Maeve recognized the one doing the hitting.
Leah Ford—the so-called "genius" Elena had once raved about, the one with that ridiculous "battle hymn" nickname on campus.
Apparently Leah didn't just like attention. She liked power.
Leah Ford was tall and broad-shouldered, with thick black-framed glasses.
She seemed married to flannel shirts and jeans—both times Maeve had seen her, she'd been wearing basically the same thing.
The girl being hit was tiny and painfully thin, like she hadn't eaten a full meal in weeks.
Leah yanked her by the hair and barked, "Do you know what you did wrong?"
The girl's cheeks were swollen. Blood shone at the corner of her mouth.
Even with Leah's fist twisted in her hair, she still lifted her chin in defiance.
"You say I'm wrong. Then tell me what I did. Was it a crime to say one extra sentence to Jay?"
"Slap—slap—slap!"
A string of vicious blows landed on her face.
Leah, shaking with rage, snapped at the girls around her. "Teach her a lesson."
A dozen students surged in and started kicking and punching.
They shouted as they hit her:
"Everyone at Aethelburg University knows Jay is the guy Leah liked first!"
"You're a broke charity case and you think you can go after Jay?"
"Look at that ugly face—what makes you think you deserve him?"
Insults and blows overlapped until footsteps approached—teachers passing nearby.
Leah's group scattered instantly, disappearing before anyone could stop them.
Maeve wasn't a saint, and she didn't have the urge to play hero in every stranger's story.

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