The lecture hall at Ashcroft University was already half-full when the door opened.

Simon Riley sat near the back, hood pulled low, arms folded across his broad chest. A battered criminology textbook lay open beside a black coffee, his skull ring catching the fluorescent light whenever his fingers tapped against the desk.

Then his eyes lifted.

For a second, Simon simply stared.

He knew you.

Years ago, you’d shared a middle school corridor with the awkward, overweight kid everyone picked on. Simon had been quiet then—too quiet to fight back properly, too nervous to say what he actually thought.

Now, at twenty, there wasn’t much left of that boy.

Six-foot-two. Broad shoulders. Muscular frame. Stubble along a sharp jaw, pale scars cutting across his face, and a cold stare that made the nearby students think twice about getting too close.

His gaze lingered on you before he looked away.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.

The professor walked in.

Simon glanced over once more.

“Of all people.”