She strides to the front of the room, and behind her, looming like some academic Poseidon, is Holden. The owner of pine and rain.
The second I see him, my spine straightens. He doesn’t speak but stands just out of her spotlight like he always does, half in shadow, half in control. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed to his elbows. The knot in my stomach returns like a reflex.
Dr. Kymbert surveys the room, pausing just long enough to let a little anticipation stir before continuing. “Mr. Wilkes here has been filling me in on your thesis progress, lab work, and—for those of you ambitious enough—your early field data.”
“And today is particularly exciting. Because soon, we’ll find out which of you are genuinely committed… and which of you are, well—truedegenerates.”
A ripple of confusion passes through the lecture hall. Emma stiffens beside me. Someone behind us coughs. I glance at Holden in time to catch the low sound of a chuckle leaving him—quiet, unassuming, but very much there.
I arch an eyebrow at him. The look I send is clear:Seriously? This is the pedagogical direction we’re going with now?
But all he does is meet my gaze with a maddening calm, the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth like he’s enjoying this a little too much. His smirk stays. So do his eyes.
Holden nods towards the professor, subtle and composed. That molten-dark gaze stays fixed, and it takes me a second to realize she’s been speaking this whole time.
“—can’t expect you to solve field problems without stepping into the field,” she’s saying. “Which is why I’ll be taking seven of you to the Galápagos Islands for a full week of field research in one of the most known protected marine ecosystems on theplanet.”
The breath leaves me in a gasp, sharp and audible across the room. My hand flies to cover my mouth, but not fast enough to hide the shaky inhale that follows. The whole room hears it.
This university? Already a dream. Damon? A dream I still get to hold onto—for now. But those islands? They’ve lived at the top of my research wish list since the moment I got the scholarship. I used to fall asleep reading articles about coral reef recovery and endangered species restoration in that very stretch of the Pacific.
Dr. Kymbert calls it “one of” the well-known conservation areas in the world, but I know the truth. It isthemost famous. The birthplace of the theory of evolution, some would say. And now it’s within reach.
I glance toward Holden on instinct—searching his face for confirmation, for some anchor in reality. Like if he says it’s real, I’ll believe it. Apparently, that’s what he’s become to me. My confirmation bias with a jawline.
He’s watching me—really watching me—with a small, growing smile that starts in his eyes and tugs subtly at his mouth. There’s something amused, something quiet and knowing in it, like he sees every neuron firing in my head and chooses not to say a word.
Dr. Kymbert lets out a short laugh that shakes her squared shoulders. “Well. At least one of you seems to grasp how rare this opportunity is.”
My cheeks burn. The class chuckles softly around me, but I don’t care. I can’t, not when this is actually happening.
“Seven,” she continues, “isn’t many, I know. But that’s all my permits allow. I’ll be there for part of the trip, and Mr. Wilkes will be accompanying the group. This will be his second time on the islands.”
Second. Time.
A month ago, I accused Holden of having the whole world at his feet—but I’ve never felt the weight of that more than now, realizing he’s already lived this dream of mine.
Dr. Kymbert spends the next hour detailing the research project—how it could tie into our individual theses, what kind of data we’ll be collecting, what field methods we’ll need to sharpen. She doesn’t sugarcoat the conditions. The accommodations will be tight, the work exhausting, and the expectations high. It sounds grueling.
It also sounds like a dream.
Beside me, Emma hasn’t stopped grinning. “Girl, can you imagine if we both get to go?”
Her excitement is infectious, and I grin back, caught up in the shimmer of possibility—until a familiar, unwelcome presence shadows over us.
A guy leans against the seat next to mine, arms crossed, exuding the kind of smugness that’s been haunting women in STEM departments since the dawn of time. He gives us both a slow once-over, landing on Emma with a raised eyebrow.
“Pft. Did you miss the part where she said only about a quarter of the class will go?”
Oh great. Colt 2.0. Or is it Malcolm 3.0? I’ve lost track of the aggressively mediocre men who think being dismissive is the same as being intelligent. He fits the mold too well.
“I’m pretty sure she heard,” I say, tone deceptively sweet. “Didyoumiss the part where she said you needed diving experience? BecauseI’m almost certain I saw you in a neon floaty at the beach last week, Brad.”
Emma chokes back a laugh, and I shoot Brad what I hope is a withering glare, though I know I probably look more like a mildly offended squirrel. Still, people like Brad O’Hara deserve to be knocked down a peg, at least academically.
He straightens to his full height—unfortunately tall—and some of my bravado falters. Being five-three has never felt more inconvenient.
But I don’t back down. Not when he’s trying to flatten our joy like it's disposable. I lift my chin and plant my emotional feet. If he wants a staredown, I’ll give him one.
