Chapter 1

Sarah

I balance my phone between my ear and shoulder, clutching my laptop bag close.

"Jen, I swear, if you could see this place, you'd be green with envy," I chuckle into the phone as I hurry through the hallways of Whispering Pines University. "The tech they have here makes our elementary school look like it's stuck in the Stone Age."

Jen's warm laugh filters through the speaker. "Well, that's why you're there, Sarah. To bring us cavemen into the 21st century. Nervous about your first day?"

I pause outside the door to the classroom, my hand hovering over the handle. "A little," I admit. "It's not just another class, you know? This is the course I've been waiting for, and the professor is supposed to be brilliant."

"And your advisor for that independent study thing, right?" Jen's voice is encouraging. "The, uh... Flipped Classroom Model?"

"Exactly," I nod, even though she can't see me. "This could be my chance to really make a difference, Jen. If I can figure out how to implement this model effectively, it could revolutionize the way we teach."

"Sounds amazing, Sarah. And terrifying. You sure you're ready for this? It's only been two years since..."

I cut her off, not wanting to delve into that particular memory. "I'm ready. This is my second year in the Educational Technology program. I've worked hard to get here, and I'm not letting anything hold me back."

"That's my girl," Jen says softly. "Go knock 'em dead."

I roll my eyes, grateful for Jen's attempt to lighten the mood. "Goodbye, Jen. I'll call you later."

Ending the call, I slip my phone into my bag and take a steadying breath.

The rush of cool air hits me first, a stark contrast to the stuffy hallway. I pause just inside the doorway, my eyes sweeping over the room. It's not the vast lecture hall I'd imagined, but a more intimate space designed to hold about a hundred students.

My gaze darts from face to face as I make my way up the shallow steps. I notice a few students with the telltale signs of their supernatural nature - a faint shimmer around a fae, the slightly elongated canines of a vampire. I settle into a seat in the fourth row, close enough to engage if I want to, but far enough to observe without being observed.

It's been five years since the Unveiling, when Supes had revealed themselves publicly. I remember the wonder I'd felt at the time, learning that creatures from myth and legend were real and had been living among us all along. Back then, it had seemed like the start of a magical new era.

But that was before my ex... Before I learned firsthand that supernatural strength and human cruelty could be a terrifying combination. Now, I find myself unconsciously tensing as I notice the signs of Supes around me, my excitement replaced by a wariness I can't quite shake.

I pull out my laptop. This isn't just another class. This is Advanced Instructional Design with Dr. Lucas Morgan, the cornerstone of my graduate program and the key to my independent study.

A sudden hush falls over the room, snapping me out of my reverie. My head jerks up, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

The professor has entered the room.

Dr. Morgan strides to the front with quiet confidence, his presence immediately commanding attention. He's tall, with broad shoulders that fill out his crisp button-down shirt in a way that's impossible to ignore. As he turns to face the class, I'm struck by the intensity of his piercing grey eyes.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he says, his deep voice resonating through the room. "Welcome to Advanced Instructional Design. I hope you're all prepared for a semester that will challenge your perceptions and push the boundaries of educational technology."

I catch myself inching forward in my seat, my spine straightening as Dr. Morgan's voice fills the room. My fingers hover over my keyboard, poised to take notes, but they remain motionless as I watch him pace the front of the classroom.

"In this course, we'll be exploring new frontiers in education," he says, his grey eyes sweeping across the room. They pause on me for a heartbeat, and I feel a jolt of electricity run through my body.

I blink hard, trying to focus on his words, but my traitorous mind keeps drifting to how his crisp blue shirt accentuates his broad shoulders, how his salt-and-pepper hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck.

Dr. Morgan turns to write something on the board, and I find myself admiring the strong line of his jaw, the way his slacks fit just so...

I give myself a mental shake, heat rising to my cheeks. What am I doing? This is my professor, for heaven's sake. I force my gaze back to my laptop screen, determined to focus on the lecture content.

Suddenly, a loud thud breaks the quiet concentration of the classroom. Someone's heavy textbook has slipped from their desk, hitting the floor with a resounding crack. The sound jolts through me, and for a moment, I'm not in the classroom anymore.

A flash of memory - the crash of a door, the acrid scent of alcohol, Mark's voice, low and menacing...

I blink hard, gripping the edge of my desk as I force myself back to the present. My heart races, but outwardly, I remain still, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I take a deep, shaky breath, trying to ground myself in the here and now.

"As we delve into advanced instructional design," Dr. Morgan's voice cuts through my panic, unexpectedly soothing, "we'll be exploring how technology can be leveraged to create more engaging, effective learning experiences."

I focus on his voice. There's something about its deep, rich timbre that acts like a balm, easing the tension from my body. My racing thoughts slow, and I find myself drawn back into the present moment, anchored by Dr. Morgan's steady cadence.

