Chapter 4

Evelyn's POV

I blocked the number. My fingers were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone twice before it went through. Then I put it in my bag and stood there for a second just breathing.

The classroom was empty. Chairs still warm from the students that had just left. My notes still spread across the desk.

Normal. Everything looked completely normal.

I quickly gathered my papers, shoved them into my bag hurriedly and I went home.

That night I couldn't sleep, I just laid in the dark staring at the ceiling, listening to every sound the apartment made.

And by two in the morning I gave up.

I sat up slowly in the dark and pulled my knees to my chest until my phone buzzed on the floor beside me.

It was Anya.

So I picked it up. "I didn't call you."

"I know," she said. "I heard you moving around. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I replied even though my voice sounded shaky.

"Evelyn...."

I exhaled. "I got a text today from Melvin"

Silence on the other end. Then "What did it say?"

"That he knows where I am."

Another silence. Longer this time. "Did you block the number?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Her voice was steady. Steadier than mine. "You know he's trying to scare you because that's what he always does."

"What if he actually knows, Anya?"

"Then we deal with it. But right now you don't know that and you're scaring yourself." A pause. "Are you sitting in the dark?"

I looked around the room. "...maybe."

"Turn the light on."

I reached over and clicked the lamp on. The room came back. Small and familiar and just a room.

"Better?" she asked.

"A little."

"Good. Now lie down."

"But I still can't sleep."

"You don't have to sleep. Just lie down and stop sitting there like something from a horror movie." Her voice softened. "You're safe Evie. You left. You're here. He's not."

I lay back slowly. Stared at the ceiling with the lamp on this time.

"Stay on the phone?" I said quietly.

"Already am" she said.

---

I was running on three hours of sleep when I walked into my classroom the next morning.

I taught the first half of the lecture on autopilot. Voice steady, notes in order, going through the motions so smoothly nobody could tell. That was the thing about performing competence for long enough. It started to look real even when it wasn't.

Then a girl in the front row started whispering to the person beside her.

I stopped mid sentence.

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

The girl looked up, surprised. "Sorry Professor I was just asking her what page we were on."

"If you were paying attention you would already know what page we were on."

Her face went red. "I was just—"

"Page forty two" I said. "And if you need to have a conversation please do it outside my classroom."

The room went quiet in that particular way that meant everyone was uncomfortable and nobody wanted to breathe too loud.

I went back to the lecture.

I knew I had been too harsh. She was asking about a page number. That was all she was doing.

I knew and I kept going anyway because stopping would have meant looking at what I was becoming and I wasn't ready to do that yet.

---

Elroy didn't say anything during class.

He sat in his usual spot in the third row, book open beside his notes, pen turning slowly between his fingers. He listened the way he always did, that quiet focused attention that felt more unsettling than all the noise the others made put together.

But at the end when everyone was packing up he stayed seated for a moment, looking at something in his notebook like he was deciding something.

I was gathering my papers when I heard him approach.

I didn't look up. "If this is about an extension the answer is no."

"It's not about an extension."

I looked up.

He was standing with his bag over one shoulder, notebook in hand, watching me with that expression I still hadn't figured out how to read after weeks of trying.

"Then what."

"You were too hard on her," he said simply. "Maya. She was asking about a page number."

The audacity of it genuinely took my breath away for a second.

"I don't think my classroom management is any of your business Mr Vans."

"Probably not," he said, unbothered. "But you looked like you wanted someone to say it. So I did."

He held my gaze for a second, not challenging, not backing down either, just steady, then turned and walked out like he hadn't just said the most irritating thing anyone had said to me all week.

I stood there staring at the empty doorway.

The worst part wasn't that he said it.

The worst part was that he wasn't wrong and he knew it and he said it anyway with that calm unhurried voice like the truth was just the truth and there was no point dressing it up.

I picked up my folder, took a breath and walked out.

---

The faculty welcome event reminder came through that evening.

I had completely forgotten about it. Attendance is strongly encouraged. Wealthy donors present. The Vans family specifically mentioned.

I stared at the email for a long time.

"You have to go," Anya said from the kitchen doorway, already reading my face.

"I know."

"Wear the green dress."

"Anya—"

"Evelyn." She gave me the look. "Green dress. Go."

I went to my room and stood in front of the mirror longer than I needed to.

The green dress still fit well, falling softly to my knees, hugging my waist in a way that felt like a different version of me. The version that existed before Havenwood. Before Melvin. Before I learned to make myself small enough to survive.

I did my makeup carefully. Covered the shadows under my eyes. Straightened my hair until it lay flat and smooth.

I stood back and looked at myself properly.

Not bad. Not the woman I used to be. But not the woman I'd been these past few weeks either. Something in the middle. Something that could walk into a room full of people and hold her own for a few hours.

That was enough for tonight.

---

The hall was everything I expected and then some.

Soft lights, polished floors, laughter that came easy when money was never the problem. Crystal glasses everywhere. Women in gowns that probably had their own names, men in suits that fit too well to be anything but custom made.

The whole room hummed with the particular energy of people who had never once in their lives questioned whether they belonged somewhere.

I took a glass of champagne from a passing tray, more for something to hold than anything else, and moved through the crowd slowly. Smiled when I needed to. Nodded at faces I recognized from the faculty corridor.

Fifteen minutes in I was actually doing fine. Genuinely fine. I had made small talk with two other professors, avoided the canapés that smelled like money, and managed not to say anything sharp to anyone.

Small victories.

Then from somewhere just behind my left shoulder, a voice.

"Professor Reed?"