Chapter Seventeen: Carol's POV
The following week gradually developed a rhythm.
If I didn't think too hard about the danger and deception underlying every interaction, it could even seem normal.
I went to the lab three afternoons a week, processing samples under Leah's guidance, learning the various protocols of Maurice's research projects, gradually becoming comfortable with the equipment and daily workflow.
I told myself Hilda's opinion didn't matter.
Her view of me had nothing to do with my goal of getting close to Maurice and finding evidence of his assault.
But her hostility still bothered me. Every day in the lab felt like a test I might fail at any moment. I started second-guessing myself, double-checking work I'd done correctly, afraid she'd catch me making a mistake.
One Thursday afternoon, Leah left early for a dentist appointment, and Paul was in the tissue culture room.
Hilda and I were alone in the main lab for the first time since we'd met.
I was at the workbench labeling new sample tubes when I felt her behind me—didn't hear her, she walked deliberately quietly, but felt it, like being watched.
I turned slowly, not letting her see I was startled. "Can I help you with something?"
"I wanted to talk to you." Hilda's voice was steady.
My heart rate increased, though I tried to stay calm. I knew this was a confrontation. "About what?"
"About your position here." She moved closer, deliberately closing the distance between us. "About why Professor St. Claire specifically selected you over dozens of more qualified candidates."
I set down the tube I was holding and turned to face her fully. "I imagine he chose me because my research interested him."
She looked at me, continuing: "Professor St. Claire is extremely selective about who he works with and very protective of his research team's integrity. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he gives a position to a sophomore student without consulting anyone on the team or following the department's normal procedures for selecting research assistants."
"I'm not responsible for his selection process. If you have concerns about departmental procedures, you should discuss them with him directly," I responded calmly.
"I've worked with Professor St. Claire for seven years." Hilda's voice dropped, carrying a pressure that made my back stiffen. "I know how he thinks, how he makes decisions. But selecting you—this isn't like something he would do."
"You don't belong here," Hilda said calmly, almost conversationally.
But the words hit hard.
She'd been in this position for many years, had her authority and weight.
Before I could say anything—whatever I said would probably make things worse—she turned and walked away. The door closed softly, that sound louder than a slam.
After she left, I stood at the workbench, frozen. Heart pounding, hands trembling slightly.
For a moment I wanted to chase after her, defend myself, or ask why she was treating me this way.
But reason told me pursuing her would only make things worse.
She would selectively tell Maurice, describing me as the troublemaker while presenting herself as his lab's guardian.
I forced myself to take several deep breaths, slowing my heart rate, regaining composure.
This was just another problem, another complication in an already complex situation.
I couldn't let Hilda's jealousy affect my real objective.
Let her speculate about how I got this position. Let her complain to Maurice and see what he said. I had my own plan, my own reasons for being here.
What Hilda thought had nothing to do with whether I could uncover what Maurice had done to me.
Though I thought this, when I returned to labeling, my hands took a while to stop shaking. But I still felt Hilda's hostility wasn't just jealousy or territorial behavior.
The way she protected Maurice was excessive, as if her feelings for him went beyond a student's respect for a professor.
I'd only been here a week and she already dared to confront me directly. If she felt I was blocking her path, what else might she do?
An hour later, Leah returned from the dentist. She found me still at the workbench, samples already labeled and data logged. I'd channeled all my tension into work, so everything was done meticulously. She looked at the empty lab—Paul gone, Hilda gone.
Then she looked at me as if reading something from my tense shoulders and forced expression.
"Everything okay?" she asked. The same question she'd asked last time after I'd asked her about Hilda.
I considered telling her what happened, describing Hilda's confrontation and her barely disguised threats, but something stopped me—maybe pride.
"Fine. Just finished logging all the new samples."
Leah nodded without pressing. "Good work. Professor St. Claire wants to see our progress on the hybrid genome sequencing this week. I'll tell him you prepared the samples ahead of schedule."
Hearing Maurice's name sent an uncomfortable jolt through me—not fear exactly, but something more complex, a mixture of wariness and anticipation I didn't want to examine. "Will he meet with me directly?"
"Probably." Leah opened the project schedule on her computer, checking progress against Maurice's timeline. "At every major milestone, he meets individually with each team member. He wants to ensure everyone understands where their work fits in the overall research."
I swallowed, my throat tightening.
This meeting was both an opportunity to observe him, find his weaknesses; and torture, having to pretend he was just a professor rather than the vampire who'd assaulted me.
"Makes sense," I said as naturally as possible, voice steadier than I expected.
Leah smiled at me encouragingly, but it only made me more aware of how dangerous my situation was.
One wrong step, or one second of letting my guard down, and everything would collapse.
"He'll be impressed with you. You learn faster than most graduate students."
"Thank you." I accepted her praise modestly, then returned to organizing the workbench.
But my mind kept thinking about how to handle a meeting with Maurice.
I knew I'd never be truly prepared. The gap between us was too great.
That evening, Leon still followed me back to the dorm from a distance. All the way I thought about Hilda's words: "You don't belong here."
She'd said it so definitively.
In some ways, she was right—I didn't belong in Maurice's lab.
At least not for academic ambitions. I was here to uncover the truth, to understand what happened in that alley on that rainy night.
But Hilda didn't know any of this.
If she knew the truth, she'd realize how wrong her jealous speculations were.
I had no romantic or admiring feelings toward Maurice St. Claire.
Not like her, eyes full of worship whenever she mentioned him—following him between institutions, dedicating her entire career to him.
When I looked at Maurice St. Claire, I felt only fear and anger.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me from these dark thoughts.
Emma texted: Dinner at the cafeteria? I need to tell you about my latest lab disaster.
Despite everything, I smiled. It reminded me that beyond Maurice's lab and Hilda's hostility, I still had a life, normal friends.
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," I replied, quickening my pace.
Leon followed alongside, maintaining the distance Simon required. I no longer resisted, because at least this way, I wasn't alone in these increasingly dangerous situations.
Tomorrow I'd return to the lab, continue pretending to be grateful for this position while secretly gathering evidence.
But tonight, I just wanted to have dinner with Emma, hear her complain about lab disasters, and pretend I was just an ordinary college student—whose biggest worries were exams and papers, not vampires, Hilda, and increasingly heavy secrets.
The next afternoon, the lab's internal messaging system sent me a notification: Professor St. Claire requests your presence in his office at 4 PM to discuss your progress on sample preparation. —Hilda Werner, Senior Research Assistant.
I stared at the screen, noticing she'd signed with her full title, as if reminding me of her credentials.
Four PM. Two hours away. I finished my current work, cleaned my workstation, and texted Leon to tell him I'd be staying late at the lab—Simon's rules required I notify him of any schedule changes.
At 3:45, everything was organized. Leah had already left, Paul was busy with headphones on. The lab was quiet except for the hum of equipment.
I grabbed my notebook and prepared report, checked myself in the mirror to ensure I looked professional and composed rather than nervous or guilty.
Then I walked down the corridor toward Maurice's office, trying to project the image of a confident student wanting to discuss research progress with her advisor.
His door was half-open, warm yellow light spilling through the gap.
I knocked lightly on the doorframe.
"Come in, Carol." His voice was gentlemanly, gentle. "Close the door. We have quite a bit to discuss."