I slapped myself and looked at the bathroom mirror. “Stop grinning like an idiot,” I told my reflection. My cheeks twitched, but the sides of my lips still turned up. Fuck it. This wasn’t the appropriate face for the circumstance at hand.

The memory of my stupid fake scream lingered in my mind, threatening another bout of giggles. I honestly couldn’t remember an instance that I screamed for real, be it in fear or surprise.

Maybe when I was a kid?

Don’t think so.

The roller coaster ride I had with my cousins three years ago was the previous fake scream session I had no choice but to do. It would've been super weird if I sat in rigid silence while the coaster twisted and turned like pasta coiled around a fork.

“Ah shit.” I snorted, trying to stop my laughter as I remembered my dumb stuttering fake yelps riding the Spiral of Doom. "Be serious, you bitch," I hissed at the mirror.

I wanted to tell Deen to shut up about anything that could get us quarantined and examined. But that wouldn’t suit me. Instead, I texted her to ask if we should say anything 'about the weird stuff that happened.' This way, she was in charge and would feel she had to take control.

I didn’t specify anything; she should know what I was talking about. Kelsey’s grotesque contortions and screaming that she wanted to die a human… ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was Kelsey turning into an Adumbrae?

Couldn’t say that beyond a reasonable doubt, but better safe than sorry.

I didn't want a record of being investigated for associating with an Adumbrae, much less a record for possibly aiding and abetting or even hiding the existence of one. Law school was already difficult; there was no need to make my life harder. Deen surely shared my sentiments.

She texted back, “You’re right. We shouldn’t mention anything about it.”

That was that. Good thing, too. She wasn’t being a stubborn rule stickler, dragging us through getting tested. Evidently, she also valued a clean record.

Class was about to start in five minutes. I didn’t go with Deen straight to it from the cafeteria because I couldn’t control my face just yet. I played it off as if I had to wash my face to recover from the shock. It was true, in a way—I was shocked I had to prepare a face as a witness to a suicide. Not something I thought would ever happen.

I splashed my face with water and inhaled deeply. Blank your thoughts, blank your thoughts. “There we go.” My smile fell. “Time to—Oh, I forgot my glasses.”

Around seventy percent or more of Cresthorne students wore glasses or contacts, so wearing one formed some subliminal connection with them. Glasses also make a person look smarter, more dependable, and more upright. Sounds cliche, I know, but I’ve read about defense attorneys making their clients wear glasses to pump up their uprightness meter for the jury.

I arrived at my class with a minute to spare. Professor Gallagher wasn’t in yet. Judging by everyone huddling around Deen and talking in hushed tones, they knew what had happened.

“Erind, we heard from Amber,” Adrian said as I sat down. “Are you okay?”

I raised a brow at Deen two rows down.

She subtly shook her head.

“I’m fine,” I said, playing the part of a delicate girl. “Um, I just washed my face. It was really… shocking. I hope they find her...” I nearly added 'body,' but that'd be assuming she was dead. She probably was, let's be real, but I didn't want to look like an asshole.

“We were talking about what could've caused it,” Adrian said. “Stress probably got to her. I heard someone four years ago attempted to jump off the third floor of the library during hell week.”

Everyone else chimed in with their theories about Kelsey's decision to throw herself into the ocean.

The door opened with a bang, shutting everyone up.

“Good morning, class,” Professor Gallagher said.

Everyone went back to their seats. The professor was one of those your-spot-in-Cresthorne-is-a-privilege teachers and didn't hesitate to throw people out of class if he deemed them undeserving of their spot. He only carried the class list and nothing else.

Running his finger down the names of students, he called, “Mr. Narvaez.”

We didn’t have any attendance policy. Though since we were first-years, it was a commonly held belief yet to be shattered that attending classes was helpful. Also, Professor Gallagher had warned that those absent would have no spot in the next session.

“Sir!” Carlos barely reached his seat before standing up again.

