The next morning, Tony, one of Bryce's fraternity brothers, knocked on Bryce's door a little after 8:30 am. The two jogged together three mornings a week, including that Wednesday.

"Hey, Larkin, let's go!"

He heard stirring inside the room. Tony grinned; usually he was the one to oversleep, and Bryce would always storm into his room and give him hell. It was time for a little payback.

Tony turned the door knob; the door was unlocked. He swung the door open. "Larkin, you S.O.B., get your lazy…" He stopped dead in his tracks.

Jill stood in the middle of the room, pulling her sweatshirt on over her green top. She froze as the door opened, wordlessly staring at Tony.

Bryce lay in bed, groggily stirring. "What the hell…?" he asked.

Shaking his head, Tony said, "Man, that just ain't right."

Finally realizing what was happening, Bryce sat up. He held out a cautionary hand as he said, "Tony, this isn't what it looks like."

Tony backed out of the room, clearly not believing Bryce. "That just ain't right." He closed the door behind him.

Jill finished pulling her sweatshirt on, a haunted look in her eyes. "Bryce, you have to go after him! You have to make him believe you!"

Bryce stared emptily into space. He knew there wasn't any stopping what would happen next.

Two days later, Bryce packed several books, the last of his belongings from his room, into a box and taped the top shut. He had arranged for an apartment off-campus when it became apparent that he was no longer welcome in the fraternity house.

Bryce had spent most of Wednesday desperately trying to convince his brothers that nothing had happened. Even though he knew he probably would sway nobody, he spoke with everyone who would listen. As predicted, none of them were buying his story.

He had known letting Jill spend the night was a bad idea. However, Jill was so distraught and Chuck couldn't be there, and he so badly wanted to help his friend. Plus, he finally found somebody who understood how much it hurt for Chuck to be gone. Bryce needed that, more than he would have cared to admit.

Now, the damage was done. Several of his brothers coldly informed him that they had told Chuck what Bryce had done, and exactly what they thought of him. At least they were speaking to him; the commons room tended to grow silent in a hurry whenever Bryce passed through.

The writing was on the wall, so on Thursday he informed the fraternity president that he would be moving out Friday night.

Friday came all too quickly. Bryce made a thorough check of the room for anything he missed; it looked clean. He checked again; it couldn't hurt to be careful, considering some of the CIA materials he had in his possession.

Jill was on her way to Los Angeles. Chuck still wasn't answering her calls, so she had no idea whether any of the messages from Chuck's friends had gotten through. Regardless, she was going to try to make things right. He hoped Chuck would listen. But, once again, there was nothing he could do. He had done enough already, he grimly thought.

Bryce picked up the last two boxes and the roll of tape, and took one last look around the room. He could picture the room, and the roommates, as they were two weeks ago. How much had changed, and how little had been part of the plan. But, he reminded himself, he had to protect his friend.

Balancing the boxes on one arm, he turned out the lights and shut the door, leaving his key in the lock. He walked down the stairs to the commons room, wondering if this was how Chuck felt when he left.

It wasn't, because there was no growing silence as he reached the bottom of the steps. There were no accusing stares. There was nobody in the commons room waiting to see him off.

He took a moment to look around, again picturing the room as it was two weeks ago. He had won the fraternity pool tournament that night. Remembering the ribbing and the laughing and the camaraderie, he gave a rueful grin at the thought.

Without looking back, he walked out of the fraternity house. This was all part of the sacrifice he made when he accepted the CIA recruitment track. He was going to need to shed Chuck, his fraternity brothers and all his other friends after school anyway, and graduation wasn't that far off. Things were just happening sooner than he wanted.

Still, he hated how much it hurt, and how much his emotion led to all the consequences that he couldn't control: Chuck getting kicked out of school, Jill spending the night, and becoming persona non grata at his fraternity. He had had the best of intentions, and still it all blew up on him.

It was a lesson well-learned. He needed to shut himself off from other people to prevent his emotions from getting in the way of the decisions he would need to make. It was all part of the sacrifice.

Putting the last two boxes in the trunk of his beat-up gold Mazda, he slammed the lid shut. He got into the car and turned the key, listening to the whine of the engine. The fan belt gave a high-pitched protest before sliding into place.

He looked over at the passenger seat, still pushed all the way back from the last time Chuck sat there. Despite the choices he had made, he desperately wished his friend were there.

But that wasn't the path he had chosen. He pulled out without looking and sped off down the paved road.