The professor's secret

Chapter 2 — The Warning

I couldn't move.

Professor Adrian Vale stood between me and the staircase, his gray eyes fixed on the journal in my hands.

Up close, he looked even more intimidating than he had in the lecture hall.

He was tall—much taller than me—and his black coat stretched over broad shoulders and a lean, muscular frame. His black hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his fingers through it.

The silver rings on his fingers caught the weak light from my phone.

Everything about him looked deliberate.

Controlled.

Except his eyes.

For the first time, I saw something there that didn't belong.

Fear.

I tightened my grip on the journal.

"You knew her."

It wasn't a question.

His jaw tightened.

"Elara."

My name sounded different in his voice now.

Lower.

More personal.

I hated the way it made my stomach twist.

"You knew her," I repeated.

He took another step toward me.

"Give me the journal."

"No."

His eyebrows drew together.

"No?"

"No."

I surprised myself with how steady my voice sounded.

Inside, I was terrified.

But I'd spent my entire life learning that fear didn't mean you had to surrender.

Adrian stared at me for several seconds.

Then he exhaled slowly.

"You don't understand what you're holding."

"Then explain it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you're not ready."

I almost laughed.

"Not ready?"

I lifted the journal.

"Someone disappeared ten years ago. Your name is written inside. And now you're standing in a locked archive at midnight telling me I shouldn't ask questions."

His expression hardened.

"You should have left the journal where you found it."

"I wouldn't have found it if someone hadn't left it in an unlocked drawer."

His eyes flickered toward the filing cabinet.

That tiny movement told me everything.

He knew exactly where it had been.

And he knew exactly what was inside.

My pulse quickened.

"You put it there."

"No."

"Then who did?"

Silence.

Adrian looked away.

For a moment, I saw something almost human beneath the cold professor everyone feared.

Pain.

Then it disappeared.

"You need to leave."

I shook my head.

"Not until you tell me who she was."

His gaze snapped back to mine.

"Her name was Lydia."

The name seemed to cost him something.

"Lydia Vale?"

"No."

His voice became quieter.

"Lydia Mercer."

I waited.

"She was a student here."

"What happened to her?"

Adrian's face went completely still.

"She disappeared."

"Everyone knows that."

"You don't know the truth."

"Then tell me."

He stepped closer.

I instinctively stepped backward.

My shoulders touched the bookshelf.

There was nowhere else to go.

Adrian stopped only a few feet away.

The difference in our height suddenly felt enormous.

I could smell the faint scent of his cologne—something dark and clean, like cedar and smoke.

I hated that I noticed.

I hated even more that my eyes dropped briefly to the open collar of his black shirt before I forced them back to his face.

His eyes narrowed.

He noticed.

Heat rushed into my cheeks.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

I was standing alone in a basement with the professor I had hated for exactly one day, investigating a ten-year-old disappearance, and somehow I was embarrassed because I'd looked at his chest.

Adrian's expression changed.

Not much.

But enough.

Something almost amused flickered in his eyes.

"Are you frightened of me, Miss Hayes?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"I'm frightened of the situation."

"Not me?"

I swallowed.

"No."

He studied me.

Then his gaze softened for the briefest moment.

"You should be."

My stomach dropped.

Before I could answer, something crashed upstairs.

We both turned toward the staircase.

Adrian's entire body changed.

The relaxed stillness disappeared.

He moved instantly.

He took the journal from my hands—not roughly, but firmly—and pushed it beneath his coat.

"Stay here."

"What?"

"Don't move."

"Professor—"

"Elara."

The warning in his voice stopped me.

He climbed the stairs.

I watched until he disappeared into the darkness.

Then I heard footsteps.

A door opening.

Silence.

My curiosity won.

Again.

I followed.

At the top of the staircase, the library was empty.

The lights were still on.

But Adrian was gone.

I looked around.

"Professor Vale?"

Nothing.

Then I noticed something on the floor.

A piece of black paper.

I picked it up.

There was a silver raven printed on it.

My heart skipped.

The same symbol from the journal.

On the back, someone had written three words.

Stop digging, Elara.

I stared at the message.

My hands began to shake.

Someone knew my name.

Someone knew I'd found the journal.

Someone wanted me to stop.

