Chapter 2
JULIAN POLE
The alarm was screaming again. I swear it just did that yesterday.
Why?
I roll over, smack the thing until it shuts up, and groan into my pillow. My brain is still half-asleep when I hear the front door click open. For a second, I think Rico and Luka are going to charge upstairs like they always do, but instead… nothing. Just quiet voices.
Weird.
I drag myself out of bed, rubbing my eyes, and head to the bathroom. On the way, I catch the smell — cookies. Warm, sugary, fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies. Which means… Dad's still home.
Of course. That's why Rico and Luka didn't rush to my room — they must've made a beeline straight to the kitchen to "wait" for me. Which really means eating half the cookies before I even get downstairs.
Mum must be gone by now.
My lovely mother worksMy lovely mother works as a nurse at Langford Memorial Hospital.
It's become a tradition—me not seeing her most mornings before she leaves for work
She's always saying "the ER doesn't sleep"
What does that even mean?
When I finally came out of the bathroom, my room was exactly the same as before… except it feels emptier
I stumble to my closet, pulling out the first shirt I see. It's wrinkled. It probably smells like the back of the laundry basket. I don't care. I shove my arms through, nearly falling over when my foot gets caught in my jeans.
I grab my phone and bag, glancing at the time.
Crap. I'm late. Again.
Somewhere downstairs, I hear Rico's laugh — loud and obnoxious — and Luka's quieter chuckle. I picture them leaning against the counter, mouths full, while Dad pretends not to notice how fast the cookies are disappearing.
I sigh. Not one of them came up to wake me. Not even a little knock on my door.
Guess cookies are more important than me
I trudge downstairs, half-dressed and fully unimpressed, my socks not even matching because… life.
Sure enough, Rico's leaning against the kitchen counter like he owns the place, cookie crumbs on his shirt. Luka's perched on a stool, swinging his legs like a kid while double-fisting cookies like he's in some dessert commercial.
"You're late," Rico says around a mouthful.
"You're eating my dad's cookies," I shoot back.
"Correction," Luka says, spraying crumbs in Rico's general direction, "we're making sure they don't get cold and lonely without you."
Dad flips another batch onto the cooling rack, looking way too calm for someone watching two twenty-year-olds raid his kitchen. "Julian, you've got twenty minutes to make it to class."
"Cool, that's… enough," I mumble, stealing a cookie. It's warm and gooey and I'm already thinking about taking another when Luka leans in like he's about to share state secrets.
"Listen," Luka says, "if you're late, I'll tell everyone it's because you had a mental breakdown over which socks to wear."
"That's… not even far from the truth," Rico mutters.
I grab my bag, stuff in my notebook, then another cookie for "energy." Dad hands me a napkin like he's my personal assistant. We head out, Luka rambling about a conspiracy theory involving Tuesday mornings and the smell of the subway.
By the time we reach campus, my brain is still on autopilot. Luka's halfway through a story about a raccoon that stole his bagel when—bam—I nearly walk straight into someone.
Dark coat. Tall. Way too put-together to be here this early without coffee.
He glances at me just once, and there's this weird moment where my brain goes blank except for the fact that his eyes look like they could see every bad decision I've ever made. Then he's past me, walking like he has an important meeting with the mayor or a secret spy mission or something.
I blink after him. "Uh… wait. Is that…?"
"Who?" Luka asks.
I point vaguely. "I think that's Professor Jace. You know, the scary one?"
Rico gives me a look. "The one teaching your criminal law class? The one you're already behind in?"
The little bastard didn't hesitate to emphasize the "behind"
"Yep," I say, stuffing the last of my cookie in my mouth. "Cool. Totally fine. Not intimidating at all."
We split at the quad—Rico headed toward something serious-sounding like Political Theory, Luka waving dramatically like he was boarding a ship to war.
Me? I had Intro to Evidence. Which… sounds cooler than it is.
The rest of the morning was a blur of lectures, bad coffee from the vending machine, and me accidentally doodling raccoons in the margins of my notes. I told myself I was paying attention, but my brain was kind of like one of those "open thirty tabs in your browser" situations—half of them playing music, three frozen, and one with an error message.
By the time I remembered criminal law was my last class of the day, I was already mentally planning what snacks I'd get after. Criminal law isn't terrible… it's just… professor jace. The guy who looks like he's never been late for anything in his entire life and could probably kill a man with a legal textbook.
I slid into the lecture hall early enough to get a middle seat—safe, not too close to the front, not hiding in the back. My plan was simple: blend in, take notes, don't make eye contact.
Class started like normal—Jace walking in, coat folded neatly over his arm, not even glancing at his notes before speaking. His voice was deep, calm, and just… unfairly confident.
"Pole," he said suddenly.
It took me a full three seconds to realize that was my last name. My head jerked up. "Uh—yes?"
"What's the most significant difference between first-degree and second-degree murder?"
Oh no.
I scrambled mentally, flipping through half-remembered textbook pages in my brain. "Um… is it… like… one is… more… planned? Like… with extra planning?"
One eyebrow went up. "Premeditation," he said, sharp and simple. "And?"
"And… uh… the other one is more like… oops?" I winced as the word left my mouth.
A couple of people snorted. Jace didn't laugh. His face didn't even move. "Less deliberate. Correct. But work on your precision, Pole."
I nodded way too fast. "Yes. Yep. I'll… precision myself."
His gaze lingered for a moment longer, and I swear my heartbeat was loud enough for the whole row to hear. Then he turned back to the lecture like nothing happened, but my brain was still sitting there replaying the interaction like a bad movie
The rest of the lecture went… fine? I mean, I only zoned out twice, which is basically a personal record. But the second Jace said, "That's all for today," my survival instincts kicked in—close notebook, stand up, blend into the crowd.
Almost made it.
"Pole," Jace's voice cut through the shuffle of bags and chatter. Not loud, but enough to freeze me mid-step.
I turned slowly. "Uh… yeah?"
"Stay for a moment."
Everyone else filed out, and suddenly it was just me, my bag strap digging into my shoulder, and Professor Jace watching me like he was reading a file on my entire life.
He leaned back against the desk, arms folded. "You're behind."
I blinked. "In… uh… walking out of class?"
"In your coursework." His tone was precise—no wasted words. "Your last paper was two days late. The one before that, rushed. Your participation in class…" He let that hang in the air, and my brain filled it with every failure I'd ever had.
"I—yeah, I've just been… busy?" I tried, even though we both knew my version of "busy" was mostly art projects and eating cereal at 2 a.m.
One eyebrow lifted. "Busy enough to neglect a subject you're paying to study?"
Ouch. I shifted my weight. "I… I mean, I am trying. I just… sometimes the trying is… uh… slower?"
For a second, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch—almost a smirk—but it was gone before I could be sure.
"I expect more from you, Pole," he said finally. "You're capable of more than this… casual approach."
Casual approach. That sounded fancy. I decided not to ask if it was a compliment.
"Understood," I said, which came out sounding like a squeak.
He studied me for a moment longer, then asked, "Do you have a tutor?"
My brain froze. "Uh… no? I mean, unless you count my dog, and she's terrible at criminal law."
His expression didn't change, but I swore his eyes got sharper. "Find one. Or I'll assign you one."
Assign me one? Did professors even do that? "Right. Yeah. Totally. I'll… shop for a tutor."
"Good." He straightened, already gathering his notes. "Don't make me have this conversation again."
I nodded, backing toward the door like I was leaving a crime scene. "Yep. Totally. No repeat conversations. Copy that."
Outside in the hallway, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Luka was going to have a field day when he heard about this.