CHAPTER 12The transition from student to scholar was supposed to be marked by a formal letter bearing the crest of the university board. For Maya, it was marked by the key card to the third-floor research archives—and the quiet, claustrophobic reality of sharing an academic wing with Adrian on equal ground.It was nine o'clock on Monday morning. The long corridors of the mathematics wing smelled of floor wax, old parchment, and the sharp, ozone tang of autumn air leaking through high transom windows.I stood at the tall oak pod at the back of Lecture Hall C, arranging my lecture notes for the undergraduate statistics seminar. The room was empty, the terraced seats sloping down toward the wide blackboard like an empty amphitheater.A sharp, rhythmic click echoed down the aisle.Maya walked down the terraced steps, carrying a thick leather binder tucked under her arm. She wore a tailored charcoal blazer over a crisp white silk blouse, her dark hair pinned back with severe, elegant prec
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