Page 23 of Nocturne

“Thank you! Thank you so much, Dr. Sinclair. You’re amazing—the best!”

I wave off his praise, though my cheeks warm. You’d think I’d be used to compliments by now, but they still leave me feeling shy.

Kevin leaves with a renewed sense of purpose, and I return to packing up my things. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Kent still lingering by the seats.

He smirks. “Generous, aren’t we?”

I don’t bother replying. Let him stew. My success doesn’t need his validation, nor will it ever depend on his approval. In my books, he is inconsequential and plain useless.

I zip my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I step down from the podium. Just as I make my way toward the door, Kent blocks my path. I raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

Does he honestly think this would intimidate me? I’m taller than him by a few inches and fully capable of jabbing my pen into his neck if he so much as twitches in a threatening way. Besides, there are cameras in every corner of this room.

Though, speaking of cameras, hasn’t anyone noticed Mr Devlin hanging around? Then again, even if they have, I doubt anyone here is brave—or suicidal—enough to confront him about it.

“How’s your research coming along?” Kent’s nasal voice cuts into my thoughts.

My irritation flares, but I keep my tone polite. “It’s going well. Thank you for asking.”

“It could go even better if you had access to my lab and resources,” he suggests, a thin smirk curling his lips.

I bite back a retort. My lab is far superior to his outdated dungeon of snatched ideas, but I’m not about to stoop to his level.

“Thank you for the generous offer, Dr. Kent. I’ll let you know if I ever need assistance.”

I won’t. I’d contact a random undergrad before I’d ever turn to him.

Still, he doesn’t move, so I step to the side, only for him to mirror the motion, blocking my path again.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” My voice tightens.

I’m acutely aware of the heels I wore this morning—bad decision. After standing for over an hour, my feet are screaming, and nausea is starting to creep in. Kent’s sickly sweet stench of bleach and whatever else is mixed into his cologne isn’t helping.

“Well, since you asked,” he drawls, “why don’t we collaborate on our research? It’s obvious you’d benefit more from my results than I ever could from yours, but I’m generous. Especially toward former students.”

I scoff, loud and deliberate. His eyes narrow in surprise and offence.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps, his voice rising.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” I reply coolly. “For the seventh time, I do not wish to collaborate with you. I’d appreciate it if you stopped asking. One might think you’re… desperate.”

His face turns an angry shade of red, his liver-spotted skin mottles with rage. He steps closer, his stance shifting into something meant to be intimidating. I subtly retreat, slipping a hand into my bag to grab my pen—just in case.

“Listen here, you fat fucking—”

The sharp sound of footsteps interrupts his tirade.

Both of us whip our heads toward the back of the room. I’m not surprised to see Mr. Devlin approaching. I’d noticed his presence earlier but was too distracted by Kent’s antics to payhim much mind. He had been annoying me throughout the class so much that I had even forgotten about the man in the shadows.

Kent, on the other hand, looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Devlin strides forward with an air of menace, his steps deliberate. He stops just beside me, his broad frame nearly brushing mine. Heat radiates off him, and his scent—Oud and leather, dark and dangerous—overwhelms my senses. I try not to focus on how small I feel next to him or how much I enjoy the contrast.

Devlin doesn’t even glance at me. His eyes, cold and empty, are locked on Kent.

It takes a certain kind of courage to stand up to a man like Zagan Devlin, and Kent clearly doesn’t have it. His legs are shaking, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously as he swallows. As if he has heard me saying his name in my thoughts, Devlin turns to me.

“Stay.”

---