I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

I spun around.

A girl stood between the shelves.

She had long pink hair, dark eyeliner, and an expression that suggested she'd just walked into the middle of a murder investigation and found it entertaining.

She smiled.

"I'm Mira."

I stared at her.

"Mira?"

"Your roommate."

"Oh."

She tilted her head.

"You look terrified."

"I'm fine."

"You're terrible at lying."

She glanced toward the staircase.

"Was that Professor Vale?"

I hesitated.

Mira's eyes widened.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You were alone with him."

"I was not—"

"At midnight?"

"It wasn't like that."

She grinned.

"I didn't say it was."

My face heated.

Mira laughed.

Then her expression suddenly changed.

She looked at the paper in my hand.

The smile disappeared.

"Where did you get that?"

I held it tighter.

"Why?"

"Because that's a Raven symbol."

My stomach tightened.

"The Ravens?"

She nodded.

"Six students. Richest families on campus. They basically own Blackthorn."

"What do they do?"

Mira looked around the empty library before lowering her voice.

"They make problems disappear."

A cold feeling settled in my chest.

"Problems?"

"Scandals. Cheating. Drugs. Affairs. Whatever their families don't want getting out."

"And the university lets them?"

Mira gave me a humorless smile.

"Blackthorn doesn't let them."

She paused.

"Blackthorn belongs to them."

I thought about the journal.

The photograph.

Lydia.

Vale.

The warning.

Then I looked toward the staircase where Adrian had disappeared.

"Do they know Professor Vale?"

Mira's face went pale.

"Why are you asking?"

"Just answer me."

She hesitated.

"Everyone knows Adrian Vale."

"That's not what I asked."

Mira stepped closer.

"Elara..."

Her voice dropped.

"Whatever you're doing, stop."

I stared at her.

"Why?"

"Because people who investigate Blackthorn's secrets don't usually stay here long."

She looked toward the windows.

Outside, the rain had begun.

"And the last person who tried?"

Her eyes met mine.

"She disappeared."

---

Across campus, Adrian stood alone inside his office.

The journal lay open on his desk.

His fingers rested against the old leather cover.

He stared at the final page.

Adrian Vale knows.

He closed his eyes.

Ten years.

Ten years of silence.

Ten years of burying the truth.

He had spent every one of them believing the past was finally dead.

Then Elara Hayes had walked into his classroom.

Quiet.

Sharp.

Beautiful.

Too curious for her own good.

He remembered the moment he'd first seen her that morning.

Long black hair falling over her shoulders.

Green eyes that refused to lower when challenged.

Porcelain skin that had flushed when he embarrassed her.

She was wearing a simple dark skirt and cream blouse, nothing extravagant.

Yet he'd noticed her immediately.

He hated himself for it.

He hated the fact that he remembered the exact shade of green in her eyes.

He hated the way his pulse had changed when she'd challenged him in front of the entire class.

And most of all, he hated that she had found the journal.

Adrian opened his desk drawer.

Inside was an old photograph.

Lydia.

His fingers tightened around the edges.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

A knock sounded at the door.

Adrian immediately put the photograph away.

"Come in."

Dean Whitmore entered.

The older man's expensive suit was perfectly pressed, his expression unreadable.

"You saw her."

Adrian said nothing.

Whitmore closed the door.

"How much does she know?"

"Too much."

"Then handle it."

Adrian's eyes hardened.

"She's a student."

Whitmore smiled faintly.

"So was Lydia."

The room went silent.

Adrian stood.

His height and controlled strength made the older man take a small step backward.

"Don't mention her name."

Whitmore's smile disappeared.

"You have one job, Adrian."

"And what's that?"

"Keep the past buried."

Adrian stared at him.

Then his phone vibrated.

One message.

Unknown number.

SHE HAS THE JOURNAL.

Another message appeared.

MAKE HER STOP.

Adrian looked at the screen.

Then toward the dark window.

For the first time in ten years, he felt something dangerously close to panic.

Because there was one thing Whitmore didn't know.

One thing nobody knew.

Chapter 2 — The Warning

I couldn't move.

Professor Adrian Vale stood between me and the staircase, his gray eyes fixed on the journal in my hands.

