Fault Lines

The presentation room was smaller than expected — a seminar space tucked into the east wing of the university’s oldest building, all creaking wood and heavy velvet curtains. It felt like a courtroom more than a classroom.

Aiden adjusted the projector cord while Eliza ran through their slides one last time, standing rigid beside the podium. Her jaw was tight. He could see it even from across the room.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied, without looking up. Her voice was crisp, clipped. Too crisp.

Aiden frowned. “You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Before he could press her, the door opened.

Three professors filed in, including Dean Whitmore, flanked by two academic advisors — Dr. Patel, cold as ice, and Dr. Rowan, who never smiled unless someone failed.This was just a preview presentation. A checkpoint. But it felt like a firing squad.

Aiden took his place beside Eliza. They launched into the pitch.

The first few slides landed well. Eliza was sharp, articulate. Aiden followed with energy and clarity, playing off her facts with just enough charm to keep it engaging. They were balanced. Seamless.

Until slide twelve.

Eliza clicked ahead — and froze.

The slide was blank.

Aiden blinked. “Wait—what happened to the data overlay?”

She clicked again. Nothing. The entire visual framework they’d built — gone.

Whispers flickered from the back row.

“Just explain it,” Aiden muttered under his breath.

Eliza didn’t move.

“Eliza,” he said, firmer this time.

She inhaled sharply, then began speaking — rattling off the analysis from memory. But her pace was too fast. Her voice was tight. The rhythm cracked.Aiden stepped forward.

“She means,” he said smoothly, “that our survey pool revealed a key divide in perception. The visual was meant to show the comparison, but let’s paint it in words…”

He picked up the slack, weaving their points back into a strong finish. It wasn’t perfect — not the clean win they were used to — but it was salvageable.

When they finished, there was silence. Then a nod from Dean Whitmore.

“Not bad,” he said. “Though I’d recommend double-checking tech before your final presentation. Sloppiness isn't tolerated in the Challenge.”

They were dismissed moments later.

The second the door closed, Eliza spun on him.

“You weren’t supposed to speak for me,” she snapped.

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t supposed to let you drown either.”

“I had it under control—”

“No, you didn’t,” he shot back. “And it’s fine. You’re allowed to mess up, Wren. You’re not a robot.”

Eliza looked stunned, like he’d slapped her with the truth she didn’t want to hear.

She turned away, arms folded tight. “You don’t understand what’s at stake for me.”

“Then explain it,” Aiden said. “Because it’s starting to feel like I’m not just competing with you — I’m fighting against your pride.”She didn’t answer.

Just stared out the old, cracked window — rain streaking down the glass again.

Aiden sighed, stepping closer.

“We’re better together, Eliza,” he said, voice lower now. “But not if you keep shutting me out every time something slips.”

This time, she didn’t argue.

And that silence?

It felt more dangerous than anything she could’ve said.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***