The lecture hall was built like an argument nobody had won.
Rows curving downward toward a central floor. Stone tiers. High windows. Everything arranged so that thirty-six people could look at one person, and that one person could look at all thirty-six without turning their head.
I sat in the third row.
Not the front.
Not the back.
The back had seemed suspicious.
Penelope sat beside me, which meant escape was now theoretical.
Roland dropped into the seat on my other side with far too much enthusiasm for a man who had lost an argument about eggs less than an hour ago.
"First class," he said.
"Yes."
"Excited?"
"No."
"You could pretend."
"I could."
I did not.
Around us, thirty-six people were doing the thing students do before a class they know nothing about. Guessing.
"Do we even know who's teaching this?"
"Nobody said."
"They were supposed to introduce the professors at orientation."
"They were."
"Then the Hermit happened."
