sat in a comfortable, heavy silence as the sun began to dip, painting the stone pillars in shades of bruised purple and gold. The school felt different now, less like a fortress I was trying to scale and more like a board we were finally learning to play.
"Can I ask you something?" I whispered.
"Sure, go ahead."
"When this is over... when the investigation ends and Bianca is just another girl in a blazer and the smoke clears... what happens to us?"
He went still. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... right now, we're a team because we have a common enemy. There's a mission. A reason for you to be sitting on these steps." I looked at my shoes. "When the reason goes away, do you go back to the back of the History room?"
"You think I'm only here because of the drama?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
He looked at me for a long time, the silence stretching between us until it hummed. "I sat next to you in History before the first rumor even started, Mila. I moved across that room because I wanted to be near the girl who didn't look at me like a trophy. Not because of Bianca." He held my gaze, his expression more open than I'd ever seen it. "Does that answer the question?"
My heart did a slow, dizzying roll. "Yeah," I breathed. "It does."
He stood up, the movement fluid and decisive. "Go home. Eat. Try to sleep. You've got a war to win tomorrow."
"You're remarkably bossy for a guy who barely averages ten words a day."
"I only speak when the words actually matter."
He turned and headed toward the side of the building, leaving me with the lingering scent of woodsmoke and rain. I watched him go, feeling a strange, terrifying spark of hope.
I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Ace: Is Sienna okay?
Ace: Why?
Me: She looked like she was breaking when she told me about my mom. Like she wanted out.
A long pause. The three dots danced, disappeared, then came back.
Ace: I'll find out. I can get close enough to check the temperature.
Me: Don't push her. Just... let her know there's a door if she wants to walk through it.
Ace: You're trying to flip her?
I thought about the hollow look in Sienna's eyes; the way she seemed to be fading into Bianca's shadow until there was nothing left of her.
Me: I don't think I have to flip her. I think she's already turning herself.