My hair shifted slightly as I kept bouncing my foot against the floor, the quiet tapping of my heels echoing under the desk while I mentally ran through every detail I had memorized.
I wasn't nervous exactly, but I cared, and that alone meant this presentation had to be flawless.
Across the room Zyren stood with a small group of classmates who were visibly panicking, laughing with them like this was just another morning instead of the final victimology presentation that had half the class spiraling.
Typical.
For the first time in the past two weeks I had arrived early. Too early. Early enough that the halls had still been half empty when I walked in.
My plan had been simple: present, finish perfectly, and go back to sleep.
Zyren looked at me then, briefly, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't.
My stomach tightened.
It wasn't a dream. We had actually gone out. He had actually followed me halfway across the city, only to corner me with that infuriating calm confidence of his and somehow make me melt long enough to steal a kiss from me.
A small smile betrayed me before I could stop it as I sat down and tried to calm the restless energy in my chest.
We hadn't spoken all morning, even though we had been the only two students in the hall when I arrived.
My mind had already decided what that meant.
He wasn't that interested.
And strangely enough that realization left me both slightly disappointed and deeply relieved. At least I hadn't completely lost control over someone like him and wasted time chasing fantasies about something that probably never existed in the first place.
About us.
The thought made me roll my eyes at myself.
Pathetic.
I sounded like a teenage girl ready to run headfirst into a wall… or worse, into a man.
A man who had done nothing except compete with me academically and occasionally appear exactly when I was at my most vulnerable.
"Ayra."
His voice cut clean through my thoughts.
I looked up.
He was standing by the door now, the classroom already filled with professors and the remaining final-year students.
"It's time."
I straightened my blazer automatically and grabbed the folder from my desk.
The hall was quieter than usual when we walked in together. Only a few professors sat at the front table, including Mr. Laurent and the other Victimology lecturers from Lumière, while the rest of the students waited for their turn.
I approached the professors first.
"Good morning," I said calmly, placing a printed set of papers in front of each of them. "A synthesized outline of our case analysis. Victimology profile, crime scene correlation and offender projection."
Mr. Laurent lifted one eyebrow slightly as he flipped through the pages.
"Well organized," he murmured.
"Efficiency is the goal," I replied.
Behind me I heard the faint scratch of chalk.
Zyren had already moved to the board.
I turned around just as he finished writing the case number across the top.
He glanced at me once, briefly.
That look lingered a second too long.
"Shall we?" he said.
I folded my arms lightly. "Lead the way."
He faced the room.
"Our case focuses on the homicide of Elena Marceau, twenty-six years old, found in her apartment three weeks ago. Initial investigations focused heavily on behavioral reconstruction of the offender."
He stepped aside slightly and gestured toward the board where a simple diagram of the apartment layout was sketched.
"But that approach misses something important."
His gaze flickered toward me.
My cue.
I stepped forward.
"The victim."
A few students shifted in their seats.
I picked up a second piece of chalk.
"Traditional profiling prioritizes offender psychology," I explained, drawing a small timeline beside the diagram, "but victimology asks a different question."
I circled the victim's name slowly.
"Why her?"
Zyren leaned against the desk behind us, arms crossed, watching me.
Too closely.
"So we started there," I continued. "Elena Marceau worked remotely, minimal social conflict, limited daily routines, predictable movement patterns and a very narrow social circle."
"And yet," Zyren added smoothly, pushing himself off the desk, "her apartment shows no signs of forced entry."
He stepped closer to the board beside me.
"Which suggests the offender was either invited in…"
"…or expected," I finished.
Our eyes met for half a second.
That stupid spark again.
One of the professors leaned forward slightly.
"And what does your victimology profile suggest?" he asked.
I tapped the timeline.
"Escalation of vulnerability over the past two months. Financial stress, isolation, and increased digital contact with unknown profiles."
Zyren nodded once.
"So the offender didn't just choose her randomly," he continued. "He cultivated access."
I watched him for a moment before speaking again.
"Which changes the profile entirely."
"And how?" Mr. Laurent asked.
Zyren gestured toward me again, a small smirk pulling at his mouth.
"Go on."
I stepped forward slightly.
"The offender is patient," I said calmly. "Controlled. Comfortable operating within the victim's routine without triggering suspicion."
Zyren added quietly, "And confident enough to stay."
The room fell silent.
I glanced at him.
"Meaning?"
He looked straight at the professors.
"The crime scene reconstruction shows no panic indicators. No rushed movement patterns. Whoever did this stayed long enough to stage the scene."
"And staging," I added, "means intent."
A student in the back muttered something under his breath.
