Page 27 of Hunted By Valentine

“Alright, let’s get started,” I say, as the last people file back into the classroom. I flip a coin in my hand. “Mrs. Simmons and Miss Dawn, you may begin. I’ll let fate decide who goes first.”

I toss the coin into the air, watching it spin. Miss Dawn calls out confidently, “Heads.”

Ruby’s voice barely rises above a whisper. “Tails,” she says, almost as if she’s unsure of herself.

The coin lands in my palm. “Tails,” I announce, though it’s a lie. I want Ruby to go first. I need to see her on the defensive, struggling to justify her stance.

Ruby rests her fingers lightly on the desk as she begins to speak. “The arsonist in this case wasn’t acting out of pure malice or selfishness. The crimes were a response to an environment that pushed her to the brink. Her actions, while destructive, were calculated. She believed the ends justified the means.”

There’s a vulnerability in her eyes, but despite that, her voice is steady.

Miss Dawn speaks next, her confidence a sharp contrast to Ruby’s careful words. “This is nothing more than an attempt to rationalize unforgivable actions. Trauma may explain behavior, but it doesn’t excuse it. At some point, personal responsibility must come into play.”

The class shifts, the energy tilting toward Miss Dawn’s side. But I’m not finished with Ruby yet.

“Mrs. Simmons,” I say, my voice low, cutting. “Miss Dawn raises an interesting point. Where does personal responsibility come into this? Can we truly justify actions that lead to destruction?”

I see the hesitation in Ruby’s face, and I seize it. “Or are we simply excusing bad behavior under the guise of understanding?”

She swallows, her throat tight, her voice trembling as she responds. “I’m not excusing it, but understanding why it happened is essential. If we cangrasp the motivations, we might be able to prevent similar events in the future.”

“Understanding isn’t enough,” Miss Dawn interjects, her voice firm. “We have to consider the victims, the lives that were ruined.”

I lean in, pushing Ruby further. “Imagine yourself in the arsonist’s place, Mrs. Simmons. Would you have made the same choices? Could you justify them?”

Ruby’s lips part, and for a moment, I see the battle inside her—the tension between what she knows she should say and what she feels. Her fingers tighten around the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. The room is completely still, all eyes on her, waiting.

“I…” she begins, her voice faltering for the briefest second. Then she straightens her spine, determination flashing in her green eyes. “I don’t know what I would do if I were in her position, facing the same pressures. But I’d like to believe I’d find a better way. A way that doesn’t destroy everything around me.”

I see it then—her conviction, her inner strength rising to the surface despite the cracks I’ve tried to expose. She’s standing her ground, not only against me but against the darker parts of herself that I’ve been working so hard to pull out.

The class shifts in their seats, sensing the tension but not fully understanding its depth. Miss Dawn looks momentarily taken aback, as if she didn’t expect Ruby to hold her own so well.

But I’m not satisfied. Not yet.

“‘A better way,’” I repeat, my voice soft but laced with challenge. “That’s an ideal, Mrs. Simmons. But when you’re pushed to the edge, when every option is stripped away, do you think you’d still be capable of making that idealistic choice?”

The silence in the room deepens. Ruby’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability I’ve been searching for, flickering just behind her carefully constructed walls. But then, she surprises me.

“Yes,” she says, her voice firmer than before. “I’d have to be. Because if I wasn’t, I’d lose everything that matters. And that’s not a price I’m willing to pay.”

Thefinality in her tone hangs in the air, leaving me no room to push further. The class murmurs their approval, some nodding in agreement. Miss Dawn, sensing the shift, lowers her gaze. Ruby has won this round.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

“Interesting,” I say, letting the tension dissipate. “We’ll end the debate here.”

Asking the women to take their seats, I retake my usual position at the front of the room and address the class.

“As we’ve uncovered,” I announce to the rest of the class, my tone clipped and professional once more, “the desire for control, when unmet, can manifest in disturbing ways. It can twist our moral compass, justify heinous acts, and lead us to dangerous conclusions.”

I catch Ruby shifting nervously in her seat. I’ve rattled her, gotten under her skin the same way she’s gotten under mine—and I’m far from finished.

“Have a good rest of your day,” I say, dismissing the class with a dark, uncharacteristic glee.

The students begin to gather their things, the class wrapping up, but I keep my eyes on Ruby. She avoids my gaze now, her earlier confidence starting to wane as the adrenaline fades. Her hands are shaking slightly as she packs her bag, though she tries to hide it.

I approach Miss Dawn, loudly complimenting her debate rhetoric and arguments, which she eats up with a blinding smile. “Thank you, Professor Grant.”

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