But before I could take a single step down the flooded street, the relentless downpour on my head suddenly stopped.
A shadow fell over me. I looked up, surprised, to find an enormous black umbrella held firmly above my head. Beside me stood the imposing, aristocratic figure of Dean Jonathan Bradley, the head of the university's medical board. He was impeccably dressed in his academic gown, the purple velvet of his rich, dry season.
He stared at me, his silver eyebrows drawn together in an expression of utter shock and bewilderment.
“Dr. Hensley?” Dean Bradley’s deep, resonant voice cut through the roar of the storm. “Why on earth are you standing here in the freezing rain? The board has been frantically searching for you backstage for thirty minutes!”
The air backstage was completely different from the rest of the world. It was filled with the scent of polished leather, antique paper, and the expensive greenhouse flower arrangements that lined the corridors. It was the scent of untouchable, institutional power.
The moment Dean Bradley ushered me through the faculty's private entrance, the atmosphere shifted from panic to synchronized, hyper-focused action. Two administrative assistants practically materialized out of thin air, rushing toward me with thick, warm cotton towels. They gently draped them over my shivering shoulders, dabbing the rainwater from my face with careful reverence.
“We got her! Dr. Hensley is here!” One of the assistants called out from the hallway.
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