Chapter 14
Alistair POV
The morning air still carried that thin chill of late summer, the kind that made me want to stay in bed another hour. But Raman's car—Katrina, as he loved to remind me—purred at the curb, ready to go.
He leaned on the horn. "Ally, let's move. I've got first period, and I have to be a role model to my students."
I climbed in, coffee in one hand, bag in the other, giving him a side-eye. "You're the worst role model for any teenager."
Raman smirked, pulling into traffic. "Hey, I'm a great role model. I teach them valuable life skills apart from literature."
Raman glanced over as he pulled into traffic. "Rough night?"
"Something like that."
"'Something like that' usually means you don't wanna talk about it." He grinned. "Which makes me want to talk about it."
I shook my head. "Drop it, professor. Don't you have enough gossip from your students?"
"Yeah, but student gossip is childish. Yours is way juicier. Way more entertaining."
I took a slow sip of coffee. "I'm not giving you the satisfaction."
"Fine. Be mysterious." He adjusted his cap. "But if you suddenly disappear, don't expect me to find you."
"Appreciated."
We pulled up in front of the building. The glass façade reflected the morning sun, throwing golden light across the hood of Katrina.
"Don't scratch her on your way out," Raman said, as if I was about to key the car with my briefcase.
I stepped out, leaned down to the open window. "Go inspire young minds or whatever it is you do."
"Don't forget—we are meeting the gangs tonight, and pizza will be good." he said, pointing a finger at me.
"Only if you're buying."
He snorted. "In your dreams." And then he was gone, Katrina gliding into the stream of cars like she owned the road.
I turned toward the building, bracing myself for another day in the lion's den.
---
Lumel's POV
I was parked across from the building, engine idling, when a battered sedan pulled up to the curb. The paint was dull, one fender dented just enough to catch the light wrong. The same one I had seen him drive in the last time.
But there he was, stepping onto the sidewalk with a faint smile, leaning slightly toward the driver's window. The man inside wore a button-up and slacks—
He said something. I couldn't hear it, but Alistair laughed lightly before shutting the door.
My grip on the wheel tightened. That voice from last night's call—deep, casual, talking about "going to the showers." I hadn't seen the man's face then, but it wouldn't be hard to imagine it matching the one behind that steering wheel now.
The sedan sputtered away, leaving a faint cough of exhaust behind it.
Alistair didn't even glance in my direction as he walked inside. I watched him go, my jaw stiff. Whoever that man was, he was in the picture enough to be dropping him off.
And I didn't like that. Not at all.
---
Raman's POV
I watched Alistair disappear into the building through the rearview, then shifted Katrina into gear. First period was creeping up on me fast, and if I was late again, the principal would give me that fake smile that meant "you're lucky the kids like you."
The traffic wasn't too bad, though Katrina coughed a little when I pushed her past fifty. She was due for an oil change, but she'd been with me through worse—she'd live.
By the time I pulled into the school lot, the other teachers' cars were already lined up. Newer models. Shinier paint. I parked Katrina between a spotless white SUV and a hatchback that still smelled like the dealership. She looked like she'd wandered into the wrong neighborhood.
Grabbing my satchel, I locked up and headed inside. The hallway buzzed with the usual pre-class noise—shoes squeaking, lockers slamming, someone laughing too loudly at something not worth it.
My classroom smelled faintly of chalk and the coffee I'd spilled two days ago. I dropped my bag on the desk, tugged my sleeves up, and wrote today's topic on the board: Shakespeare's Misunderstood Villains.
First period trickled in. A few of them greeted me, a few slouched straight to their seats. I launched into the lesson, acting like I hadn't been up late grading papers and definitely hadn't been rejected twice in one day yesterday.
"Now, who can tell me why Shylock might not actually be the villain of The Merchant of Venice?" I asked.
Silence.
Then one hand went up. "Because… he was broke?"
I sighed. It was going to be a long day.