Gemotions

The accusations were like acid, eating away at her carefully constructed facade of composure. She sat ramrod straight, her back rigid against the hard chair in the dean’s office. The air smelled of stale coffee and unspoken accusations. The dean, a woman with a perpetually sympathetic expression, was droning on about academic integrity.

She wanted to laugh. *Integrity*? This entire university system was a joke, a breeding ground for mediocrity. She’d always known it, and now, it was confirming her worst fears. She folded her arms across her chest, a physical barrier against the onslaught of their disapproval.

“I assure you, Dean Thompson,” she said, her voice smooth but edged with steel, “there has been a misunderstanding.” She fixed the dean with a steady gaze, daring her to disagree. She couldn't believe they were actually accusing her of wrongdoing. It was almost laughable.

Her left eyebrow arched imperceptibly. "I can only assume the other student… lacked originality."