Òyì nke e mepụtara

You leave the amphitheater with Valentina's blood still under your fingernails, the metallic taste of her breast lingering on your tongue. The hallway leads to a faculty restroom—unlocked, mercifully empty. You scrub your hands under scalding water, watching pink swirls circle the drain. The campus dining hall occupies the ground floor of Sterling Commons, a ten-minute walk across the main quad. When you push through the glass doors at eleven-twenty, the lunch rush hasn't yet started. The space