Up close, he looked even more intimidating than he had in the lecture hall.

He was tall—much taller than me—and his black coat stretched over broad shoulders and a lean, muscular frame. His black hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his fingers through it.

The silver rings on his fingers caught the weak light from my phone.

Everything about him looked deliberate.

Controlled.

Except his eyes.

For the first time, I saw something there that didn't belong.

Fear.

I tightened my grip on the journal.

"You knew her."

It wasn't a question.

His jaw tightened.

"Elara."

My name sounded different in his voice now.

Lower.

More personal.

I hated the way it made my stomach twist.

"You knew her," I repeated.

He took another step toward me.

"Give me the journal."

"No."

His eyebrows drew together.

"No?"

"No."

I surprised myself with how steady my voice sounded.

Inside, I was terrified.

But I'd spent my entire life learning that fear didn't mean you had to surrender.

Adrian stared at me for several seconds.

Then he exhaled slowly.

"You don't understand what you're holding."

"Then explain it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you're not ready."

I almost laughed.

"Not ready?"

I lifted the journal.

"Someone disappeared ten years ago. Your name is written inside. And now you're standing in a locked archive at midnight telling me I shouldn't ask questions."

His expression hardened.

"You should have left the journal where you found it."

"I wouldn't have found it if someone hadn't left it in an unlocked drawer."

His eyes flickered toward the filing cabinet.

That tiny movement told me everything.

He knew exactly where it had been.

And he knew exactly what was inside.

My pulse quickened.

"You put it there."

"No."

"Then who did?"

Silence.

Adrian looked away.

For a moment, I saw something almost human beneath the cold professor everyone feared.

Pain.

Then it disappeared.

"You need to leave."

I shook my head.

"Not until you tell me who she was."

His gaze snapped back to mine.

"Her name was Lydia."

The name seemed to cost him something.

"Lydia Vale?"

"No."

His voice became quieter.

"Lydia Mercer."

I waited.

"She was a student here."

"What happened to her?"

Adrian's face went completely still.

"She disappeared."

"Everyone knows that."

"You don't know the truth."

"Then tell me."

He stepped closer.

I instinctively stepped backward.

My shoulders touched the bookshelf.

There was nowhere else to go.

Adrian stopped only a few feet away.

The difference in our height suddenly felt enormous.

I could smell the faint scent of his cologne—something dark and clean, like cedar and smoke.

I hated that I noticed.

I hated even more that my eyes dropped briefly to the open collar of his black shirt before I forced them back to his face.

His eyes narrowed.

He noticed.

Heat rushed into my cheeks.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

I was standing alone in a basement with the professor I had hated for exactly one day, investigating a ten-year-old disappearance, and somehow I was embarrassed because I'd looked at his chest.

Adrian's expression changed.

Not much.

But enough.

Something almost amused flickered in his eyes.

"Are you frightened of me, Miss Hayes?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"I'm frightened of the situation."

"Not me?"

I swallowed.

"No."

He studied me.

Then his gaze softened for the briefest moment.

"You should be."

My stomach dropped.

Before I could answer, something crashed upstairs.

We both turned toward the staircase.

Adrian's entire body changed.

The relaxed stillness disappeared.

He moved instantly.

He took the journal from my hands—not roughly, but firmly—and pushed it beneath his coat.

"Stay here."

"What?"

"Don't move."

"Professor—"

"Elara."

The warning in his voice stopped me.

He climbed the stairs.

I watched until he disappeared into the darkness.

Then I heard footsteps.

A door opening.

Silence.

My curiosity won.

Again.

I followed.

At the top of the staircase, the library was empty.

The lights were still on.

But Adrian was gone.

I looked around.

"Professor Vale?"

Nothing.

Then I noticed something on the floor.

A piece of black paper.

I picked it up.

There was a silver raven printed on it.

My heart skipped.

The same symbol from the journal.

On the back, someone had written three words.

Stop digging, Elara.

I stared at the message.

My hands began to shake.

Someone knew my name.

Someone knew I'd found the journal.

Someone wanted me to stop.

I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

I spun around.

A girl stood between the shelves.

She had long pink hair, dark eyeliner, and an expression that suggested she'd just walked into the middle of a murder investigation and found it entertaining.

