The ruler made a sound like a gunshot when it landed on the table.

I flinched. Not from fear—not exactly. From the anticipation. The air in the dining room felt thick, charged, the way it did before a thunderstorm. Prof. Jay had told me to arrive at four o'clock sharp, and I had. Told me to wear something revealing, and I had—a low-cut kurti the color of overripe pomegranates, no bra, a short black skirt underneath that hugged my hips and ended well above my knees. Hoop earrings. Dark kohl. Lips painted a shade called Bruised Petal, which seemed appropriate.