Page 102 of Johan.

I walk slowly down the hall, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the marble floors. The portraits of distinguished alumni seem to watch me with silent approval. I pause for a moment, looking up at the painting of a former dean, his stern face softened by a hint of a smile. It's as if he's offering a silent nod of encouragement.

The fresh air outside the Senate House fills my lungs as I step into the courtyard. My team waits nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. Angela steps forward, her eyes questioning.

“Everything okay?” she asks gently.

I nod, feeling a sense of calm I haven't felt in weeks. “Yes, everything’s fine. Ready to go to the lab?”

We walk together through the ancient streets of Cambridge, the familiar sights and sounds providing a comforting backdrop to the day's events. Today, I’ve taken a crucial step towards unraveling the hold Astrid has over me. And tomorrow, I’llconfront her, armed with the truth and the strength to finally break free.

The lab in the Department of Archaeology is a hive of activity. Tables are cluttered with various artifacts from the recent Oman expedition, each piece carefully laid out and meticulously cleaned and cataloged. The room hums with the sounds of brushes sweeping over ancient surfaces, the scratch of pens on paper, and the low murmur of conversation among the team members.

Angela stands at one end of the room, guiding a group of students as they carefully clean a set of pottery shards. “Remember, light strokes. We don't want to damage any of the pigment that might still be on the surface,” she instructs, her eyes sharp and focused.

Amelia, on the opposite side of the room, examines a delicate piece of jewelry with a magnifying glass. “This looks like it could be made from carnelian and gold,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. Then, louder, “Lukas, can you get me the spectrometer? I want to confirm the composition of this piece.”

Lukas nods and retrieves the spectrometer from a nearby table. “Here you go,” he says, handing it over.

I move between groups, checking on the progress and offering guidance where needed. I pause by a student carefully documenting a piece of pottery. “Make sure to note the exact location where this was found,” I say. “It's crucial for understanding the context.”

Just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen. It’s a text from Astrid:Did you come back to the UK?

My heart skips a beat, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. If Astrid knows we’re back in Cambridge, it’s only a matter of time before her father finds out as well. I can almost feel the walls closing in, the pressure mounting. Shit.

“Everything okay, Johan?” Amelia asks, noticing the change in my demeanor.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, forcing a smile. “Astrid knows we are back or at least she’s got strong suspicion about it. Let’s keep going. We’ve got a lot to do,” I tell them, trying to keep my voice steady.

The unease lingers, gnawing at the back of my mind as I attempt to refocus on the work at hand.

Angela looks up from her work and calls over to me, “How's everything going on your end?”

“We're making good progress,” I reply, nodding as I scan the room. “But we need to be thorough. Every detail counts.”

As the team continues their work, Professor Andersson enters the lab. He watches for a moment, nodding approvingly before catching my eye. "Johan, can I have a word with you in my office?" he asks, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

I nod, passing the task I was working on to another team member. "Sure," I say, following Andersson out of the lab and down the corridor to his office. The familiar scent of old books and polished wood fills the hallway, and I feel a knot of tension forming in my stomach. The anticipation of what Andersson has to say makes my steps feel heavier.

Once inside, Prof Andersson closes the door and gestures for me to sit. The office is dimly lit, with shelves of ancient texts lining the walls and a large mahogany desk dominating the room. Andersson sits behind the desk, folding his hands and leaning forward slightly. His expression is serious, his eyes narrowing as he regards me.

“First of all, congratulations on the outstanding work in Oman. Your team's efforts have been remarkable,” he begins, his tone measured but his eyes betraying a deeper concern.

“Thank you, Professor,” I reply, trying to read the older man's expression. There's a hint of something more beneath the surface, something that makes me uneasy. I shift slightly in my seat, bracing for what’s to come.

Andersson leans back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrests. “Cambridge wants to prepare a press conference at the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology in two weeks. We need to showcase these artifacts and present our findings about Ubar to key media,” he says.

My eyes widen in shock. “Two weeks? Why the rush?” My voice is tight, the tension in my shoulders visible. The thought of the tight deadline feels like a weight pressing down on me.

Andersson’s gaze hardens slightly, his tone firm. “It's a decent timeline to get the artifacts ready and presentable. Plus, this discovery is groundbreaking. We need to seize the moment and share it with the world.” He pauses, watching my reaction closely, gauging my response. “You’ll have enough time to prepare a comprehensive presentation about Ubar.”

I feel the weight of the deadline settle on my shoulders, the pressure building. I run a hand through my hair, trying to collect my thoughts. “It's a tight deadline. There's still so much work to be done to ensure everything is perfect,” I say, my voice betraying my anxiety.

Professor Andersson leans forward again, his eyes locking onto mine. “Johan, the council is helping you a lot with the whole Miss Goschen and the fresher situation. Cooperate with them on this, and I'm sure they'll continue to support you,” he says, his tone carrying an implicit warning.

My jaw clenches, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Then, speak to the council and make sure Astrid is expelled fromCambridge. Her actions are inexcusable,” I demand, my voice rising slightly with each word.

Andersson raises his hands in a placating gesture, his eyebrows knitting together. “Don't you think this is a bit too much?” he asks, his tone softer but still firm.

“She's an abuser,” I retort, my voice rising slightly. “What she did to me was cruel and manipulative.”

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