Quiz Day. Thermodynamics.
The air was heavy. Not with panic—no, not entirely. It was that quiet, suspicious tension only students gave off when they knew they were about to be betrayed by their own memories. That kind of charged hush where no one made eye contact because if you looked around, you might realize you weren't the only one about to suffer.
I walked in with the calm of a storm cloud.
And I wore it well.
My sneakers made soft sounds against the floor, a steady rhythm against the static hum of overhead lights. A couple of students stiffened in their seats when they noticed me. Others hunched lower, already defeated.
But one seat?
Lucian sat in his usual spot.
Hoodie off this time. Shirt sleeves rolled, forearms on display, veins standing out against his skin like angry little reminders of how tightly wound he was. Fingers twirling a black pen—a new one, since the last was snapped in what I can only describe as a jealousy-induced crisis.
Good.
He didn't look at me.
Didn't need him to.
I could feel him. That low, insistent hum in my awareness, like a radio signal tuned only to his frequency. I made my rounds, passing out quiz sheets row by row, ignoring the heavy sighs, the silent pleading looks.
Until him.
I reached his desk, dropped the page.
Didn't speak.
Didn't smile.
Didn't even blink.
But his jaw flexed.
There you are.
"Forty minutes," I said to the room, heading back to my desk. "No calculators. No whining. You've got this—hopefully."
A groan rippled through them, but Lucian didn't join in. He grabbed his pen, started writing immediately. Answers flowed from him like muscle memory, fast and sharp, the way I knew they would. He wasn't just smart—he was dangerously smart. Viciously focused when he wanted to be.
But today? Oh, babe.
Today, he paused.
Once.
Twice.
Pen tapping against the paper's edge.
I leaned back in my chair.
Waited.
The clock's second hand clicked. Papers rustled. The faint scrape of a shoe against tile. Someone coughed. And then—there it was.
He shifted in his seat.
Fidgeted.
And then… looked up.
Our eyes met.
It lasted barely a second, but God, that second scorched. His gaze was sharp, unreadable. Furious, maybe. Confused, definitely. Focused? Without question.
I raised a brow, silent challenge.
His lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away, scribbling faster. His jaw tight, his pen moving a little too aggressively.
I bit back a smile.
Gotcha.
The rest of the class didn't exist. Not the ticking clock. Not the rising stress in the room. Not even the kid in the back who'd started to visibly sweat.
Just the invisible wire stretched taut between Lucian Kim and me.
When the timer hit zero, I stood.
"Pass them forward."
Rustling papers. Groans. Students ready to bolt the second they were free.
Lucian was the last to hand his in.
Didn't say a word.
Just placed the paper on my desk and walked away without meeting my eyes. But there was a smear of ink across the page. And the faintest crease near the edge—like he'd gripped it too hard while writing.
He was unraveling.
Slowly.
Beautifully.
And I… was just getting started.