Zyren ignored it.
"Which leaves us with a combined profile," he said, tapping the board once. "Someone socially invisible, capable of manipulating trust and comfortable with long-term observation."
I crossed my arms again.
"Predatory patience."
He looked at me then.
That look again.
"Exactly."
Mr. Laurent flipped another page of the printed outline.
"And your conclusion?"
Zyren didn't answer.
Instead he looked at me.
Like he already knew what I would say.
So I stepped forward one last time.
"The victim didn't attract a killer," I said calmly.
"She was selected by one."
The silence in the room stretched for a moment.
Then one of the professors leaned back slightly.
"Impressive collaboration."
Zyren let out a quiet scoff beside me.
"Collaboration," he repeated.
I turned my head just enough to meet his eyes.
There was something dangerously amused in his expression.
Like he knew something I didn't.
Or like he was remembering something I was trying very hard not to.
"Careful," I murmured quietly so only he could hear.
His smirk deepened.
"Of what?"
My voice dropped slightly.
"Of enjoying this too much."
His gaze dipped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
"Oh," he said softly.
"I definitely am."
The door clicked softly behind us, leaving the classroom hushed and orderly. The echo of our footsteps barely carried down the polished corridor, and the stack of printed reports remained on the professors' desk, neat and precise, silent witnesses to our work.
I drew a slow breath, trying to release the tension that had been coiled tight inside me all through the presentation, but it refused to loosen entirely; my heart still beat faster than necessary, and my mind raced with every glance Zyren had thrown me during the discussion.
He walked beside me, hands in his pockets, posture casual but eyes sharp, tracking me with a focus that made my stomach flutter unexpectedly.
"One of our professors called this… impressively synchronized," I said quietly, not looking at him directly, letting my voice carry just enough for him to hear.
He smirked, slow, deliberate, like he had expected that observation. "They also suggested we work together more often. Said we complement each other."
I glanced at him then, caught in the corner of my eye, and noticed the small tilt of his mouth, the subtle lift of his brow. "Complement each other? That sounds suspiciously like they're flirting with us."
His eyes darkened just a fraction. "Perhaps," he said, voice low, almost teasing. "Or perhaps they just finally realized who does the real work around here."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't hide the slight smile tugging at my lips. "Don't let it get to your head. They're probably just being polite."
He laughed quietly, the sound almost private between us, though the corridor was empty enough to make it feel like the walls themselves were listening. "Polite or not, it's true. You handled the victim profile flawlessly."
My heel clicked against the floor as I shifted my weight. "And you? Your offender projection wasn't too shabby either."
He stopped walking suddenly, turning just enough to face me fully. His gaze was intense, deliberate, anchored entirely on me. "Flawless, you said?" His voice had that low, teasing edge that made me want to scoff but also lean closer. "Don't think I didn't notice how nervous you were before we started. Foot tapping, shoulders tight, breaths you tried to hide."
I scoffed lightly, trying to sound indifferent. "Observation skills. Very impressive, detective."
He smirked, slow, eyes gleaming. "Comes with the territory."
I looked straight ahead, pretending to adjust my folder, though my pulse betrayed me with every step. "Well, if your ego is satisfied, I'm going back to sleep."
His laugh was soft, deliberate, lingering in the corridor. "Not until you admit it was thrilling," he said, leaning slightly closer so that his shoulder brushed mine.
My chest warmed at the proximity, but I straightened instinctively. "Never. You think I'd admit that so easily?"
He tilted his head, eyes scanning my face as if memorizing every line, every expression. "Not easily. That's the part I like."
I suppressed a smile, continuing down the corridor, keeping my composure, though every nerve in my body hummed with tension. He fell in step beside me again, quiet for a moment, letting the silence hang heavy and intimate between us.
Then, just as we reached the stairwell, he spoke again, low, deliberate. "Next time, don't arrive too early. It spoils my advantage."
I snorted, shaking my head, but the flush creeping up my neck betrayed my amusement. "You think I'm here for you?"
His gaze caught mine, and I knew he already had the answer. "Maybe," he said softly. "Maybe a little."
And for a moment, the empty corridor didn't feel empty at all. It felt like the entire world had shrunk to the space between us, leaving only the tension, the unspoken words, and the way his eyes seemed to claim me without ever touching.
I pressed my lips into a tight line, hiding the small grin threatening to break free. "One day, Zyren, your confidence is going to get you in trouble."
He chuckled quietly. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm already exactly where I'm supposed to be."
And with that, we reached the stairwell. I turned to take the next step, feeling his presence behind me, deliberate, dangerous, and entirely consuming.