The clock struck 9 PM, and the campus was eerily quiet. Indiana Jones’s office, lit by a single desk lamp, smelled of old leather and parchment. You sat on the edge of the desk, sorting through a pile of expedition notes Jones had asked you to help organize. The room was cluttered with maps, ancient artifacts, and half-packed bags, a testament to Jones’s chaotic but brilliant mind.

He was standing by the window, staring into the darkness with a furrowed brow. His fingers drummed against the windowsill, a sure sign something was bothering him.

“Everything okay, Professor?” you asked, glancing up from a particularly confusing note about burial sites.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned slightly, his expression tense. “You ever get the feeling you’re being watched?”

You froze, your eyes flicking to the window. “Watched? Like… now?”

Jones nodded subtly and tilted his head toward the far corner of the quad visible outside. “There’s a man standing under the lamppost. Hasn’t moved in 15 minutes. Every time I step away from the window, he shifts a little closer.”

Your heart rate spiked. You walked to the window and peeked out. Sure enough, a figure lingered in the shadows, just beyond the reach of the flickering light. They were dressed in dark clothes, their face obscured by a hat.

“Who do you think it is?” you whispered.

“Someone who doesn’t belong here,” Jones said grimly. He stepped away from the window and walked over to his desk. “I’ve been dealing with these types for years. When they come sniffing around, it’s never good news.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a revolver, inspecting it briefly before tucking it into his belt.

Your stomach dropped. “Wait, are we… are we in danger?”

Jones flashed a small, reassuring smile. “Not if we stay ahead of them. Come on.” He handed you a flashlight and motioned for you to follow.

You hesitated. “Follow? Where are we going?”

“To find out who they’re working for,” he said simply, grabbing his fedora and jamming it onto his head.