Page 104 of Nocturne

“But CRISPR-Cas9 is far from infallible,” I continue, my tone shifting to challenge them. “What happens if the RNA guide sequence partially matches non-target DNA?”

I pause for a moment to gauge the room, but my eyes inevitably flicker back to Zagan. His gaze hasn’t wavered, and it feels like he’s studying me, dissecting me as carefully as I’m explaining gene editing to the class. The intensity of his stare sends a tremor through me, but I force myself to keep talking.

“Off-target effects. Misdirected cuts that could result in unintended genetic consequences. Imagine using CRISPR to cure sickle cell anaemia, only to inadvertently trigger mutations that lead to cancer. This is why precision isn’t just important—it’s everything.”

I feel a bead of sweat forming at my temple, and I briefly wonder if anyone else can feel the suffocating tension that seems to hang between Zagan and me. I try my best not to squirm. Not to give any attention towards the pool of wetness forming between my legs. I hate how turned on I am just by his attention. It is pathetic and….and…wrong!

But I push those thoughts aside.Focus,I tell myself.You’re here to teach.

“To counter this, researchers are engineering high-fidelity variants of the Cas9 protein. Variants like eSpCas9 and SpCas9-HF1, for instance, reduce non-specific DNA binding without sacrificing efficiency. And yet,” I turn toward them, gesturing at the board, “even these modifications are not immune to error. The challenge lies in designing guide RNAs that can minimise unintended activity in vivo. This is where the real work begins.”

I take a moment to pause, letting the information settle in and for them to type the information into their laptops. The room is filled with soft noises of clicking keyboards, but I’m all too aware of Zagan’s presence. His eyes are locked on me, unwavering, and the memory of my dream resurfaces. I can’t escape it. I can’t escapehim.

Damn it!

“But let’s move beyond the basics,” I say briskly, regaining control of my thoughts. “Suppose you’re designing a CRISPR system for a patient with Huntington’s disease. The gene you’re targeting, HTT, has a high level of polymorphism in the human population. What strategies would you employ to ensure both specificity and efficacy across diverse genetic backgrounds?”

Silence falls. A few brows furrow and some students scribble furiously in their notebooks.

“I’ll give you a hint,” I say, arching a brow. “It’s not just about the guide RNA. You need to account for chromatin accessibility, off-target prediction algorithms, and even potential immune responses. This is gene editing in the real world—not the sanitised version in textbooks.”

I almost forgot how frustrating it is to teach under his scrutinising gaze.

“And here’s your assignment,” I add, writing in bold letters on the board. “Design a CRISPR system targeting a disease-causing gene of your choice. Your proposal must include strategies for reducing off-target effects, improving delivery efficiency, and addressing ethical considerations. Due next week.”

Why is he doing this? Does he enjoy watching me suffer?

“Now, as we move forward with our CRISPR-Cas9 lab project,” I say, trying to sound composed, “I want you all to think critically about both the scientific and ethical implications of gene editing and write an essay. This technology holds immense potential, but it also carries significant responsibility.”

Of course, he enjoys my discomfort. Why else would he be here, other than find his dose of entertainment?

I quickly turn away from the class, focusing on the board again. “This technology could change the world,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “And one of you might be the person who does it. Treat it with the respect it demands.”

I try to finish strong, but every part of me is screaming to look at him, to acknowledge the pull between us, to let myself slip into the dangerous territory of what’s brewing beneath the surface.

I can feel the weight of the class still on me, but all I can think about is how badly I want to escape—escape from this lecture, escape from Zagan’s gaze, escape from the suffocating desire rising in my chest.

But I can’t. I can’t let it show. I can’t let him win. Not here. Not now.

Students are in a hurry to rush outside, Ray lingering near the table with a questioning look on her face. She looks at Zagan beyond her shoulder, a short shudder passing through her before she turns back to me.

“Okay, I need to ask. Is he your new student?”

I zip my bag, looking at the titan, who stands to his magnificent height when I press him with a hard look.

“That’s what I intend to find out,”

Ray looks at me in confusion, but I give her a soft smile.

“Go back to the lab. Your maps need to be reviewed.”

Her eyes go wide at my observation, and she hurries out of the room to check on the lie I fed her. I turn my attention back to Zagan, being mindful of keeping the distance between us. And also, standing on the raised platform gives me an added advantage in height. Don’t want to feel like a lilliput while I try to grill this man about his presence here.

I cross my hands across my chest and notice the way his eyes look down at them before he meets my eyes.

“Even if you happen to be a student here—which I know that you are not—you are required to take a test to be qualified to attend my classes, Mr Devlin. You cannot just saunter in.” I repeat the same thing I’ve done before.

He raises a singular brow as if he finds my words ridiculous.

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