When I look up, I catch his eye for a brief moment. He pauses, his brow furrowing slightly as he gives me a considering look. But he doesn't break stride in his lecture, smoothly continuing his explanation of the course outline.

Gradually, my pulse starts to slow back down. As I jot down notes about the course syllabus, a wave of embarrassment washes over me. It was just a book falling, for heaven's sake. A normal, everyday occurrence. Yet here I am, still trembling slightly, my mind only now fully returning from that dark place.

I'm supposed to be past this. It's been two years since I left Mark, two years since I escaped that nightmare of a relationship. I'm free now, aren't I? No more walking on eggshells, no more cowering at the sound of heavy footsteps, no more covering bruises with long sleeves and forced smiles.

But am I really free? Here I am, in a classroom full of strangers, nearly jumping out of my skin at a loud noise. My body still reacts as if I'm in danger, even when my mind knows I'm safe. It's like I'm trapped in a prison of my own making, held captive by fears I can't seem to shake.

I take another deep breath, trying to push these thoughts aside. Focus on the lecture, Sarah. You're here to learn, to move forward with your life. Don't let the past hold you back.

I force my attention back to Dr. Morgan, who's now discussing the major projects for the semester. His calm, steady voice continues to soothe my frayed nerves, and I find myself slowly relaxing as I immerse myself in the material.

By the time Dr. Morgan wraps up the lecture, I'm feeling much more like myself. The embarrassment has faded, replaced by a sense of excitement about the course ahead. As I pack up my laptop, I realize that for the past hour, I haven't thought once about Mark or my past.

As the last student files out of the classroom, I gather my courage and approach Dr. Morgan's desk. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of academic excitement and nervous energy coursing through me.

"Dr. Morgan?" I say, my voice coming out softer than I intended. "Do you have a moment to discuss the independent study?"

He looks up from his papers, those piercing grey eyes meeting mine. For a second, I forget how to breathe.

"Of course, Ms. Mitchell," he replies, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. "I was hoping we could chat about that."

I pull up a chair, trying to ignore how the classroom suddenly feels both too small and impossibly vast with just the two of us in it. "I've been working on refining my research proposal," I begin, fumbling with my laptop bag. "I'm really excited about exploring the Flipped Classroom Model and its potential impact on student engagement."

Dr. Morgan nods, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's a fascinating area of study," he agrees. "Tell me more about your specific angle."

As I launch into an explanation of my ideas, I feel my initial nervousness melting away. Dr. Morgan listens intently, asking insightful questions that push me to think deeper about my research goals. His eyes never leave mine, and I find myself getting lost in the depth of his gaze.

"Your passion for this subject is evident, Ms. Mitchell," he says, leaning forward slightly. "I think your research could make a significant contribution to the field."

A warm glow of pride spreads through my chest at his words. "Thank you, Dr. Morgan. That means a lot coming from you."

He smiles, and for a moment, I forget how to think. "I'd be very interested in working with you on this project," he says. "Your topic aligns well with my own research interests."

"Really?" I can't keep the excitement out of my voice. "That would be incredible!"

Dr. Morgan opens his mouth to respond, but suddenly freezes. His nostrils flare slightly, and something flashes in his eyes – surprise? Recognition? – before his entire demeanor shifts.

"Dr. Morgan?" I ask, concern creeping into my voice. "Is everything okay?"

He blinks hard, as if coming out of a trance. When he looks at me again, his expression is guarded, almost cold. "Yes, fine," he says curtly. "I just remembered an urgent matter I need to attend to."

The abrupt change in his tone leaves me reeling. What just happened?

"Oh," I say, trying to hide my confusion and hurt. "Should we reschedule?"

"No need," he replies, standing up abruptly. "I'll email you the details about the independent study. We can discuss further then."

I stand too, feeling off-balance. "Of course," I mutter, gathering my things. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Morgan."

He nods stiffly, already turning away. "Good day, Ms. Mitchell."

As I walk out of the classroom, my mind is whirling. What could have caused such a sudden shift? One moment we were having an engaging discussion, the next he could barely look at me. Did I say something wrong? Or is this just how he is – hot and cold, keeping students at arm's length?

The sting of rejection mixes with confusion as I make my way down the hallway. I thought we had connected, that he saw potential in my research. Now, I'm not so sure.

I pause at a window, looking out at the campus grounds without really seeing them. My reflection stares back at me, and I see the hurt and uncertainty in my own eyes. It reminds me too much of how I used to look after an encounter with Mark – confused, off-balance, questioning myself.

No, I think firmly, squaring my shoulders. This is different. Dr. Morgan isn't Mark. He's my professor, and whatever just happened, it doesn't define me or my work.

I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease. As I continue down the hallway, I can't help but wonder what the rest of the semester will bring. One thing's for sure – working with Dr. Morgan is going to be far more complicated than I ever imagined.