The deep, metallic boom of the bronze throat-gong vibrated through the red brick walls of the stairwell landing.
BOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!
Julian Sterling-Vane remained frozen in place, both hands still clinging to the red lever of the Edwards fire-alarm box.
His eyes were fixed on the glass rod he had just snapped in half.
No water sprinklers activated. No siren sounded across the dormitory. Down on the first floor, the heavy magnetic latches on the Infirmary fire gates remained completely silent.
“The gates didn’t drop,” Sterling-Vane whispered, his voice trembling with confused horror. “Why didn’t the gates drop? Clause M-109 says the first floor seals!”
Lin Mei stepped up beside Julian Vance, pointing her flashlight at the carmine-red chalk border around the sticker.
“It’s a False-Alarm Disciplinary Trap,” Lin Mei said, her voice sharp and merciless. “You never read the master campus charter, Sterling-Vane. In nineteen-sixty-four, the trustees created Clause M-109 to punish pranksters, so pulling an unverified fire alarm during quiet hours triggers immediate, automated expulsion.”
