MOON BOUND DECEPTION

Chapter 7 Books and secrets

Avane didn’t have to go to class.

Her scholarship didn’t require it—not yet. The orientation period was meant to ease her into campus life and introduce her to her upcoming responsibilities. It was designed to give students space, time, and a gentle nudge into the rhythm of Blackwood University. But Ava wasn’t the type to wait around passively. If anything, sitting still only gave her more time to think—about home, about why she was really here, about the secrets she still hadn’t sorted through.

So, instead of waiting, she picked a handful of lectures to sit in on—just to “get a feel for things,” she told herself, though deep down, she knew it was more than curiosity. She needed structure. Noise. Something to anchor her in the now.

Her first class of the day was Foundations of Environmental Systems. Held in a sleek auditorium filled with tiered desks and subtle overhead lighting, the room buzzed with quiet energy. Students murmured to each other, flipping through notebooks and digital tablets. Dr. Kallis, a soft-spoken but commanding professor with salt-and-pepper hair and an ever-present thermos, moved through slides showing complex climate models and the ethics of data manipulation in public policy.

Avane was hooked almost instantly.

She found herself leaning forward, scribbling down notes even though she wasn’t enrolled. The numbers, the patterns, the sheer logic of it—it made sense in a way that felt comforting. Predictable. Safe. There was something reassuring in the idea that, despite the chaos of the world, there were systems—visible, measurable, and understood.

Next came Molecular Genetics and Biotechnical Applications, which sounded intimidating on paper but turned out to be her favorite of the day. The lab was modern and spotless, with rows of microscopes, PCR machines, and soft-blue lighting that made the whole place hum like a living organism. The professor, Dr. Greer, was brisk and direct, walking the class through a real-time study on gene sequencing and synthetic proteins. Her voice was sharp but clear, and her enthusiasm was contagious.

Avane’s head buzzed with new terminology—alleles, plasmids, protein folding—but it didn’t bother her. She liked the challenge. She liked the idea that there was a structure to how things worked, even if she didn’t understand it yet. It reminded her of puzzles she used to solve as a kid—only now the stakes were higher, the pieces smaller, and the picture far more intricate.

Her third class, History of Scientific Thought, was less structured and more cerebral. It took place in a warm, wood-paneled room that smelled faintly of old books. The conversation among upper-year students quickly veered into philosophical territory—“Is objectivity in research even possible?” someone asked—and Avane began to lose the thread. She kept quiet, her pen still but her mind racing to keep up with names and theories she'd never heard before. Kuhn, Popper, Feyerabend. She made a mental note to look them up later.

By the time her final class—Computational Data Science and Ethics—began, she was starting to hit a wall. The room was brighter, more sterile, and the energy more intense. The professor, a fast-talking expert in machine learning, dove into topics like algorithmic bias, neural networks, and predictive behavior modeling before most students had even opened their laptops. The language moved so fast, it felt like she was trying to drink from a firehose. Her notes trailed off halfway down the page, abandoned in favor of simply trying to listen and absorb.

When the class finally ended, Avane packed her things slowly. Her brain felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry.

She stepped outside and squinted up at the pale afternoon sky. The sunlight was softer now, filtered through high clouds like sheer curtains across a glowing lamp. The breeze was cool and carried the faint scent of something green—maybe pine, maybe the damp stone of the old buildings around her. She spotted Elara leaning against a low stone wall nearby, chewing on a granola bar and watching campus life swirl around them.

“You look like someone just got hit by a data set,” Elara said with a smirk.

Avane exhaled. “That last class nearly did. Honestly, I don’t even know why I went to all four.”

“Because you’re ambitious,” Elara replied, tossing her wrapper into a nearby bin. “And maybe a little crazy.”

Ava laughed, but it came out more as a tired sigh. Her body felt heavy, her thoughts still spinning. And yet, there was something satisfying about the exhaustion. It felt like she’d earned it.

“Come on,” Elara said, pushing off the wall. “You’ve earned a sneak peek at the research facility. That’s where you’ll be spending most of your time soon, anyway.”

They took a quieter path through campus, away from the central quad and its constant hum of activity. Trees lined the path like silent sentinels, and the occasional birdcall echoed through the branches. They passed the observatory dome, its silver shell catching glints of sunlight, and the tall glass windows of the physics building where shadows flickered behind equations scrawled on whiteboards.

The research facility stood on the edge of campus—sharp, modern, and strangely quiet. Its reflective facade mirrored the forest around it, making it seem as though it had been carved from the landscape itself. Inside, the air was cooler, and the walls were lined with screens, equipment, and long tables strewn with documents and prototypes. No crowds. Just a few focused researchers, heads bent, typing or scribbling in silence.

“This is the Department of Interdisciplinary Research,” Elara explained. “Basically the core of all cross-field studies. Psychology, physics, biology, data science, even a little philosophy. It’s where all the strange questions get asked—and sometimes answered.”

Avane was impressed, but also suddenly self-conscious. These people looked brilliant. Focused. Like they belonged here.

She wasn’t sure she did.

A tall woman with striking posture and steel-gray eyes emerged from one of the labs. Her ID badge read Director Ensa Tyrell. Her gaze was sharp, assessing, and when it settled on Avane, she felt like she was being x-rayed.

“You’re Avane Monroe,” the woman said—not a question.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ava replied, trying not to sound winded.

“I’ve reviewed your file. Your academic indicators suggest you're capable of meaningful work here, if you’re willing to apply yourself. You’ll begin as a junior assistant—cataloging, note verification, minor dataset assembly. From there, we’ll see.”

“Yes,” Ava said quickly. “I’d like that. Very much.”

“Good. You start next week.”

Ensa Tyrell gave her a final once-over, then turned and disappeared down the corridor without another word.

Elara raised an eyebrow. “She likes you. That was... warm, for her.”

Avane smiled faintly, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her mind still spun with formulas, theories, unfamiliar words and questions she hadn’t had time to process. And yet, beneath the mental fatigue, there was a quiet thrill.

She liked the science. She liked how it grounded her.

But walking back across campus, the weight of it all—the information, the expectations, the sheer pace of this place—settled heavily on her shoulders. She didn’t know if she was ready.

By the time she made it back to her dorm, she dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her limbs felt like sandbags. Her fingers still twitched with the urge to take notes.

Bright minds. Bigger questions.

And she was somewhere in the middle of it all, trying to keep up.