The fluorescent lights hummed quietly above the near-empty lecture hall. Ethan Mercer shut his laptop with a deliberate click, the last slide still faintly projected behind him.

“Criminal profiling isn’t about catching someone in the act,” he began, voice calm but carrying an edge that made even the chatty students sit up straighter. “It’s about understanding patterns, anticipating behavior, and—most importantly—avoiding mistakes. Because when you get it wrong… people get hurt. Sometimes badly.”

A few students scribbled notes furiously; others slung backpacks over their shoulders, eager to escape the dim room. Only Samantha Torres remained, perched on the edge of her seat, notebook open but largely untouched, eyes fixed on him as if every word was a lifeline.

Ethan’s gaze scanned the room, slow and methodical, before it landed on her. Most students would have slunk out by now, but she was waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn’t sure—but he had a feeling.

“All right,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “Read chapters twelve and thirteen for Thursday. Remember, real life doesn’t come with neat endings like television. Don’t forget that.”

The remaining students shuffled past him, murmuring goodbyes. The door clicked shut behind the last one, leaving the room echoing with an emptiness Ethan had grown used to. He turned to find Samantha still sitting there, tapping her pen against her notebook in that nervous, restless way she always did.

“Torres,” he said, his voice calm but firm, gesturing to the empty space near his podium. “Stay back for a moment. I want a word.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she bit her lower lip before nodding. “Yes… Professor Mercer.”

She made her way to the front, her boots clicking softly on the linoleum. Ethan leaned against his desk, arms folded loosely, his face unreadable except for a faint crease of curiosity between his brows.

“You’re… good in class,” he said carefully, letting the words linger. “Top scores. Always ready with an answer, never missing a detail.” He paused, studying her. “But I’ve noticed something else. You’ve been digging into case files I didn’t assign. Background reports, old investigation notes… I’ve seen you in the library late at night, going over things that aren’t required. Care to explain why?”

Samantha hesitated, a shadow passing over her face. The question wasn’t accusatory, but it carried weight—the kind only someone who had been in the field could impart. Her heartbeat picked up, and she felt a mix of apprehension and… relief. Maybe he actually cared why she was doing it.

Ethan leaned back slightly, his scar catching the afternoon light from the window behind him. He didn’t look angry. He looked… cautious. Concerned, even. And beneath that, just faintly, something that could have been recognition—of her drive, her obsession, and maybe a bit of herself reflected in her persistence.