Page 13 of Nocturne

And I blame her.

“Good morning everyone.”

The voices cease, giving me the silence I had only known when unconscious. This siren has created an imbalance I’m not sure how to handle.

The students lap at her words. The enchanting voice capturing everyone’s attention, including mine.

Dr Ara Sinclair.

One of the brilliant minds at Vanderlyne Institute, the place for the bright and filthy rich.

In the shadow of night, she had looked pretty. But under the sunlight streaming from the window beside her, she looks divine. She is clad in form-fitting black pants and a white shirt that is tucked into it. A slight cleavage peeks from below her collar, offering more of her milky flesh to be feasted upon.

Thick square glasses frame her bewitching eyes that weren’t on her last night. Her long, dark, luscious hair falls in waves down to her waist. She is taller than most women. She turns, giving me her back, forcing me to look at her round arse that sits snugly in those pants. She is a well-endowed woman all around. Of course, she would be; she is a siren, after all.

Ara isn’t the kind of woman who starved herself to fit into impossibly tiny clothes. She isn’t about vanity. She doesn’t fit the bullshit standards made by men who wouldn’t know what to do with a real woman. She looks like the kind of woman men waged wars for. She has thick curves, delicious ones, that are accentuated by her clothes.

She turns, her eyes sparkling as she looks at her students.

“How was your weekend, Dr Sinclair?”

One of the attention-seeking puppies asks.

She leans back on her desk, the movement pushing her detectable tits a bit further into her shirt. She isn’t dressed inappropriately, but everything she does has a poise. She is gifted with the forgotten art of seduction without even having to try. And I’m sure that every male in this class is affected by her. Drawn to her.

Her small smile brings my focus to her face. Her wide eyes glitter under the sun, resembling that of dripping honey. Her nose has a tiny, pink stone that glints under the light. Her full cheeks,straight nose and plump lips are the epitome of temptation. Especially when her cheeks stretch with a smile that makes her glow.

“It was…interesting.”

It is imperceptible for anyone else, but I see it. The tiny shiver that jerks her slightly as her eyes glaze over, recalling the events of last night. There’s a sheen of fear in those eyes. I observe to see if it disappears, but it doesn’t.

I’ve always been trained to watch what people hide. It’s the small shit that gives them away—the things they don’t want anyone to notice. And this one? She’s hiding plenty.

She moves like she’s expecting something to happen. Someone to show up. Her eyes track every sound, every shift in the room, like she’s waiting for trouble. Doesn’t like giving her back to anyone. Every step, every glance—controlled. Like she’s always bracing for impact.

But it’s the eyes that tell me the most. Her smile might fool the rest, but not me. There’s fear behind it. Exhaustion. Guarded and weary, like she hadn’t felt safe in a long time. And when there is any sudden noise, any quick movement—she flinches, just a little. Most wouldn’t notice. I do.

This siren’s running from something. Or someone.

Explains how she keeps calm when shit gets bad.

Her friend looked ready to bolt. But not her. She stood steady, mind working behind those tired eyes, already mapping out every way she could get out harmless.

You don’t learn that by accident. You learn it from surviving hell.

What’s she seen? How much of the filth of this world has she waded through to hold her ground like that? Most people would’ve lost their minds at what Luciano found. Not her. She stood her ground.

She sees the monsters under the masks. Makes me wonder if she’s running from one of them.

What did she do to catch the attention of someone dangerous? Did she see something she shouldn’t have? Poke her nose where it didn’t belong?

There’s a story here.

Halfway through her lecture, she senses me. It’s subtle—the way her body shifts. Her shoulders stiffen, her back straightens, and those eyes start scanning the crowd. Just like prey. The kind that knows something’s watching.

But she won’t see me. Not unless I want her to. Living in the dark teaches you how to disappear into it. I’ve been doing it all my life.

Still, she feels me. Same as that night. It makes me wonder. Is she really prey? Or is she just playing the part? Maybe that innocent look is a trap. A lure to pull fools in.

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