Chapter 27- Echoes After the Fire

It had been forty-two hours since her speech.

Seventeen since the board decided not to expel her.

And exactly one since Sonia realized she didn’t know what came next.

She stood in front of the mirror, bare-faced, blazer folded over one arm.

Silas’s name was still stitched inside the collar.

She used to think that name protected her.

Now, it reminded her what was worth fighting for.

---

By 8:32 AM, at the Chancellor Radcliffe’s Office

The waiting room was too quiet.

The receptionist gave Sonia a tight, diplomatic smile and gestured for her to sit. Across from her, a portrait of the original Daxton founder stared down—his oil-painted eyes judgmental and vaguely disapproving.

Sonia stared right back.

Radcliffe’s door opened at 8:49.

“Sonia Vale?” the Chancellor’s voice was composed. But the skin around her eyes was tired. Human.

“Come in.”

Sonia stood, palms dry for once. She walked in, head high.

Radcliffe’s office smelled like cinnamon and aged leather. A bowl of peppermints sat untouched on the desk. Beside it, a file—thick and creased—was marked with Sonia’s name in clean, black type.

“You’ve made quite the impact,” Radcliffe said, motioning to the seat across from her.

“I didn’t come here to make an impact,” Sonia replied, sitting. “I came to find my brother.”

Radcliffe nodded slowly, then picked up the file. “I believe you did both.”

There was a long silence. Then Radcliffe leaned forward, folded her hands.

“Tell me what you want.”

Sonia blinked. “What I want?”

“Yes. Not what you fear. Not what you’re bracing for. What you want, Sonia.”

It was the first time anyone at Daxton had asked her that without an agenda.

She thought about it.

Then: “I want accountability. I want a record of every student marked for legacy exception and special admission—including me. I want Claire Lexton investigated. And I want to know who authorized my brother’s selection for that program.”

Radcliffe nodded again, slowly. “The council will need time. But… we’re opening the archives. With student representation. Your name’s been suggested.”

“I’ll take it,” Sonia said, voice steady.

Radcliffe hesitated. “There’s something else.”

She reached into a drawer and handed Sonia a small envelope. No name. Just an old Daxton seal.

“We found this in the Gala chamber. Hidden in the piano bench.”

Sonia opened it.

Inside was a note, short, handwritten.

You’ve done enough for now, kid.

Time to live something that isn’t made of fire.

But if you ever forget who you are—

Look in the mirror.

You look like her.

Love,

S

She pressed the paper to her chest.

---

10:02 AM — Quad Courtyard

Cleo met her on the steps with two lattes and a grin that could slice diamonds.

“So? Did they make you Headmistress of Truth?”

“Not yet,” Sonia said, taking the coffee. “But I’m on the committee.”

“You’re officially the most dangerous woman in this zip code.”

“I thought you were?”

“I ceded the throne,” Cleo said, sweeping an arm with mock-royalty. “To a blazer-wearing icon who made a room full of billionaires squirm.”

They sat on the edge of the quad’s fountain. Water danced behind them.

Cleo sipped. “So what now?”

“I help fix the mess. I try not to punch anyone. I figure out what being Sonia Vale means now.”

Cleo nudged her knee. “And Eric?”

Sonia flushed. “He’s… not a question mark. Not anymore.”

Cleo beamed. “Then my work here is done.”

“You literally broke into my dorm, insulted my fashion choices, and threatened war.”

“Exactly. Best wingwoman alive.”

They clinked coffee cups.

---

2:14 PM — Fencing Room

Eric was already there, tossing practice sabers from hand to hand.

He saw her and smiled like it was instinct.

“You’re early,” he said.

“I’m trying this thing,” Sonia said, stepping in. “It’s called not running.”

He tossed her a saber.

“Still heavy,” she said, catching it.

“You’re just strong enough to carry it now.”

They faced each other. Sabers up. Breath even.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’m staying anyway.”

He lunged. She blocked.

They danced that strange, sharp ballet for a minute in silence, before he lowered his blade.

“You know,” he said, “people are already rewriting the story. Saying you planned the whole thing.”

“Let them.”

“They’ll call you dangerous.”

“Then they’re finally paying attention.”

He laughed, stepped closer, kissed her quick. “Just don’t forget to be happy, Vale.”

“I’ll work on it.”

That night, Sonia sat alone.

No Cleo. No Eric. Just the stars.

Her blazer was folded beside her. She wore a hoodie this time.

Not to hide.

But because she chose it.

She took out Silas’s notebook again. A pen in her hand. A new page.

She wrote:

I am still here.

Not as Silas. Not as the Cartel’s threat. Not as their broken system’s glitch.

I am here as Sonia Vale.

And I am not done yet.

She closed the book.

Looked up.

Daxton was still Daxton, gilded, ruthless, terrifying.

But tonight?

It felt just a little more hers.

And maybe that was the real revolution.

Not burning the place down.

But staying—louder, truer, and unafraid.