The seniors’ patience frayed slowly at first, like a rope rubbed thin against rough stone over many days of quiet erosion. What had once been a blazing, all-consuming fire between them and Mia now flickered with hesitation, leaving behind cold ashes of doubt and frustration.

They were used to Mia’s immediate obedience—her quick texts saying “coming now, seniors,” her soft footsteps echoing in the corridor mere minutes after their summons, her body already flushed and wet and ready when they pulled her into a room. They were used to the way she clung afterward, kissing their necks with feverish devotion, whispering “thank you, seniors” like it was a sacred prayer, curling into their arms as if she’d cease to exist without their heat, their strength, their possession.