The cursor blinked in quiet defiance.
Elian reread his resignation letter, made a single change to the subject line—"Transition Notice: Dr. Rho"—then hit send.
Effective immediately, I resign from my post under contract 98-Rho-Est. I thank the Department of Computational Theory for its resources, space, and tolerance for chronic caffeine dependency.
All institutional hardware has been restored. Files of relevance returned. Projects concluded.
Future inquiries should be directed elsewhere. You'll know where to find us.
P.S. The kettle was a noble warrior. Please recycle with honors.
Jenna was already sipping Neurobrew, half-reading over his shoulder. "Subtle. I went with the nuclear option."
She clicked send on hers.
To Administration & Whomever Else Is About To Panic:
I resign from my position, effective immediately. Reasons include: inadequate lab support, slow institutional response, and the spontaneous combustion of all goodwill following my last three grant applications.
Attached: my compliance checklist, encrypted file logs, and one complimentary exit survey (spoiler: you won't like it).
P.S. The rats in the storage room want their pension.
Muse, ever vigilant, chimed on the console:
[Institutional Severance Confirmed]
[Exit Type: Dual, Voluntary]
[Archival Note: "Departure – Rho/Li"]
[Log Integrity: Verified]
Elian stood, brushing his coat off like he was shedding the last eight years. "Think they'll notice before Friday?"
"They'll notice," Jenna said, already grabbing her bag. "I just don't think they'll believe it at first."
(POV: Dean Kravitz)
Dean Victor Kravitz stared at his screen, rereading Elian's resignation.
Twice. Then a third time, just to make sure.
Then Jenna's came through.
His face remained blank, but the air in his office felt thinner.
He rose, crossing to the window, gaze settling on the wing of the physics building where Elian Rho had quietly rewritten scientific norms. Now both of them—Rho and Li—were walking away, and doing it with dry humor and clean legal records.
He rubbed his jaw.
The academic board would eat him alive.
The university had pinned its rising-star narrative on them. Their research had brought in grants, partnerships, citations, and international attention. And now, instead of riding that wave, they were off the map entirely.
He dialed internal security.
"Flag Lab B-02. Passive monitoring only. Do not interfere."
He hesitated.
Then put on his coat.
By the time Kravitz reached the lab, half the equipment was boxed.
Jenna was coiling cables. Elian stood near the back console, muttering final notes to Muse. The atmosphere was not frantic—it was meticulous. Surgical.
He cleared his throat.
Jenna glanced up. "Well, that was fast."
"I wanted to speak before you left," Kravitz said, stepping further in. "No confrontation. Just… clarity."
"We left clarity in the documentation," Elian said calmly, without turning. "Check section 2B. Very clear."
Kravitz sighed. "I'm not here to argue your right to leave. But I am asking you to do something—for the institute."
Jenna arched an eyebrow. "That depends."
"A statement," Kravitz said. "A short one. Something for the faculty newsletter. A nod to collaboration. Frame this as a continuation, not a separation."
Jenna let out a soft exhale. "You're worried about donor confidence."
"I'm concerned about public interpretation," Kravitz corrected. "What you've done—what you've built—it puts us on the map. I just don't want that map to include the words 'hostile departure.'"
Elian finally turned. "We didn't leave because of hostility."
"Then say that. Publicly," Kravitz said, eyes fixed on his. "Let people believe the door is still open. That we're still… part of the narrative."
A long pause.
Jenna glanced at Elian.
He spoke with quiet, careful finality. "We'll write something. Brief. Professional."
"That's all I ask."
Kravitz looked between them. "You know this department won't be the same after you go."
"No," Jenna said. "It won't."
They left him standing in the doorway of the lab, watching as their legacy packed itself into quiet departure.
He didn't speak again.
They didn't look back.