Chapter 92 Madame Vesper

Malia's POV

The essay hits my desk with a slap—sharp, purposeful, final. 4/20.

The numbers are circled in a red ink so dark it appear like dried blood. Slashes sever paragraphs. Question marks swarm the margins like accusations. At the bottom, in the neat handwriting of Madame Vesper: Meet me afte...

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