“We began our introduction to International Law last week, but let’s run through it again before continuing our overview of the course,” Professor Gallagher said. “What is international law?”

“It’s the collection of legal rules, norms, and standards generally accepted as binding sovereign states.”

“Sovereign states only?”

“Uh, no, sir! It also binds internationally recognized legal entities operating on an international level.”

“Text-book answer, Mr. Narvaez. You’ll pass the bar with that,” Professor Gallagher said with a sneer. Carlos hesitantly looked around, uncertain if he was being complimented or not. He wasn't. “Now, let’s dissect your answer, Mr. Narvaez. Generally accepted, you say. Who decides to accept that set of rules?”

“Well, the states themselves, sir.”

“Any specific person?”

“The leaders of—”

“This will then prompt the question, what if the current leaders won’t accept the acts of their predecessors? A question for another time. Moving on. That covers treaties and agreements with international organizations. How about international customs? Important aspects of international law are based on custom.”

Carlos answered, “Consistent practice by the states coupled with the belief that such action was a legal obligation or opinio juris.”

Professor Gallagher chuckled. “Are you telling us that part of international law is based on simply belief?”

Carlos looked hesitant. “Yes, Sir?”

“Are you asking me a question?” Professor Gallagher let out a hollow laugh.

“Uh, no, sir. I was—"

“It is true. Opinio juris sive necessitates—an opinion of law or necessity. Further along this semester, we will discuss how the hell one can show a state’s action was motivated by the belief that it was legally obligated to do so. Sounds insane… because it is. You may sit down, Mr. Narvaez. And next time, be confident with your answers.” The professor scanned the class list. “Moving on. Mr. Hartwell?”

I stood up. It was my first time getting called in this class. “It’s miss, sir.”

“I apologize. I assumed Erind was a male name.”

“I think it’s an Albanian male name?”

“Well then, Ms. Hartwell,” Professor Gallagher said, “Mr. Narvaez mentioned international law also bound international entities or organizations. Examples, please.”

“The International Financial Cooperative, the International Commerce Organization, the United Nations Security Council,” I said, “including affiliate organizations combatting Adumbrae like the Free Will Initiative.” I specifically mentioned the Initiative because, from my research, I learned that Professor Gallagher once worked as an advisor for them.

He nodded. “We will discuss in a future session how these organizations are bound by international law to functions outside what is explicitly written on their respective charters. The UNSC Charter, for example, does not mention a legal obligation to quarantine and blockade a member state with an uncontrolled Adumbrae seeding rate. Yet, there is no question that it is obligated to do so. The ongoing blockade of Madagascar is a prime example.

“Cresthorne tailored our curriculum with the assumption that all of you are pursuing a career related, one way or another, to humanity’s collective effort against the Adumbrae threat. We are, after all, mostly funded by the Bureau of Interdimensional Defense. However, Ms. Hartwell, you didn't mention the Corebring Central Hive among the examples you gave. We have a substantial section of the syllabus on the Hive. It saddens me that you forgot about the main example.”

Professor Gallagher raised the class list again to find the next person for recitation.

Gotcha, Professor, I thought with a mental smirk. “But, sir,” I piped up, surprising everyone.

Deen gave me an incredulous stare as if I was insane for speaking out of turn in this class.

I continued, unfazed, “You asked for examples of the international organizations referred to by Mr. Narvaez that are bound by international law.”

“Pardon, Ms. Hartwell?” Professor Gallagher raised a brow.

“Sir, the Corebring Hive is not bound by international law.”

He scratched his thick beard for a few silent seconds. Then walked to his table, noisily pulled out his chair, and sat down. “Remain standing, Ms. Hartwell. Mr. Peterson, tell Ms. Hartwell why she is wrong.”

“Sir,” Nielson Peterson said, promptly standing up. “The Corebring Hive is bound by international law in the same way as all other international organizations. They are composed of states or interact with states; the states are bound by international law. States fund the Corebring Hive. By transitivity, the Hive is bound by international law.”

