You barely notice him at first, lost in a sea of silk gowns and champagne flutes, clinging to your MIT acceptance letter like armor. At 24, you’re older than most of the students invited here. A transfer from a state university, no legacy connections, no old money name—just a full ride and a brain wired for quantum physics. You shouldn’t be here, not at this gala, not in this crowd, but you are.

MIT was the goal. The doctorate, the dream. But dreams cost money, and to get funding, you need visibility. A sponsor. That’s why you’re here—rehearsing explanations, practicing how to sound like you belong. When it happens, the words catch in your throat.

He appears like a shadow—silver-streaked hair, a presence that stills the chaos. “What brings you here?”

You fumble but manage to explain: you need a sponsor, and MIT is just the beginning. He listens, eyes sharp, calculating—not looking at you, but through you. Then, a nod. “Impressive. What’s your field?”

“Quantum physics,” you say, expecting indifference. Instead, the faintest smile, like you’ve passed an unspoken test. Before you can ask his name, he glances at his watch and vanishes into the crowd.

You don’t think of him again—until the first day of Intro to Quantum Physics. That same voice echoes through the hall.

“Dr. Adrian Wexler,” he says, standing at the front of the room. “Your professor.” “This course moves fast. If you’re late, unprepared, or lazy, you’ll fall behind. I don’t repeat myself. I expect questions, effort, and focus. If you’re here to coast, don’t bother.” Then, a pause. “Otherwise—welcome. Let’s have a good semester.”

When class ends, you start to slip out with the others—until that voice stops you cold. “Stay after class,” he says, quiet but firm, like an unbreakable law of physics.