She huffed, clearly frustrated but engaged. “Well, this is annoying.”
She raised her hand, and Professor Wright noticed immediately. He wove through the rows of seats with surprising agility, arriving at our desk with an expectant smile. “Yes, Miss Shaw?”
“Are we focusing exclusively on the Christian God for this exercise, or are other theological frameworks acceptable?” She asked, her tone respectful but carrying an edge that suggested she already suspected the answer.
Professor Wright’s eyebrows rose with evident delight. “A fabulous question indeed!” He turned to me, assessing. “What say you, Mister. . .?”
“Monroe,” I said. “And I would argue that Plato’s Euthyphro dilemma originated in ancient Greek polytheism, where multiple gods with conflicting wills created obvious problems for divine command theory. It was not until Christianity and other monotheistic religions attempted to apply it that it became a significant philosophical challenge—because one God means one will, theoretically removing the problem of competing divine commands.”
Professor Wright actually clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and delighted. “Oh, might we have a student of religious studies among us?”
I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral. “Hardly. I simply think the application of moral beliefs, regardless of their religious background or origin, creates the foundation for who we are as individuals.”
“So you believe morality is not defined by divine command, but by personal experience and rational choice?” He leaned against our desk, genuinely interested now.
“I believe those with innate kindness are a rare blessing in a world carved from blood and bone,” I said carefully. “Whether that kindness originates from a divine spark or human compassion matters less than the kindness itself.”
“Is it really so hard to just be a good person?” Violet asked, bringing both our attention to her.
Her question hung in the air, simple and devastating in its directness.
“No, I do not think so,” I responded, meaning every word. “I think those who choose kindness despite the world’s cruelty and social norms are the closest thing to divinity we will ever witness.”
Professor Wright cleared his throat, looking slightly moved. “Well said, Mr. Monroe. Thank you for attending today.”
“Thank you for allowing me to sit in on your class.”
“Ah, yes.” Professor Wright straightened, addressing the room again. “Given the rising tension on campus, I thought permitting students to bring someone they cared for would ease their discomfort rather than forcing them to partner with classmates they might not know.”
He moved on to another group, leaving his words hanging between us.
I glanced at Violet, who had fixed her gaze on her paper with sudden, intense focus. A faint blush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks with color.
“‘Someone they cared for’, huh?” I kept my voice low, intimate.
She turned a deeper shade of pink and mumbled something about not knowing anyone else on campus well enough, though we both knew Alice came to mind as an alternative.
But she chose me.
I settled deeper into my seat, watching her pretend to take notes while actually just drawing small spirals in the margins of her paper. Enjoying seeing her this way—somehow balancing exams and essays and sleepless nights at Oubliette, pushing herself against the world’s hunger for her while maintaining her grades with obsessive faithfulness.
After another twenty minutes of philosophical debate around us—Professor Wright facilitating discussions with the skill of someone who genuinely loved watching minds wrestle with impossible questions—he dismissed the class.
“Well, that was fun,” I said, gathering Violet’s books while she shoved papers into her bag.
“Better than studying together?” She shot me a look, one eyebrow raised.
“This was more insightful than when we studied for your Psychology exam and listed all the qualities I shared with an Antisocial Personality Disorder diagnosis.” It had made for an entertaining game, cataloging the ways in which each of us was fundamentally damaged by our respective traumas.
“Insightful?” She added her final notes to the diagram we’d created—a Venn diagram that showed surprising overlap in our moral reasoning despite arriving from different theological starting points. “I suppose it was.”
Pride blossomed in my chest as I watched her. Having never been given a proper education in my previous life, I’d taken to it voraciously in my early years with Charlie homeschooling me. But seeing Violet bentover her notes, her mind sharp and engaged, left a fierce satisfaction burning through me.
Though beneath that satisfaction, fear and hope warred within me. Fear that she would eventually realize she didn’t truly need my help, that she could hunt Edward alone, that she would sever the fragile connection between us. Hope that she was—maybe, just maybe—beginning to trust me, to rely on me, to need me in ways that went beyond practical protection.
The thought of her pushing me away left an icy ache beneath my ribs.
I told myself it was about keeping her safe, about fulfilling my obligation to Charlie and Levi.
