My fingers fumble with the papers, suddenly clumsy. I’m too aware of how close he is. Of the quiet confidence rolling offhim. Of the fact that my pulse has kicked up for no reason I can explain.
He rises smoothly to his feet, and the afternoon sun slices through the corridor windows, catching in his ash-blond hair and lighting it like fire. The effect is jarring—beautiful in a way that feels dangerous rather than inviting.
My breath stutters.
This makes no sense. I don’t react to strangers like this. I don’t freeze. I don’t feel pulled, drawn toward someone I’ve never seen before.
Yet something in me recognizes that I’m standing too close to the edge of something sharp and knowing—without evidence—that it could cut me if I lean in.
And God help me…a part of me wants to lean.
What? What is wrong with me? Maybe the school stress is frying my brain. There’s no other explanation for this.
I scoop up the last of my papers and rise to my feet, unable to hold his storm-gray gaze—and just as unable to look away from it. The hallway noise fades, like someone has turned the world down a notch.
“Th-thank you,” I say awkwardly, clutching the stack to my chest.
Why am I stuttering like a fool? I never stutter.
His response is immediate. Low. Controlled.
“You’re welcome.”
Two words. That’s all.
They steal the breath right out of my lungs.
His voice carries a quiet authority that settles under my skin, and I have the strange, disorienting sensation that he’s listening to more than my words. Like he’s cataloging something about me—my posture, my expression, the way my fingers tighten around the papers.
As he hands me the last page, his gaze flicks down.
Stops.
I feel it the second he sees the title.
“Digital Crime Networks and Adaptive Syndicate Structures.”
Something in his expression shifts—so subtle I almost miss it. His eyes lift back to mine, searching now. Curious and assessing.
“Did you write this?” he asks.
I nod, suddenly flustered. “Y-yeah. It’s part of my semester project. Just research,” I add quickly. “Nothing important.”
The words tumble out too fast.
His gaze lingers on me for one long, unreadable beat
“Brilliant,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
“May I see it?”
Brilliant?
Exactly. Exactly! This is the reaction I expect from Professor Kieran. Not the warnings. Not the caution tape. Recognition. Appreciation.
Without thinking too hard about it, I hand him the entire report.