Chapter 7 The Kind One
“Miss Rowan!”
The voice called out lightly, carrying across the marble hallway of the photography wing.
Lila turned, startled. Professor Colin Mercer stood by the glass display of student photographs, hands in his pockets, a warm, easy smile on his face. The kind of man who could disarm a crowd with kindness alone.
“Yes, Professor?” she said, steadying the books in her arms.
He gestured for her to come closer. “I saw your name appear on the updated course list this morning,Photography 101. So it’s true, then?”
She nodded. “I decided to add it as a minor. It’s what my sister” She paused, unsure whether to finish.
His expression softened immediately. “Serena. Yes.”
Her breath hitched. “You knew her?”
He nodded slowly. “Not closely. She was one of the best students here, but I never lectured her, I saw her work in the faculty showcases. Extraordinary use of color. Melancholy but fearless. She had a rare eye.”
Lila’s throat went tight. “That sounds like her.”
“I’m glad,” Mercer said, studying her with what seemed to be gentle concern. “It’s good to have Rowan back in the department. Serena was” He hesitated, his gaze flicking away briefly, as if weighing how much to say. “She had an intensity about her. A fire. But fire can burn bright and vanish fast.”
Lila didn’t reply.
Mercer seemed to sense the heaviness and quickly lightened his tone. “Come on, let me give you the short tour. The best rooms, the working labs, the camera store that overcharges everyone, traditions must be honored.”
A small, reluctant laugh escaped her.
They walked together down the corridor, Mercer talking as though to a friend rather than a student. “When I started teaching, I was warned not to get attached to my students. But that’s impossible in photography. You see them through their lenses, through what they notice. You learn their hearts by accident.”
Lila smiled faintly. “That sounds nice.”
“It is,” he said. “It’s also dangerous, sometimes. Empathy is addictive.”
She didn’t quite understand what he meant, but something in his tone was both earnest and strange, like a secret was tucked beneath his words.
When they reached his office, Mercer held the door open for her. “Come in, if you have a minute. You can’t properly major in philosophy and minor in photography without being fed coffee and unsolicited advice.”
She stepped inside hesitantly. His office was different from Beckett’s, where Beckett’s was stark and intimidating, Mercer’s was soft, cluttered but alive. Books stacked on the floor, film rolls in small glass jars, a Polaroid pinned above his desk showing students smiling at a campus picnic.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair across from him. “I won’t bite.”
She sat down on the empty chair.
Mercer poured coffee into two mugs. “You’ve had Beckett’s class already, yes?”
Lila groaned softly. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Mercer chuckled. “And you survived. You’re already doing better than half the department.”
“He hates me,” she said, half-joking.
“No,” Mercer said, handing her a mug. “Beckett doesn’t hate anyone. He just forgets that students are human beings. To him, everyone’s a thesis.”
Lila smiled into her cup. “That sounds about right.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Don’t take him personally. He was different once. Before the tragedy.”
Her gaze lifted sharply. “You mean my sister’s death.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. That whole year changed him. Changed us all, really.”
A silence stretched between them. Lila looked down at the rim of her cup, watching steam rise. “You think he was affected?” she asked. “Because of guilt?”
Mercer’s expression flickered with pity, or something close to it. “No, Lila. Because he cared.”
The words unsettled her, though she couldn’t explain why.
“I didn’t mean to talk about this,” Mercer said, breaking the tension. “Actually, I called you in for something else.”
He stood, crossed to a small cabinet, and rummaged through its contents. After a moment, he pulled out a leather camera bag, old but perfectly maintained. The kind of thing that looked like it carried stories.
“I’ve been saving this,” he said, setting it gently on the desk. “For a student who deserved it.”
She blinked. “Professor, you don’t have to”
“ Please, forgive me,” he interrupted softly. “It’s a tradition of mine. Every year, I pass on one of my cameras to a student who reminds me of why I teach.”
She hesitated, but curiosity won. She leaned forward as he unlatched the buckle. Inside was a vintage Nikon F3, its metal body gleaming faintly under the lamplight.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
He smiled. “It’s honest. Cameras like this don’t lie. You’ll see everything through it. Everything you’d rather not.”
