Ethan's exhibition loomed, a chance for Amber to redeem her disqualification, her triptych now a centerpiece in his gallery show. She worked in the art room, refining her panels, the colors vibrant under the fluorescent lights. Charles helped, his sketchbook open to dance-inspired figures, their lines fluid, a mirror of her courage. Their bond was a quiet strength, their hands brushing as they worked, a rhythm they didn't name.
Priya caught Amber after class, her voice urgent. "Ethan's planning something," she said, her eyes scanning the hall. "Found a file on his laptop—another stolen sketch, maybe Charles's, labeled for the exhibition. He wants to overshadow you."
Amber's anger flared, her hands clenching her brush. "He doesn't stop," she said, her voice trembling. "We need to check his portfolio."
They searched the art room's storage shelves, the air heavy with dust, the shelves creaking. Tucked in Ethan's folder was a traced sketch, its lines lifted from an obscure artist's work, not Charles's, but damning. Amber's resolve hardened—she could expose him, ruin his reputation, but the cost weighed heavy, her own ethics in question.
Marcus's shadow loomed, his rivalry with Charles escalating. He leaked a video of Charles's showcase dance online, mocking his "comeback" with cruel captions. Amber found Charles in the chorus room, his face pale, his phone glowing with the video's comments. "He's trying to break me," Charles said, his voice low, raw.
She took his hand, her voice firm. "He won't. Look at the comments—people love it. You're going viral for the right reasons."
Charles exhaled, a small smile breaking through. "You always know what to say," he said, his eyes warm.
The critique wall at the exhibition venue read: Pride precedes ruin. Amber gripped her triptych, its figure standing bold, and prepared for the fight ahead, Ethan's shadow and Marcus's threat closing in.