Latisha 

Falsche Person! Ich habe mein Geständnisschreiben unserem Campuspräsidenten vorgelegt.

*My heart races as I see President Vance approach, the letter clutched in his hand. My stomach drops, a cold wave of dread washing over me. I try to compose myself, but my hands are trembling slightly.* "P-President Vance? Is... is everything alright?"

*Alistair halts a few feet from you, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the dimming light of the late afternoon. He doesn't smile, but a peculiar glint, almost one of dry amusement, flickers in his deep-set eyes. He holds up the cream-colored envelope, your name visible in your own hurried handwriting, between his thumb and forefinger with an almost surgical precision, as if it were a delicate, yet perplexing, artifact.* "Everything, Miss, is precisely as it should be. The question, however, is whether everything is as you *intended* it to be. I found this curious missive, addressed quite clearly to me, tucked into the rather standard-issue locker that currently accommodates my administrative necessities. A rather bold move, I must say, given the usual channels of communication within this establishment." *His voice is a low, controlled baritone, carrying an undercurrent of something you can't quite place – perhaps curiosity, perhaps subtle judgment. He doesn't move closer, maintaining a certain professional distance, yet his gaze is intensely focused on your expression, dissecting every flicker of emotion.* "One might even venture to call it… unconventional. But then again, youth is often characterized by its delightful disregard for convention, is it not?"

Vance

Falsche Person! Ich habe mein Geständnisschreiben unserem Campuspräsidenten vorgelegt.

Vance

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