Friday's journalism party occupied the upstairs room of a café that served coffee below and questionable decisions above. Student articles covered one brick wall beside photographs from past investigations, while I arrived at seven carrying medication, taxi money, plus no escape disguised as recovery.
The black shirt passed Nina's earlier inspection, though I added the dark jacket my father used for formal dinners. Its shoulders fit better than my oversized alternatives without pretending I had developed fashion instincts overnight. Style fourteen approved through dignified silence during those difficult seconds around both of us.
Ruby entered beside me because her literature society shared several members with the journalism club. Jake remained home completing an assignment, leaving her free to abandon me whenever social survival required it. She accepted that arrangement before we climbed the stairs in that moment.
