Someone taps my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart sinks when I whip around to find Conner right behind me.

“Follow me, November,” he says, and I catch Ash watching me from across the room.

Conner leads me back to Blackwood’s office. I take a seat in the armchair in front of Blackwood’s desk while Conner settles into a chair near the wall, his folder and pen at the ready. The fireplace is ablaze with crackling and snapping wood—a familiarity that I would usually find comforting. But the coldness in Blackwood’s and Conner’s expressions and the heavy stillness suck any sense of comfort out of the room.

We all sit there silently for so long that I wonder if this horrible moment somehow got frozen in time.

“So…,” Blackwood finally says. “You left your room last night after curfew, November.”

My pulse throbs in my temples and my stomach twists uncomfortably. I’ve always been good in conversations with principals and deans. And I’ve definitely been in trouble enough to know my way around them. But that was back when the worst thing that could happen to me was suspension, not an eye-for-an-eye punishment system. “Yes, I did.”

Blackwood folds her hands on her desk. “And a student is dead.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

I hesitate. “You just told us in the assembly.”

“Hmmm,” she says, and Conner takes notes.

I immediately regret my answer. I feel like I’m not only sweating all over her office, but that every single thought I’m having is knowable by her. The only tactic I really have is to take Layla’s advice. “Hang on. You don’t think I had anything to do with what happened, do you?”

“Oh, don’t I?” Blackwood says, and gives me a warning look.

“You read people or analyze them—you both do.” I wave my hand to include Conner. “And I know I’m new. But if you’re any reader of character, you know without a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t do it.”

“Don’t you dare suppose what I know or what I don’t,” Blackwood says.

“Don’t you remember what happened with Matteo? I didn’t even want to hit him in the face. You practically had to threaten me to get me to retaliate. If I’m uncomfortable punching someone, killing a person is an impossibility.”

Blackwood purses her lips and sits back in her chair. “Actually, if you planned to attack Stefano, the very first thing you might do is create a situation meant to illustrate how nonaggressive you are.”

I try to adjust my position, but there’s no place to shift to and I just wind up looking more agitated than I did a few seconds before. “I wouldn’t even be able to think of that, much less—”

“Enough,” Blackwood says, and her word is like a slap, which at least tells me that my naïveté must be convincing enough to frustrate her. “What were you doing out of your room last night?”