Chapter Thirteen: Carol's POV
I stopped, staring at his face.
"That night?" he repeated, tone politely inquiring, giving nothing away.
"At The Emerald bar entrance," I insisted. I forced myself to meet his eyes, though my heart was pounding. "I thought I saw you. In the rain."
The words felt inadequate, too vague to capture what had actually happened. But I couldn't say more without making it impossible for him to maintain his denial, without forcing a confrontation I wasn't sure I could handle.
Maurice's expression remained perfectly placid, professionally concerned. "In the rain? I'm afraid I don't follow. Were you at a particular establishment? I attend several social functions in that area, so it's certainly possible our paths crossed."
He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to recall. "Though I don't specifically remember seeing you. Perhaps you're mistaken?"
He said it so smoothly, so completely, that for a moment I started doubting myself.
Was I wrong? Could the man in the alley have been someone else?
Someone who just happened to have the same eyes, the same face, the same dangerous aura?
No. I knew what I'd seen, what I'd felt.
It was too real to be mistaken identity or trauma-induced hallucination.
"I suppose I must be," I heard myself saying. The words didn't even convince me.
But what else could I say? I had no proof, no witnesses. Only my own certainty against his carefully maintained ignorance.
To push further would be to make an accusation I couldn't substantiate, to paint myself as unstable or vindictive, to give him ammunition to use against me.
"These past few weeks have been stressful for you," Maurice continued, his voice taking on more concern, sounding gentle.
That false warmth made me sick.
"Coursework, plus this new position, it's understandable you might be overwhelmed. If you need to talk to someone about stress, the university has excellent counseling services."
He was manipulating me, making me doubt myself.
Before I could say anything, he'd already changed the subject, smoothly, as if our conversation had been nothing more than casual chat between mentor and student. "Ah, here we are. The main genetics lab." He pushed open a door marked "Advanced Genomics Research - Authorized Personnel Only" and gestured for me to enter.
The lab was impressive. Equipment was state-of-the-art, gleaming under fluorescent lights.
Samples and materials were neatly organized along the walls. This space represented millions in funding and many years of research accomplishment.
Even though this place made me feel like a cage, I still couldn't help feeling excited—the opportunity to work here was genuinely rare.
A woman looked up from a workbench. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail. Safety goggles pushed up on her forehead. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, eyes very focused, the kind that came from years of dedicated research. "Professor St. Claire. You're early."
"Leah, I'd like you to meet Carol Valodin. She'll be joining us as my new research assistant." Maurice's tone was warm with professional pride, like a mentor introducing a promising protégée. "Carol, this is Leah Martinez, my senior graduate student."
Leah smiled, looking genuinely welcoming. She pulled off her gloves and extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Carol. I've heard good things about your work." Her grip was firm, eyes friendly but also assessing. "A sophomore, right? That's impressive. Professor St. Claire doesn't usually take undergrads."
"I know," I said, shaking her hand. I tried to appear more confident than I felt. "I'm looking forward to learning from both of you."
"She'll be focusing on the hybrid genome project," Maurice said, walking to a computer and pulling up what appeared to be complex data sets. "I think her fresh perspective could be valuable. She has background in both theoretical genetics and practical lab work, making her well-suited for our interdisciplinary research."
Leah nodded thoughtfully, moving beside him to glance at the screen. "That makes sense. We've been stuck on variance patterns in non-coding regions for weeks. Another set of eyes might help us see what we're missing." She turned to me with a welcoming expression. "I'll show you around, get you oriented with our protocols. Do you have time now, or should we schedule for later?"
"Now is fine," I said. Good to have something concrete to focus on, not to think about what Maurice wanted or doubt my own sanity.
Leah began showing me around the lab, patiently explaining the layout, organization system, and safety protocols.
But I could feel Maurice watching me.
Not an occasional glance, but constantly staring. That gaze made me very uncomfortable, like something pressing on the back of my neck.
I tried to ignore it, following Leah past rows of centrifuges and incubators.
But I could still feel his eyes on me. His gaze was slow, unlike Leah's quick movements.
"This is our PCR workstation," Leah said, pointing to a white machine. "All amplification reactions are done here. Have you used real-time fluorescent quantitative PCR before?"
"Yes," I said. My voice was steadier than I expected. I tried to focus on Leah's explanation, but Maurice's gaze made me very uncomfortable.
Why was he still watching? Was he watching me, or watching the tension on my face?
Was he checking if I was lying? Or was he enjoying it—enjoying the look of me clearly knowing but not daring to speak?
Don't look back. I told myself. If you look back, you lose. He'll see the fear in your eyes, then smile, and ask in that gentle mentor tone: "What's wrong, Carol? Are you feeling unwell?"
I deliberately slowed my pace, making myself look like I was listening carefully to Leah. I put my fingers in my lab coat pockets, pinching my palms with my nails.
That little bit of pain kept me alert.
I stopped acknowledging Maurice's gaze falling on me, just focused intently on listening to each step she described, my mind already made up.
I would study well here and uncover Maurice St. Claire's secrets.