Chapter 49

The rest of the day passed without incident.

At least on the surface.

Theodore taught two lectures, answered three emails and ignored four additional messages from Killian asking whether administration had finished preparing the documents.

By five o'clock, he was beginning to regret giving the man his phone number.

The administrative office was nearly empty when he arrived.

Most staff had already started packing up for the evening.

The woman behind the front desk recognized him immediately.

"Professor Everett."

"The letters."

"Ready."

She disappeared briefly into a back office before returning with two sealed university envelopes.

Official letterhead.

Faculty seal.

Administrative signatures.

Everything properly stamped.

Theodore accepted them with a nod.

The administrator hesitated.

Then smiled faintly.

"Mr. Drake was difficult to miss."

There it was again.

Theodore looked down at the envelopes.

"Apparently."

She seemed amused.

"The students have been discussing it all day."

"I'm aware."

That earned another smile.

"Well. Hopefully the retreat survives him."

Theodore wasn't entirely convinced of that himself.

He thanked her and left before the conversation could continue.

Outside, evening had already settled over campus.

Most classes were finished.

Students drifted toward parking lots, buses, and cafés in loose groups while the last traces of daylight faded behind the older university buildings.

Theodore stopped beneath a row of trees near Humanities and finally pulled out his phone.

A short message.

I have the documents.

Outside Humanities.

Six.

The reply arrived before he had even lowered the phone.

On my way.

Theodore stared at the screen.

Then locked it.

Annoying.

Entirely too fast.

Six o'clock arrived almost exactly on schedule.

Of course it did.

Killian never seemed late when something actually mattered to him.

Theodore spotted him crossing the courtyard from the opposite side of campus.

No classroom.

No suit.

No Annex.

Just jeans, a dark jacket, and his hands shoved into his pockets as he walked.

Strangely normal.

The realization caught Theodore off guard.

Killian slowed as he approached.

"Professor."

"The documents."

No greeting.

No small talk.

Theodore held out one of the envelopes.

Killian took it.

Their fingers brushed briefly.

Nothing significant.

Yet somehow both noticed.

Killian looked down at the envelope then he opened it and scanned the first page.

Official participation confirmation.

Travel authorization.

Faculty verification.

Everything exactly as requested.

"Looks expensive."

"It's paper."

"It's university paper."

"That's still paper."

Killian folded the document again.

The faint smile remained.

For a second neither spoke.

The evening air carried the distant sounds of traffic from beyond campus.

Students passed further down the pathway.

Far enough away to leave them alone.

Close enough to prevent it from feeling intentional.

Killian looked at him again.

This time longer.

"You look terrible."

Theodore frowned immediately.

"I'm fine."

"That wasn't the question."

"I didn't ask one."

Killian's mouth twitched slightly.

"You look tired."

"I work."

"Everybody works."

Theodore folded his arms.

"I wasn't aware this meeting included a medical assessment."

"It doesn't."

A pause.

Then:

"You still look tired.

Theodore hated that he noticed.

More importantly—

he hated that he was probably right.

Killian tucked the envelope beneath his arm.

"You actually think they'll suspend the Annex?"

"They should."

Killian tilted his head slightly.

"That's not confidence."

"No."

Theodore looked away briefly toward the darkening campus.

"It isn't."

For the first time since arriving, Killian's expression lost some of its usual amusement.

Because that answer had been honest.

Unexpectedly honest.

A few seconds passed.

Quiet.

Comfortable wasn't the right word.

But neither seemed eager to leave.

Then Killian finally spoke again.

"If they reject it, we're still expected to show up."

"I know."

"And if we don't?"

Theodore looked at him.

"Penalties."

"Great.

"Agreed."

Killian let out a short laugh.

Then glanced at the envelope again.

"Fifteen days."

"Yes."

"You seem excited."

"I'm a literature professor."

"Good point."

Another pause.

Then Theodore checked his watch.

"I should go."

Killian nodded once.

"Yeah."

Neither moved immediately.

Then Theodore finally turned.

Taking a few steps down the path.

Behind him, Killian remained where he was.

Watching.

Not for any particular reason.

At least that's what he told himself.

Theodore had almost reached the corner of the building when Killian called after him.

"Professor."

Theodore stopped.

Turned slightly.

"What."

A brief silence.

Then Killian shrugged.

"Don't spend the whole retreat hiding in your room."

Theodore stared at him.

Unimpressed.

"Goodnight, Mr. Drake."

Then he continued walking.

Leaving Killian standing alone beneath the fading evening light.

And for reasons he couldn't quite explain—

the campus suddenly felt a little emptier than before.

Theodore continued walking.

Halfway across the parking lot—

he stopped.

Just briefly.

A strange wave of lightheadedness passed through him.

Not enough to stumble.

Just enough to make him pause.

His hand tightened slightly around the folder.

A moment later it was gone.

Theodore exhaled quietly.

Low blood sugar.

Long day.

Nothing more.

He kept walking.

By the time Theodore got home, the dizziness had already become an inconvenience he had decided not to acknowledge.

The front door opened.

Warm light.

The smell of dinner.

His mother looked up from her book immediately.

"There you are."

Theodore nodded once.

"How was your day?"

"Uneventful."

"Then why do you look like you've been hit by a bus?"

Theodore removed his jacket.

"I haven't."

His mother narrowed her eyes.

"You look pale."

"I'm tired."

"You always say that."

The nurse appeared from the kitchen.

"Dinner is ready."

Normally Theodore would have answered immediately.

Tonight—

the smell reached him first.

Strong.

Far stronger than it should have been.

For a second his stomach tightened.

Not painfully.

Just enough.

The feeling disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

His mother noticed him pause.

Theodore walked forward anyway.

"I'm fine."

She looked unconvinced.

A beat.

His mother's suspicious stare followed him all the way to the stairs.

He ignored it.

The bedroom door closed behind him

Finally.

Quiet.

He loosened his tie, dropped it onto the chair, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

The day had felt unusually long.

Not difficult.

Just long.

By the time he reached the bathroom, a faint headache had settled behind his eyes.

Fatigue.

Nothing more.

The shower started.

Steam slowly filled the room.

Theodore stepped beneath the hot water and closed his eyes.

For a few minutes he simply stood there.

Motionless.

Letting the heat loosen the tension in his shoulders.

Usually that helped.

Tonight—

it didn't.

A strange wave of discomfort rolled through him.

Not pain.

Just—

wrong.

Theodore frowned slightly.

The feeling vanished almost immediately.

Leaving him standing there staring at the tiled wall.

His stomach felt unsettled.

Not enough to matter.

Enough to notice.

He reached automatically for the bottle of body wash.

The scent hit him first.

Something floral.

Something he had used for months.

Normally he never paid attention to it.

Tonight—

the smell seemed unusually strong.

Overwhelmingly so.

Theodore immediately set it back down.

Brows furrowing.

That was ridiculous.

It was soap.

The exact same soap he always used.

He turned away from it and rinsed his hands beneath the water.

A few moments later the sensation passed.

Just like before.

Gone.

Leaving only mild irritation behind.

Theodore exhaled quietly.

"Tired."

The explanation came easily.

Long week.

Too much work.

Too little sleep.

Entirely reasonable.

Far more reasonable than anything else.

By the time he finished showering, the discomfort had disappeared completely.

Which only confirmed his conclusion.

Nothing was wrong.

He dried off.

Pulled on a clean shirt.

And headed back toward his room.