Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 21 - Chapitre 30

The day before Thanksgiving, Room 312's lunch break was turned into a mini party.Brandon dragged in a whole crate of milk to hand out, and Lauren stacked up fancy Thanksgiving pie gift boxes on a desk. Emily was at her workstation wrapping gift bags with colorful tape, stuffing in the small presents she'd picked out for her friends.The whole room buzzed with noise and laughter. Only the office next door had its door shut, a strip of harsh white light leaking from the gap at the bottom, quiet and self-contained.Emily finished taping up the gift bags, then took out a pie box she'd already wrapped. She stuck a little card on top.Brandon leaned over curiously. "Who's that one for?""My brother," she said."He's lucky, having such a thoughtful little sister.""Obviously. I'm the best little sister on the planet."She slipped the box into her backpack and tidied up her desk. Just then, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Heels clicked slowly against the floor.Cynthia walked dow

Emily said, "Ian, I gotta tell you something.""Shoot," Ian responded."Today, Professor Lynch asked if you have a girlfriend."Ian's right hand tightened slowly around his phone, all five fingers closing in. His expression barely changed, but his Adam's apple moved."I told her you don't." Emily tilted her head at him. "But… have you ever had a girlfriend before?"Ian looked at her and stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, "No.""Seriously? Never?""No.""Then why did your expression shift?""It didn't.""You say that, but your hand is in a death grip."Ian glanced down at his right hand, clenched tight around his phone, and loosened it. "You're reading too deeply into it. Go to bed.""Fine." She turned and took two steps, then pivoted back. "Ian.""What now?""Why do you think Professor Lynch is asking all this? First she asks what you do for work, then she asks if you have a girlfriend."Ian stood facing Emily. Light from his room spilled out from behind him,

Emily wasn't done. "By the way, when Professor Quill was leaving today, he stopped to say goodbye to us. He even told us that we could ask him for help if we ever ran into any legal questions about our sources. That was really nice of him."Ian flipped the potatoes in the pan with his spatula. "Go wash your hands.""Alright, alright." Emily walked away.Only the sound of oil sizzling in the pan was left.Ian stared down at the potato slices, the spatula hovering over the side of the pan. His right hand was clenched so tightly around the handle that his knuckles had gone white.He forced himself to loosen and shift his grip, then went back to stirring.A 30-year-old associate professor with a PhD from Merania who came from a good family, had good looks, and was polished and well-mannered. He'd brought 21 white roses wrapped in brown kraft paper and tied with an off-white ribbon. The flowers would wilt, but his sincerity wouldn't.Ian turned off the burner, plated the food, and ca

"Oh, there's one more thing," Emily added. She set her bowl down, her expression turning a little more serious. "After Professor Quill left today, Professor Lynch left that cup of coffee by the door and never touched it."About half an hour later, she came out of her office to get some water. When she walked past the coffee, she glanced at it and told Lauren that anyone could have it if they wanted it."Lauren tried it and said it was really good. Seems Professor Quill's pour-over game is strong. Professor Lynch didn't say a word, though. She just went back into her office with her flask.""What's in the flask?" Ian asked, his voice even."Warm milk." Emily prodded a shrimp with her fork. "The plain kind, no sugar or any other flavor. She has it every day, and she's super picky about the temperature. It can't be too hot or too cold."Lauren helped her get it once, and she complained the milk was too hot. She even added some cold milk herself before drinking it."Ian put down his

Cynthia hit save, locked her phone, and set it face-down on her desk.The warm milk in her flask had gone cold. She picked it up, took a sip, and frowned slightly. The temperature was off. Whenever she prepared the milk herself, she always missed the mark by a little.Back then, when Ian warmed milk for her, it was never wrong. Every time he handed it to her, the temperature was perfect. When she asked how he did it, he said he tested it with the inside of his wrist. Doing it enough times made him just know when it was right.Cynthia put the flask down and turned around. She pulled open the left drawer of her desk halfway and took out a letter from the very back.The envelope had yellowed with age, and the corners were creased. She didn't open it. She just held it between her fingers and stared at it for a couple of seconds before sliding it back into place and closing the drawer.Then she turned back to her computer and opened her email. Not her university work account—her other