Page 37 of Legacy Found

She doesn't have to say it. I hear it anyway. People like you are how good things fall apart.

Message received.

She sets us an independent assignment — a historical analysis comparing two treaties across a century — and the room goes quiet with the scratch of pens. I get into it; I actually like this kind of puzzle, the tracing of cause to consequence. But a few minutes in I feel Renzo going tense beside me.

He's trying. That's the thing about Renzo that people miss under all the jokes — he works. He's read the material, he's got his notes spread out, he's genuinely grinding at it. He's just stuck, circling the same paragraph, and I can see exactly where, because he's comparing the wrong two treaties and the whole analysis collapses if you start from there.

I lean over, barely a whisper. "It's the date. You're comparing the wrong treaty — you want the second Accord, not the first."

Renzo's eyes drop to his notes, and I watch it land. "Oh." Then, mournfully, "I'm an idiot."

"No," I whisper, grinning. "You just skipped a paragraph. Happens to everyone."

We both smile, and he bends back over his work, and for one second everything is fine.

Then I feel it — a presence, right beside us, silent. I didn't hear her cross the room. Nobody did.

"Miss Miller."

I look up. Professor Faris is standing over us, perfectly composed, hands folded.

"Were you instructed to complete Mr. Moretti's assignment?"

"No," I say.

"Were you instructed to supervise him?"

"No, Professor."

She nods once, like I've confirmed something she already knew. "Five Merit Marks deducted."

I blink. "What?"

She's already turning to Renzo. "And five Merit Marks deducted from Mr. Moretti."

"Professor—" Renzo sits up fast. "She wasn't cheating, she just pointed out I—"

"I didn't say she was cheating." Faris's voice never rises. That's the worst part. It stays cool and even, like she's discussing the weather. "I said you were dependent. You will not have Miss Miller beside you during examinations, or during the Trial, or in any moment that matters. Learning to fail is how you learn to stand alone." Her attention slides back to me, colder now. Personal. "And you ignored the instructions of this classroom. I was quite clear."

I feel heat crawl up the back of my neck. And here's the thing — it isn't embarrassment. I've been embarrassed plenty of times; I know that flavor. This is different. This is anger, slow and clean, rising right alongside it.

I make myself breathe. I raise my hand.

Faris regards it for a moment, then nods. "Yes?"

"I wasn't trying to undermine your class," I say, and I keep my voice steady and respectful, because I know instinctively that the second I get sharp, she wins. "I saw someone struggling. So I helped him. That's all it was."

"Exactly," she says, as if I've proven her point for her.

I wait, because clearly there's more.

"A leader does not solve everyone's problems for them," Faris says, addressing the whole room now, using me as the lesson. "A leader allows others to learn from their own failures. Weakness that is rescued only grows weaker. That is the mistake soft institutions make, and it is the mistake that ends them."

And I know I should let it go. I know it. I can feel the shape of the smart move, which is to nod and swallow it and keep my marks.

"Sometimes," I hear myself say, "a leader helps."

The room goes utterly silent.