I make the walk down the steep rows toward him, each step echoing against the tiered floor. Henley leans against the edge of the desk, his arms folded across his chest.
“Hello, Professor,” I say, my voice coming out steadier than I feel as I try not to stare too obviously at every bit of this man has to offer. Up close, he is definitely more striking than expected (I do have a minimal view from my seat after all). His eyes are nearly the same shade as mine, though a little duller—like the color had been drained by time or weariness. Faint crow’s feet sit at the corners, subtle but present, hints of a life lived with more than just books and lectures.
Barely breaching the collar of his white shirt is the inked head of a snake, its forked tongue stretched toward the delicate skin at his pulse point. It’s a detail I never would have pictured on someone so meticulously polished. And there’s a faint scar along the underside of his jaw, usually hidden by a beard, but now bare and exposed thanks to a fresh shave.
For a man with the pristine reputation of a respected professor, he carries a surprising roughness. A sharp edge beneath the veneer of academia. It makes me wonder what kind of life he lived before this one.
“I wanted to follow up before I finalize the list of paper topics,” he says, pushing off the desk and rising to his full height. His presence feels larger up close. He’s easily taller than Perez—6'5" if I had to guess.
“You’ve proposed focusing your term paper on The Butcher case.” It isn’t posed as a question. His tone suggests he already knows the answer, but he waits anyway, giving me room to speak.
“Yes, sir,” I say. My grip tightens on the strap of my bag. “It fascinates me. It’s… important to me.”
A flicker crosses his expression—too quick to name. “Important,” he repeats, like he’s testing the weight of the word. His eyes sharpen, pinning me in place. “You’re certain it’s the right choice? Cases like this carry… baggage.”
The word hangs between us, heavier than it should. My chest tightens. “I can handle it.”
Henley tilts his head slightly, as though studying me under a microscope. “I have no doubt you’re capable. But I also know that objectivity is harder to maintain when the subject matter strikes close.”
My stomach knots. “How did you…?” My question dies on my tongue. Of course, he knows, anyone with a brain can connect the dots.
“I’ve spent years studying the case,” he answers smoothly. “Patterns, timelines, victimology. Connections are easier to see when you’ve read every detail.” He pauses, letting the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your last name isn’t one easily overlooked in that context.”
The air leaves my lungs in a sharp exhale. My shoulders stiffen, gaze dropping slightly to the side.
“I appreciate your concern, sir,” I say carefully, willing my voice not to waver. “But it doesn’t change my decision.”
Henley regards me for a long moment, unreadable. Then, finally, he inclines his head. “Very well. If you find it becomes… more than you anticipated, my door is open.” A faint smile curves at his lips, one that doesn’t touch his eyes. “I’d rather you asked for help than carried the weight alone.”
“Thank you, sir.” The words scrape out of me, eager to be free of his gaze.
I turn sharply, striding for the exit. Even as I push through the side door into the hall, I feel it—the weight of his attentionlingering, following like a shadow that doesn’t want to be shaken.
Outside, Khloe and Marlena are waiting. Khloe’s grin is feral the moment she spots me. “Sooo…” she drawls, leaning in. “What did Professor Tall-Dark-and-Tattooed want?” she asks, following it with a giggle.
Rolling my eyes, I drop my bag on the ground. “He just wanted to make sure I was okay doing my paper on The Butcher. Y’know… because of my connection.”
Marlena’s lips part with a small gasp. “He knows?”
“It wasn’t hard for him to put two and two together,” I sigh, lowering myself onto the cement bench bolted to the wall.
Khloe leans in, refusing to let it drop. “So… what did you say?”
“That I appreciate his concern, but I’m still doing it.” I shrug, settling back against the bench.
Khloe smirks knowingly. “Of course you did. No one could ever talk you out of anything. You’re stubborn as fuck.”
I laugh under my breath. “Yeah, that’s true.”
Pulling my phone from my bag, I double-tap the screen to check the time. I still have half an hour before my least favorite class, and I’m seriously debating whether to show up or not. I was not mentally prepared for it. Just thinking about sitting through seventy-five minutes of that monotone torture makes me want to rip my hair out.
“Hey, I’m gonna go get a coffee, anyone wanna come with? It’s on me,” I say after a beat.
“Yes, please,” Marlena and Khloe say in unison.
I glance at Austin, and he shakes his head after checking his phone. “Nah, I’m good, Rae. I gotta head to my class, but thanks, hun,” he says, his lips curling into a smile as he pulls Marlena into him and presses his lips to her forehead. “I’ll see y’all later.”
The three of us head across the quad, weaving through the usual swarm of welcome tents and overeager campus ministries that always pop up during the first week. By the time we slip inside the bookstore Starbucks, the blast of air conditioning feels like salvation. Only a few people stand in line before us, but at least ten or so more people stand off to the side, chatting idly as they wait for their orders. Unfortunately, I am the only one who has class soon, but I also don’t give two fucks about being on time. Ifshewants to mark me absent for being late, oh fucking well. Missing one class won’t kill my grade. I can miss up to four times before I get an automatic fail.
