“I was protecting standards.”
“You were protecting your pride,” she said.
No one moved.
Even the dogs remained motionless, as though they understood the weight in her voice.
Carter tried to recover.
“If the records are classified, then any reasonable officer would question the claim.”
“A reasonable officer would verify before humiliating a student in front of his peers.”
His throat bobbed.
“I didn’t intend—”
“Yes,” she said. “You did.”
The words were soft.
Final.
A few students turned toward me.
Not laughing now.
Not smirking.
Some looked ashamed.
Others looked fascinated.
I hated all of it.
The attention.
The pity.
The sudden respect that arrived only after power walked through the door with fifty dogs and a folder full of proof.
My mother turned away from Carter and faced the students.
“Listen carefully,” she said.
The gym obeyed.
“Rank does not make someone honest. Confidence does not make someone correct. And laughter does not make cruelty harmless.”
Her gaze swept over the bleachers.
“Some of you laughed because an adult gave you permission. Remember how easy that was.”
No one looked comfortable after that.
Good.
Then she turned to me.
“Mason.”
I stood slowly.
Titan rose with me.
My mother’s voice softened. “Bring him.”
read more in next page
