The words settled over the table so calmly that for a second, I just stared at Randolph, trying to figure out how somebody could say something that insane with a straight face.
He’d watched me carefully, as though he’d already decided how this conversation would go.
“Maybe Henry never told you this,” he said, folding his hands together on the table, “but I knew him when he was a student. I taught at Ashford during that time.”
I didn’t move.
“Henry was very intelligent,” Randolph continued. “Exceptionally so. But he was also difficult. Withdrawn. Angry. There were concerns about emotional instability even then.”
Oh, fuck you.
The way he talked about Henry made something ugly turn over in my stomach. As though he had been some troubled case study instead of a seventeen-year-old kid surviving abuse and grief.
“And?” I asked flatly.
Randolph’s eyes stayed fixed on mine. “Over the years, evidence has surfaced suggesting the Ashford fire may not have been accidental.”
“How do you figure?”
Randolph glanced briefly toward Otto before looking back at me. “There were inconsistencies in the original investigation. Witness statements that changed. Staff concerns that were quietly buried after the tragedy.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “But you’re accusing somebody of setting a building on fire. That usually requires motive.”
That was the first time either of them hesitated. It was small, but I caught it.
Because there it was.
The thing they were avoiding.
Philip.
They knew therewasa motive, but saying his name out loud would mean exposing how much they actually knew about what happened at Ashford. And if they admitted that, then this stopped being a concerned conversation about my professor and became something much uglier.
These fuckers were probing to figure out what Henry told me.
Otto leaned forward slightly, voice gentler now. “Archie, Dean Randolph reached out because he’s worried about you. And after your mother mentioned you were seeing someone older…” He exhaled through his nose. “I got concerned, too. I just wanted to make sure you understood who you’re wrapped up with.”
A laugh almost escaped me. This man had spent years standing in our kitchen pretending to be safe while wearing somebody else’s name. Now he wanted to warn me about dangerous people?
The hypocrisy was so massive it made me feel dizzy for a second.
“It’s important to know who you’re wrapped up with,” I said quietly.
Otto’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
I held his gaze.
“Isn’t that right, William?”
The air around the table tightened so fast it felt like somebody had sealed the room shut.
Randolph stood and walked toward the counter while Otto stayed seated beside me, and for the first time since this conversation started, the softness in his face began to melt away.
The girl behind the register looked confused when Randolph spoke to her. A minute later, the music cut off. Students started gathering backpacks and coffee cups with annoyed mutterings as employees moved toward the doors.
My pulse started hammering harder.
“William?” Otto repeated calmly, like the name meant nothing to him.
