By lunchtime, the video was everywhere. Someone had filmed the fall, the confrontation, the look on Blake’s face when Nia stood her ground.

Teachers pretended not to notice. Students whispered. But the administration reacted fast.

Both Elliot and Nia were summoned to the principal’s office.

Headmaster Rowan, stiff-backed with steel-framed glasses, folded his hands. “There was a disruption this morning. Parents are concerned.”

“Blake tripped him,” Nia said immediately.

“That will be reviewed,” Rowan cut in. “But your behavior escalated the situation.”

Nia stared at him. “So I’m in trouble for helping?”

“It’s about optics,” he replied coolly.

Elliot clenched his jaw. “She helped because I fell.”

Rowan smiled thinly. “Elliot, you’ve been under pressure. We understand.”

Translation: stay quiet.

But Nia refused.

“If it had been Blake on the ground,” she said, “you’d have security everywhere.”

“Nia—”

“No,” she said firmly. “That’s unfair, and you know it.”

They were dismissed shortly after. The promise to “look into it” meant nothing.

That afternoon, Elliot found Nia sitting behind the gym, eating half a sandwich.

“Do you get in trouble a lot?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Only for telling the truth.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “No one ever—”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She wasn’t pitying him. She wasn’t performing. She was just… right.

“Why this school?” he asked.

“Scholarship,” she said. “My mom works nonstop. I want to be a physical therapist.”

“That’s… specific.”

“My uncle lost his leg overseas. I helped with his rehab growing up.”

Something clicked inside Elliot.

Before leaving, she added, “Tomorrow—don’t shrink. Make them look at you.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I’ll help,” she said. “If you want.”

Hope—real, unfamiliar—settled in his chest.

But backlash came quickly.

Three days later, wealthy parents filed complaints against Nia. Words like aggressive, disruptive, unsafe filled the report.

Her scholarship was under review.

“They’re taking everything,” she whispered when Elliot read the email.

That night, Elliot went to his father.

Richard Grayson barely looked up. “If this is school—”

“Dad. Please.”

Elliot told him everything.

When he finished, Richard was quiet.

“You want me to intervene?”

“I want you to be fair,” Elliot said.

The next morning, Northbridge Academy buzzed.

Richard Grayson arrived—with lawyers.

He went straight to the headmaster.