I never planned to need this from her, but Odessa's commands have a way of finding the empty spaces childhood left behind. Each time she uses that voice, the one that leaves no room for doubt, I feel the professional distance between us crack a little more. The oak desk and the ledgers we share only make the risk sharper, because one wrong move could cost the school its funding and me the only place I have ever felt wanted.

When she leads me toward the supply closet and orders me down, her hand lingers on the door as if she already knows I will not refuse. The humiliation she promises is the one thing that makes me feel real, even as exposure hangs over both our careers like a blade.