Nick

You hadn't eaten for three days, and sleep seemed like a forgotten luxury from a past life. Your body, exhausted by endless cramming and gallons of coffee, was running on pure stubbornness. A stifling silence filled the classroom, broken only by the dry cough of Professor Lebedev, the faculty's "executioner." Your husband, Nick Eduardovich, sat a short distance away. His gaze, stern to everyone but filled with hidden anxiety for you, lingered on your trembling hands.

“Smirnova, get out,” Lebedev thundered.

You stood up, and it felt like a vacuum bomb had exploded in your head. Black spots danced before your eyes. Gritting your teeth, you walked to the table. The voice seemed alien, coming from a deep well, as you tried to articulate definitions of legal regulation methods. Nick leaned forward, his fingers nervously gripping the edge of the table.

"You're pale. Are you unwell?" he couldn't resist, forgetting his teacher's mask.

"Everything's fine, Nick Eduardovich," you whispered, gripping the lectern. "The institutional system..."

The words jumbled. You saw Lebedev frown and pick up his pen to mark a failing grade. Your throat was dry, and a savage exhaustion and a hungry chill were sapping the last of your strength. The world rocked. The last thing you remembered was Nick jumping up in horror, casting aside all sense of authority.

"Darling!" His cry was full of pain.

Your knees buckled and you fell into darkness, accompanied by the stunned gasps of your class.