Alistair's POV
The morning light in the history department felt like a spotlight on a crime scene. I hadn't slept. After the hollow, desperate "sex" with Claire, I had sat in the guest room staring at the wall until the sun crept over the horizon.
I was at my desk, trying to make sense of a Year 12 essay on the Corn Laws, when the door slammed open.
Elara didn't look like a shy student today. She looked like a fury. Her hair was messy, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was clutching the empty folder like it was a weapon. She marched up to my desk and threw the cardboard down on my papers.
"Empty," she hissed, her voice vibrating with a terrifying, cold rage. "It's empty, Alistair. Not a single page."
I looked down at the void of the folder. "I don't understand. We found it together. It was in the box."
"Don't lie to me!" she shouted. She leaned over my desk, her face inches from mine. Gone was the girl who liked Hardy, here was the girl who had been raised on bitterness.
"You knew. You led me down there to distract me, didn't you? That... that thing in the dark. Was that the plan? Seduce the girl so she doesn't notice the files have been erased? Did Diana tell you to do it?"
The accusation felt like a physical blow. "Elara, no. I had no idea. I thought the records were intact—"
"You're a coward!" she spat. "You're her lapdog. You've been here for eight years, Alistair. You're part of the system. I thought you were different. I thought you were real. But you're just another grey man keeping the secrets of the Great Diana."
She turned and bolted out of the room before I could find the words to defend myself. I reached out, my hand hovering in the empty air she'd left behind. The heartburn was gone, replaced by a cold, hollow ache. She believed I was the villain. And looking at the empty folder, I couldn't blame her.
"Alistair? A moment, if you please."
I looked up. Diana Halloway was standing in the doorway. As if she had been listening. She looked impeccable in a navy suit, her expression one of mild, professional concern. But her eyes, they were as sharp as the metal edges of the archive shelves.
"My office," she said. It wasn't an invitation.
The Headmistress's office always smelled of lilies and old money. Diana sat behind her massive mahogany desk, her hands folded neatly. On the blotter in front of her sat a thick stack of yellowed papers.
The missing records.
"She's a very volatile girl, isn't she?" Diana said, her voice a calm, melodic hum. "The Vance girl. She has her mother's temperament. Unstable. Obsessive."
I stared at the papers. "You took them. You knew we were down there."
"I know everything that happens in my school, Alistair. I saw the two of you on the security feed. In the North Wing corridor. You looked... very close. Unusually close for a Head of Department and a sixth-former."
My heart stopped. The silence in the room became absolute.
"I have spent thirty years building the reputation of St. Jude's," Diana continued, her voice dropping to a low, lethal silk. "I will not have it tarnished by the daughter of a woman who couldn't handle the pressures of our world. And I certainly won't have it tarnished by a scandal involving one of my most 'responsible' teachers."
She pushed the stack of papers toward me.
"These records stay in this office. They contain information that would be... damaging. To the school. To the board. And to the memory of your predecessor, who I know you respected." She leaned forward. "I am prepared to forget what I saw on that camera. I am prepared to ensure your career continues to flourish. Perhaps a Deputy Headship next year?"
"In exchange for what?" I whispered.
"For your silence, Alistair. And for your cooperation. Miss Vance needs to be managed. She is a danger to herself and to the harmony of this institution. I want you to distance yourself completely. If she approaches you again, you will report her for harassment. If she mentions her mother, you will document her 'delusions.'"
She smiled, but her eyes remained frozen.
"You're a responsible man, Alistair. You have a wife. You have a mortgage. You have a future. Don't throw it all away for a girl who is only using you to settle an old score."
I looked at the records. I thought about Elara's face when she called me a coward. I thought about the kiss. And then I looked at Diana, the woman who held my life in her manicured hands.
"I understand," I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. Someone dead.
"I thought you might," Diana said, pulling the papers back toward her. "You may go, Alistair. Try to get some rest. You look quite unwell."
I walked out of the office, the hallway stretching out like an infinite, grey tunnel. I had my career. I had my safety. But as I stepped into the quad, the air felt like ash in my mouth. I had made my deal. I was officially a partner in the silence of St. Jude's.