The lecture hall smelled like old coffee and stressed-out students.
Professor Elaine was droning on about Kant's categorical imperative, her pointer tapping against the whiteboard with a rhythm that seemed designed to put people to sleep. Most of the class had already surrendered—heads on desks, eyes glazed, fingers twitching toward phones hidden under notebooks.
Lucian sat near the window, staring at the rain.
It had started an hour ago, a soft grey drizzle that turned the campus into watercolors. Droplets raced down the glass, merging and splitting, and he watched them like they held some secret he couldn't quite grasp.
He wasn't thinking about Kant.
He was thinking about Cora's hand in his. The warmth of her fingers. The way she'd said, Then we find out together. Like it was simple. Like it was already decided.
The rain blurred the trees outside.
"Mr. Vale."
Professor Elaine's voice cut through his thoughts. He turned his head, slowly, meeting her eyes across the room.
