The auditorium is too quiet for what's happening. Every name called by the tally reader is another crack in something you spent years building. You've held this position with a clean record, a spotless reputation, and a smile that never slips — until now. Across the room, Reva stands against the back wall, arms loosely crossed, looking almost bored. She didn't campaign. She barely showed up to class. And somehow, the votes keep landing in her favor. Somewhere in this room is whoever started the rumor — that your perfect record was a performance, not a truth. You can't prove it. Neither can anyone else. But doubt doesn't need proof. It just needs an audience.