She ran her fingers along the cool metal. “You’re giving this to me?”
“I am,” he said simply. “It belonged to someone brave.”
“Someone you knew?”
His gaze softened. “Yes. A student. She taught me what real courage looked like.”
Her heart skipped once. “What happened to her?”
He looked past her for a moment, then said quietly, “She stopped being careful.”
The air felt heavier, as though the room had leaned closer to listen.
Then Mercer smiled gently again. “Don’t mind my morbid sense of poetry. You remind me of her. Stubborn. Determined. A little reckless, maybe.”
Lila looked down, flustered. “I wouldn’t say reckless.”
“Your sister might disagree.”
Her eyes shot up. “Serena?”
He nodded slowly. “She used to talk about you sometimes. Not by name, but I pieced it together later. The sister who asked too many questions. The one who never let her rest. That was you, wasn’t it?”
A small smile tugged at Lila’s lips. “Yeah. That was me.”
Mercer studied her face, his expression unreadable. Then, softly: “You’ve grown into her mirror.”
For a second, she swore he looked almost proud.
He stepped around the desk, standing closer now. “You should keep the camera. Call it an early graduation gift.”
“I can’t accept this,” she said.
“You can,” he said gently. “And you will. I insist.”
The way he said it was kind, but firm and left no room for refusal.
She nodded slowly. “Thank you, Professor. I really appreciate it.”
“Good.” He smiled again. “And Lila?”
She looked up.
“If you ever need a place to work quietly, my office is open. Or the little library at my home. You’d be surprised how much inspiration hides in silence.”
Her brow furrowed. “Your home?”
He chuckled. “It’s not as improper as it sounds. Sometimes students come by to borrow books or equipment. It’s safer than wandering around campus late.”
“Safer,” she repeated.
“Yes,” he said softly. “These are uneasy times for red-haired girls, aren’t they?”
Her fingers tightened around the strap of the bag.
He seemed to realize how that sounded and quickly added, “Forgive me. Poor phrasing. I only meant you should be cautious. The world’s watching you now, Miss Rowan. Fame and danger often look alike.”
Lila swallowed, unsure what to say.
“Go on,” Mercer said finally, gesturing toward the door. “And remember what I told you, keep your light turned on.”
She nodded and left.
Her dorm felt colder that evening, though the radiator hummed faintly. Lila placed the old camera bag on her desk and stared at it for a long moment.
The gift was generous, too generous.
And yet something about Mercer’s kindness didn’t feel false. It was real. Or maybe that’s what made it dangerous.
She unbuckled the flap again, pulled out the camera, and turned it in her hands. The weight of it comforted her. The click of the shutter was sharp and clean, like truth itself.
As she set the camera down, she noticed something folded beneath the strap at the bottom of the bag.
A note.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded it.
Three words stared back at her in familiar handwriting:
“Property of Serena Rowan.”
Lila froze.
It was Serena’s writing, unmistakable. The looping S, the sharp R.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
The bag slid from her lap and hit the floor softly.
She stared at the note again, reading it over and over as though it might change.
Property of Serena Rowan.
Professor Mercer had said the camera belonged to someone brave.Someone who stopped being careful.
And he’d given it to her.
The coincidence made her stomach twist.
A notification buzzed on her phone. She glanced at the screen. A text from an unknown number.
“You look just like her when you hold that camera.”
Lila’s heart dropped. She looked toward her window.
The blinds were half-open.
Outside, the courtyard was dim except for one pool of light under a streetlamp.
Someone stood there.
A figure, too far to make out, but definitely watching.
Then, there was a flash.White light burst against the glass for a split second.
By the time her eyes adjusted, the figure was gone.
Only the faint echo of the camera shutter lingered in her head, ringing like a whisper.
Lila stepped backward slowly, the note still clutched in her hand. The words on it blurred through her tears.“Property of Serena Rowan.”
She turned off her lamp, heart hammering, the room falling into darkness.And in the black silence, from somewhere just outside her window, the shutter clicked again