Page 31 of See Me After Class

With a sigh, I poured myself a generous measure of whisky. The clock had swept past nine in the evening, yet my night was far from over. I powered up my laptop, resigning myself to the mundane yet necessary task of scrutinizing tax documents.

The night was agreeably serene. A gentle, cool breeze wafted through the open windows, carrying the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle. It was a small but appreciated comfort.

Gradually, my focus drifted. My eyelids grew heavy, not with the dry details of tax exemptions, but with thoughts of Desdemona Davenport. The enigmatic way she had looked at me earlier lingered in my mind.

I stared vacantly at the glowing screen, contrasting her earlier indifferent demeanor in my office with the subtly suggestive glance she had thrown my way more recently. There was an intriguing inconsistency there, a puzzle that piqued my curiosity, despite my better judgment. I found myself wondering, perhaps imprudently, about her allure beyond the professional façade. Experience had taught me that such alluring mysteries often led to underwhelming revelations, but with Desdemona, there seemed to be a different kind of intrigue...

A sudden alert pulled me from my reverie. I sat up sharply, my attention snapped back to the present by the blinking red light on my desk.

The blinking light was an alert from my newly installed security system. Since Oswald's tragic demise, the Institute was rife with paranoia and fear. The killer was still at large, and nobody wanted to be their next target.

I wasn't genuinelyfearful of murder, but the idea of someone rifling through my personal belongings was deeply unsettling. To prevent such intrusions, I had equipped my office with surveillance cameras, a precaution to alert me of any unwelcome visitors.

Swiftly, I moved toward my computer and clicked on the icon for the security camera feed. As the system initiated, my mind raced with the possibility of apprehending an intruder myself—such an act could even bolster my position in future funding applications.

The feed flickered to life, revealing a slim figure hunched over my driftwood desk, shuffling through the stack of papers I had left scattered. My muscles tightened instinctively. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to acquire a firearm. Theaudacity of someone invading my private space, tampering with my documents, was infuriating.

The intruder seemed efficient, sorting through the papers methodically, each document replaced precisely where it was taken from. I leaned closer to the screen, straining my eyes for a clearer view, desperate to identify the trespasser. My reasons for concern went beyond mere privacy.

"Turn around," I muttered under my breath, my hands gripping the desk edge tightly. "Show me your face."

The figure methodically sifted through drawer after drawer, their head bowed, obscuring their identity. I noticed no weapon, a small relief, but still?—

A gust of wind howled outside, stirring the linen curtains in my room into a dance. The sudden movement seemed to startle the figure in my office. They paused and looked up.

My heart skipped a beat as the camera revealed the intruder's face—a face I recognized all too well. The pale complexion, the intense focus in her eyes, the determined set of her mouth. It was a face I knew, one that should not be rifling through my confidential documents.

Desdemona. What the fuck are you doing?

12

Dessie

Agust rattled the window panes, a banshee's wail in the summer's death throes. Rain lashed against the glass, blurring the jagged charcoal silhouette of the mountains against the bruised purple sky. Inside, shadows pirouetted across the mahogany expanse of Galbraith's office, whipped into a frenzy by the storm's invisible hand.

I huddled beneath the desk, knees drawn up to my chest, a trespasser in the lair of a Titan. My fingers traced the worn leather of a chair leg, the chill of the storm seeping through the oak like a whispered threat.

Rain always meant renewal to me, a chance to wash away the past. Tonight, it was a cold, metallic shroud, muffling the world into a tomb of secrets. Galbraith, with his thunderous frown and eyes like chipped ice, was my only hope. His office would reveal something, I was sure of it. So, here I was, in secret, hoping I wouldn't get caught as I rummaged through his files.

"He's very competent at his job, my dear, though I don't think he's really a people person, strictly speaking," Ms. Wainwright told me earlier tonight. "Of course, men don't have to be."

I knew what she meant, though my experiences with men were probably vastly different from hers. But I didn't interrupt her. It was enough that she was trying to help me.

"An intimidating reputation speaks volumes about a man in a position of authority, whereas it would only be a criticism for a woman in the same position," Ms. Wainwright continued, giving the list in front of her a profoundly disapproving glance. "One just has to accept these things."

The faint hint of bitterness in her voice had resonated with me. I had every reason to distrust authoritative and domineering men on my own account. I remembered the way John Galbraith had glowered at me from the upstairs landing, as well.

But Ms. Wainwright was right about his work. I couldn't find so much as a hint of any financial discrepancies, nor of anything else that might be interpreted as sketchy. Though I didn't imagine he'd leave the evidence lying out in plain sight.

The contents of his desk were dealt with quickly enough. I knelt by the column of drawers and put his things back the way I'd found them. Unfortunately, his computer wasn't in the room.

Maybe he's being careful. There might be something on there that he knows could compromise him.

Surrounded by the dimly lit room, I felt a wave of frustration. The likelihood of uncovering anything valuable among the bookshelves seemed slim, yet I felt compelled to search. My gaze drifted to the walnut escritoire against the opposite wall, ornate and possibly superficial in its usefulness.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split the sky, casting an array of bizarre, almost spectral shadows throughout the room. One elongated shadow crept across the floor toward me.

I remained still, no abrupt movements. From my concealed spot crouched behind Galbraith's desk, I kept my eyes fixed on the door, silently counting.

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