Page 56 of Damsel in Disguise

Ariella likes the way I pronounce her name. There’s some sort of sick obsession she unfortunately has with me, which explains why she did all that she did.

“Four years,” she answers honestly. “It started as a background research. You explain complex systems in a way that makes them… accessible.”

Safe phrasing. Carefully neutral. She’s omitting familiarity, obsession, patterns—everything I can already infer from the way her eyes track my every movement each time she thinks I’m being oblivious.

“I followed your published work long before I applied,” she continues evenly. “So no, I didn’t arrive here blind. I had context,” her brows draw closer. “Is that against university policy?”

“No,” I answer calmly. “But it makes you noticeable.”

“I’m not significant enough to be noticeable,” she says, attempting dismissal. “Well, if you ignore my last name.”

A faint chuckle escapes me. “It’s not about you being a Keinston.”

Her reaction confirms she knows it too.

“There are networks outside this institution that extend beyond faculty and students,” I continue. “Private benefactors, research consortia, political affiliates. Not all of them respond kindly to unsupervised curiosity.”

“You’re speaking as though I’ve stumbled into a conspiracy,” she scoffs.

“I’m speaking as someone who has watched capable minds jeopardize themselves just because they mistook access for immunity.”

She meets my gaze directly. “I am capable of managing my own safety if that’s what you’re implying.”

I note the defiance, the youth, the insistence on autonomy.

“I never questioned your capability. I’m talking about the situation surrounding it,” the distinction is intentional. “That being said, I’d like to offer you an alternative.”

She remains silent, but I can see the interest beneath the restraint.

“Which is…?” she asks, careful not to sound intrigued.

“I’m establishing a private research division soon with only a few selected students. Funded independently. Operative outside standard departmental oversight.”

“Sounds more like a secret society,” she comments with a nervous laugh.

“It is.”

There’s no bravado in my tone—only certainty. Her reaction tells me she understands the weight of that word.

“You’d work directly under my supervision. Gain access to restricted archives, early publication channels, and a trajectory most scholars wait years to achieve.”

“And why exactly am I being offered this?”

“You’re my favorite student,” I point out too casually.

Her brows crease a little. “That shouldn’t be the main reason.”

I weigh truth against omission, before giving my answer. “You’re already drawing interest and they want you on their side.”

“Who?”

“Entities that prefer emerging talent to remain predictable,” and discreet is what I want to add, but I don’t.

“Do you think someone’s monitoring my academic work?”

She doesn’t know the tiniest bit about the Triarch Dominion. That much I’m sure of. Except that, I can’t help but think how much she knows about me in particular.

The faintest suggestion of a smile touches my mouth. “No,” I shake my head. She can be so naïve at times.