Professor Gallagher kept Nielson and me standing and continued calling people to argue why I was wrong. This was going all according to my plan to upgrade my face this semester.

Based on my observations from my first semester, there were plenty of ways to classify professors at Cresthorne. Those intently observing if students listened in class, and those who didn’t even care if no one showed up. Those who droned on and on, going off tangent all the time and couldn’t finish half the syllabus for the semester, and those who stuck to the syllabus.

And, of course, professors who were more on the academic side, contrasted by those who teach with the ready disclaimer that whatever we learned was not how it worked in the 'real world.’ Professor Gallagher was a this-is-different-in-practice type of guy. At least, I hoped my impression of him was correct.

Even Deen was called to recite.

She glanced at me before saying, “Patterson vs. Washington State, humanity above all principle. Corebrings are not under the jurisdiction of any international courts or state but are bound by the legal obligation founded on the moral obligation of all people to ensure the survival of humanity against the Adumbrae threat. Thus, they are obligated to follow international laws for the good of humanity.”

I nearly rolled my eyes. Moral obligation?

The Corebrings practically have the moral high ground in any scenario. The doctrine in that case was pure lip service.

More people were called; eventually, half the class was standing. They must be annoyed at me for starting this argument.

At last, Professor Gallagher said, “What do you have to say, Ms. Hartwell?”

I had been standing for twenty minutes, staring at the board and playing a tune inside my head. I was prepared. “Sir, no one can legally bind superhumans who can grind cities to dust.”

Deen inhaled sharply at my audacious answer. Silence followed.

Professor Gallagher stared at me, and I stared back, grinning sheepishly.

His laughter boomed out, startling everyone. “Now, now, Ms. Hartwell. You can’t answer that on your bar exams.” He raised his hand, “Has anyone here met a Corebring face to face? A full-fledged Corebring, not the Initiates. A Melded Corebring?”

No one had.

“Some of you will eventually graduate, and a fewer number will land a career in the field of ID. Only one or two of you, if any at all, will meet a Melded Corebring. An important tip: do not tell them they have the legal or moral obligation to follow the U.N. or anything idiotic like that.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. Mission accomplished. The gamble paid off.

With this, I have asserted a place in the class hierarchy. But no one would feel threatened because of the nerdy subdued persona I cultivated during the first semester, coupled with my general friendliness. Bonus points, Professor Gallagher has a good impression of me now.

When the class ended, Deen ran to me. “I'm still right that you shouldn’t answer that on the bar exams.”

I laughed. “I know, I know.”

“Anyway, we’re going to have lunch at Casa Diaz. It’s the new Mexican bistro at Sanders.”

I checked my watch. I didn’t have anything after this, but it was a subtle assertion of dominance.

Deen said, “Oh, come on. You didn’t come with us for lunch last time. You can ride with me. We need some relaxation after that whole… thing, you know?”

“Okay then,” I said. “I’ll get my bike from the rack. Can I put it in your backseat or your trunk? It’s a folding bike.”

"Sure, plenty of room in my car." Deen leaned close to me. "I'm relieved nothing has happened yet because of… it. They just took our statements," she said in a whisper.

"Let's hope it stays that way," I replied in an even quieter tone.

When we went out of the classroom, a man in white clothes stopped us. So much for being in the clear.

On his chest was a badge depicting an eagle with six wings, the seal of Melchor Institute of Eloyce Field Studies. He noticed our concerned faces and explained that we should follow him because they needed to perform a routine check-up, witnessing the suicide and all.

"Nothing to be worried about," he assured us.

And that was a cause for concern!

Cresthorne has its clinic, just the usual for stomach aches or migraine, mundane concerns. They could've given us pills or something for our nerves. Why did we need to go to Melchor? Routine check-up, my ass. We were going to get tested, weren't we?

I shot a look at Deen. She tried to keep a calm face, but her anxious eyes gave her away.

She mouthed, "I have no idea."

World. This is annoying.

Stop bothering me.