The next afternoon, Evelyn sat alone in her office on the third floor of Hawthorne Hall, door locked, blinds half-drawn against the gray November light. She had spent the morning inventing reasons to cancel: a fabricated department meeting, a sudden migraine, anything. Each email remained in drafts. At 1:57 p.m. she was still told herself she would send the girl away the moment she appeared.
At 2:03 there was a single knock, soft but certain.
Lila entered without waiting for an answer. She wore a thin white cotton blouse, almost translucent, sleeves rolled to the elbow. No bra. The dark circles of her n*****s pressed against the fabric looked deliberate, obscene. A short black pleated skirt, white knee socks, the same scuffed combat boots. Her hair was damp from the drizzle outside; tiny