She smiled.

"I'm Mira."

I stared at her.

"Mira?"

"Your roommate."

"Oh."

She tilted her head.

"You look terrified."

"I'm fine."

"You're terrible at lying."

She glanced toward the staircase.

"Was that Professor Vale?"

I hesitated.

Mira's eyes widened.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You were alone with him."

"I was not—"

"At midnight?"

"It wasn't like that."

She grinned.

"I didn't say it was."

My face heated.

Mira laughed.

Then her expression suddenly changed.

She looked at the paper in my hand.

The smile disappeared.

"Where did you get that?"

I held it tighter.

"Why?"

"Because that's a Raven symbol."

My stomach tightened.

"The Ravens?"

She nodded.

"Six students. Richest families on campus. They basically own Blackthorn."

"What do they do?"

Mira looked around the empty library before lowering her voice.

"They make problems disappear."

A cold feeling settled in my chest.

"Problems?"

"Scandals. Cheating. Drugs. Affairs. Whatever their families don't want getting out."

"And the university lets them?"

Mira gave me a humorless smile.

"Blackthorn doesn't let them."

She paused.

"Blackthorn belongs to them."

I thought about the journal.

The photograph.

Lydia.

Vale.

The warning.

Then I looked toward the staircase where Adrian had disappeared.

"Do they know Professor Vale?"

Mira's face went pale.

"Why are you asking?"

"Just answer me."

She hesitated.

"Everyone knows Adrian Vale."

"That's not what I asked."

Mira stepped closer.

"Elara..."

Her voice dropped.

"Whatever you're doing, stop."

I stared at her.

"Why?"

"Because people who investigate Blackthorn's secrets don't usually stay here long."

She looked toward the windows.

Outside, the rain had begun.

"And the last person who tried?"

Her eyes met mine.

"She disappeared."

---

Across campus, Adrian stood alone inside his office.

The journal lay open on his desk.

His fingers rested against the old leather cover.

He stared at the final page.

Adrian Vale knows.

He closed his eyes.

Ten years.

Ten years of silence.

Ten years of burying the truth.

He had spent every one of them believing the past was finally dead.

Then Elara Hayes had walked into his classroom.

Quiet.

Sharp.

Beautiful.

Too curious for her own good.

He remembered the moment he'd first seen her that morning.

Long black hair falling over her shoulders.

Green eyes that refused to lower when challenged.

Porcelain skin that had flushed when he embarrassed her.

She was wearing a simple dark skirt and cream blouse, nothing extravagant.

Yet he'd noticed her immediately.

He hated himself for it.

He hated the fact that he remembered the exact shade of green in her eyes.

He hated the way his pulse had changed when she'd challenged him in front of the entire class.

And most of all, he hated that she had found the journal.

Adrian opened his desk drawer.

Inside was an old photograph.

Lydia.

His fingers tightened around the edges.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

A knock sounded at the door.

Adrian immediately put the photograph away.

"Come in."

Dean Whitmore entered.

The older man's expensive suit was perfectly pressed, his expression unreadable.

"You saw her."

Adrian said nothing.

Whitmore closed the door.

"How much does she know?"

"Too much."

"Then handle it."

Adrian's eyes hardened.

"She's a student."

Whitmore smiled faintly.

"So was Lydia."

The room went silent.

Adrian stood.

His height and controlled strength made the older man take a small step backward.

"Don't mention her name."

Whitmore's smile disappeared.

"You have one job, Adrian."

"And what's that?"

"Keep the past buried."

Adrian stared at him.

Then his phone vibrated.

One message.

Unknown number.

SHE HAS THE JOURNAL.

Another message appeared.

MAKE HER STOP.

Adrian looked at the screen.

Then toward the dark window.

For the first time in ten years, he felt something dangerously close to panic.

Because there was one thing Whitmore didn't know.

One thing nobody knew.

Adrian wasn't afraid Elara would uncover his secret.

He was afraid of what would happen when she discovered—

he had never been the person who killed Lydia.

He had only been the person who helped bury the truth.

Adrian wasn't afraid Elara would uncover his secret.

He was afraid of what would happen when she discovered—

he had never been the person who killed Lydia.

He had only been the person who helped bury the truth.