GABRIEL’S POV
The advanced economics lecture hall was designed to intimidate, built with steep, cascading rows of dark mahogany desks that forced every student to look down toward the instructor’s podium like subjects awaiting a decree. But as I sat in my usual vantage point at the rear of the theater, my focus wasn't on the instructional stage. It was entirely locked onto the back of Lyra Miles’ head.
She sat three rows ahead of me, her spine perfectly aligned against the rigid wood of her chair. To anyone else, she looked like a machine—calm, collected, her fingers moving across her cracked tablet with a steady, unblinking rhythm. But my senses were operating on a completely different, highly volatile frequency. Even from this distance, through the heavy scent of old paper and the expe
