44. High Hopes #3
He is not what anyone expects, not even me.
The professor is tall, broad in the shoulders, and his hair is silver at the sides, worn close-cropped.
He walks with the deliberate, unhurried pace of someone who could break you in half but would rather not get his hands dirty unless absolutely necessary.
His eyes are an unremarkable blue, but the way he looks at people is not normal.
He scans the room once, then again, each pass slower and more methodical.
I hope he wasn’t fucking looking for me or I might scream.
The new teacher wears a custom-cut black dress shirt, bespoke slacks, and carries a shiny leather satchel.
This dude definitely has money because I’m pretty certain those black shoes are like several thousand a pair.
I’ve seen Felix look at similar ones, and because of his impeccable taste, I know the rest of the outfit is certainly just as expensive.
New Guy says nothing for a moment; he just lets the silence settle over the room and then drops the folder onto the desk with a flat, heavy smack.
“Good morning,” he says. His voice is not loud, but it is very clear and it carries to the farthest corners of the room, including mine. It’s the voice of someone who does not raise it unless it’s required, and that is something you absolutely do not want.
“My name is Gideon Sterling. You may call me Professor or Sir. I am your instructor for the duration of this course. If you wish to challenge that, you may do so through the official channels, but I recommend you save your time and energy for the content of the class.”
Fuck me, this guy has a bigger pole up his ass than the damn hip hop teacher—this is gonna suuuuuck.
Sterling flips open the folder, ignoring the low hum that follows his statement.
His eyes are down, but he is clearly tracking every movement in the room.
I realize, with a slight thrill of unease, that I have never seen this man on campus before—not in a photo, not at an event, not even in the background of anything.
For a shifter that old, that’s not just unusual; it’s suspicious as fuck.
He begins to lecture, launching directly into a summary of the Treaty and its aftermath as if the syllabus is a speed bump, not a required checkpoint.
With no explanation, he makes direct, targeted demands for information that he expects you to provide, even though we have no basis for the answers yet.
When Pink tries to answer with a memorized line from the text, he says, “No. That’s the textbook answer.
Tell me what that means in real terms. Right now. Go.”
The entire class is stunned into compliance, and I frown as I scribble notes quickly.
I write every fact, every deviation from what I know to be true, and every feeling that twitches under my skin.
My bunny is on high alert, and the further the class goes, the more I am certain that this man is something predatory, not just a teacher.
His recitation of the outdated, very pred-slanted material is so stringent that no one asks for clarification, nor do they dispute things that even differ from what I know I was taught in diplomacy at Cappie.
Gideon Sterling has a very pro-Society-esque slant to his lecture, and it’s making my tail twitch in my sweats.
Halfway through the session, my phone vibrates once. I move it to my lap carefully, looking at the screen with quick darts of my eyes so it goes unnoticed.
TigerWoody: Prof is off the grid. No files, nothing. Full sweep coming. Play it cool, Baby Girl. Watch out for issues and stay safe.
I don’t reply because I know without a doubt that this guy would lose his shit if he caught me texting in class.
My notes are full of stuff about him as much as the material for class.
I describe his cadence, the way he moves, his weirdly smooth hands, and even the suspicions about his clothes.
At one point he catches me watching him, and the tiniest ghost of a smile cracks at the corner of his mouth.
Not good.
When he’s done, Sterling closes the class with a simple, “You are dismissed. Next session, come prepared to discuss the weaknesses in your own family’s position under the Treaty. If you refuse to participate, I will consider it an admission that you want to fail and grade you accordingly. Goodbye.”
Everyone looks a bit shocked—preds dislike discussing family weaknesses or strategies in public.
No one will want to do it, and this guy is going to run into some serious shit if he forces it.
Parents will be all over Midori, and the campus will be in an uproar.
I don’t know if that’s his aim or if he’s just certifiable, but Thursday will be fascinating.
Once the shock has worn off, people get up, moving to the front to leave as they mutter to one another in disbelief.
When most of them are gone, I gather my things and hurry toward the door, ignoring the sound of my name as if I don’t hear it.
No way I’m staying alone with this dude.
The Captain is waiting just outside the door frame, and he falls in beside me as I ignore the call.
As we round the corner to go to the elevator, I catch a glimpse of Pink and Gold in the main hall, their heads bent together as they talk in whispers.
For the first time, they look like the ones with something to fear.
I allow myself a private, savage smile, then go to face whatever comes next.