20. NOTICEABLE
alistair
“Why did you bring me here?” Ariella asks, swallowing the hesitation before my name ever reaches her tongue.
A subtle smirk settles at the corner of my mouth. Directness always amuses me, especially when it’s tempered by restraint.
“Direct,” my voice roughened by the low register I rarely bother to mask. “I appreciate that.”
My gaze lingers, observing the tension in her posture, the faint calculation behind her eyes, waiting to see which version of Ariella answers—the cautious fresher or the girl who dances in the shadows unannounced.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she presses, forcing steadiness into her tone.
I lean back slightly. “My apologies, Miss Keinston. Just wanted to spend some time with my favorite student.”
The reminder unsettles her.
“I didn’t think you’d bring me here for casual tea,” she replies, letting irony soften the tension.
“So you anticipated something more. Let’s begin with how you found me, shall we?”
It’s not a question. It’s an observation of what she’s doing—measuring how much she can reveal without confirming what I already know.
Ariella chooses the narrowest truth available.
“You have a YouTube channel named CoreCircuits. You discuss academic frameworks, policy structures, and institutional dynamics. I’ve watched them.”
“For how long, Ariella?” I ask despite knowing the answer—I want to check if she lies or not.
Ariella likes the way I pronounce her name. There’s some sort of sick obsession she unfortunately has with me, which explains why she did all that she did.
“Four years,” she answers honestly. “It started as a background research. You explain complex systems in a way that makes them… accessible.”
Safe phrasing. Carefully neutral. She’s omitting familiarity, obsession, patterns—everything I can already infer from the way her eyes track my every movement each time she thinks I’m being oblivious.
“I followed your published work long before I applied,” she continues evenly. “So no, I didn’t arrive here blind. I had context,” her brows draw closer. “Is that against university policy?”
“No,” I answer calmly. “But it makes you noticeable.”
“I’m not significant enough to be noticeable,” she says, attempting dismissal. “Well, if you ignore my last name.”
A faint chuckle escapes me. “It’s not about you being a Keinston.”
Her reaction confirms she knows it too.
“There are networks outside this institution that extend beyond faculty and students,” I continue. “Private benefactors, research consortia, political affiliates. Not all of them respond kindly to unsupervised curiosity.”
“You’re speaking as though I’ve stumbled into a conspiracy,” she scoffs.
“I’m speaking as someone who has watched capable minds jeopardize themselves just because they mistook access for immunity.”
She meets my gaze directly. “I am capable of managing my own safety if that’s what you’re implying.”
I note the defiance, the youth, the insistence on autonomy.
“I never questioned your capability. I’m talking about the situation surrounding it,” the distinction is intentional. “That being said, I’d like to offer you an alternative.”
She remains silent, but I can see the interest beneath the restraint.
“Which is…?” she asks, careful not to sound intrigued.
“I’m establishing a private research division soon with only a few selected students. Funded independently. Operative outside standard departmental oversight.”
“Sounds more like a secret society,” she comments with a nervous laugh.
“It is.”
There’s no bravado in my tone—only certainty. Her reaction tells me she understands the weight of that word.
“You’d work directly under my supervision. Gain access to restricted archives, early publication channels, and a trajectory most scholars wait years to achieve.”
“And why exactly am I being offered this?”
“You’re my favorite student,” I point out too casually.
Her brows crease a little. “That shouldn’t be the main reason.”
I weigh truth against omission, before giving my answer. “You’re already drawing interest and they want you on their side.”
“Who?”
“Entities that prefer emerging talent to remain predictable,” and discreet is what I want to add, but I don’t.
“Do you think someone’s monitoring my academic work?”
She doesn’t know the tiniest bit about the Triarch Dominion. That much I’m sure of. Except that, I can’t help but think how much she knows about me in particular.
The faintest suggestion of a smile touches my mouth. “No,” I shake my head. She can be so na?ve at times.
Her hazel eyes clash with mine as she folds her arms loosely, more to steady herself than challenge me. “Who are you… Alistair Hertley?”
My eyes widen ever so slightly. I can’t help but admit that I do like the way my name sounds in her forced British accent.
“Someone you shouldn’t have gotten involved with.”
Her shoulders tense with entire body going rigid
Ariella isn’t curious anymore but terrified. Even if slightly. I can sense the intoxicating smell of fear radiating from her petite body. Oh, how badly I missed it.
She’s afraid of the part of me she’s now beginning to get a glimpse of. Afraid that the man she admired from behind a screen and across lecture halls is layered with something darker than intellect and ambition—a smiling devil awaiting beneath this calm exterior
It’s the fear of finding out that her obsession has always lied to her.
“And I suggest you stop underestimating the scale of what you are stepping into.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re ready for.”
“Whatever,” she visibly rolls her eyes. “So this private division would shield me from whatever imaginary threat you’re trying to protect me from?” her tone sharpens, already on the verge of being angry.
“You won’t understand—”
“How am I supposed to understand if you only leave breadcrumbs like that?”
I note the flare of pride, the refusal to be positioned as vulnerable. Then she looks away with anger and embarrassment colliding.
“I don’t understand your Gen-Z language, but you’ll find out when the time is right.”
“Are you controlling me or manipulating me?”
“Neither. I just don’t want to get into a cold war with the CynoTech Group.” A partial truth.
She understands the implication immediately.
“It’s up to you if you want to continue independently. But you’re already being monitored. Which means you remain visible without protection.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“I just told you everything. I mean… It’s better to work under someone you know rather than someone unknown. And besides, if you continue without guidance, you’ll eventually encounter resistance you aren’t prepared for,” I say, checking my wrist watch, hinting at the end of this conversation.
“And with me, you won’t face the consequences alone. That much I can assure you. As your professor, I’d always want what’s good for my student.”
If it weren’t for me, she’d be nothing more than another disposable body to work on for a new Synthète by now.
Her reaction is conflicted—she believes me more than she wants to.
Ariella stands up too, and takes a few steps back, reestablishing distance. “I think I need some time to think.”
Already saw that coming.
“You sure you can go home in your current physical condition?” I offer like an irony.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks,” she rushes the words out and calmly strides toward the doors, fighting hard not to run off.
“I expect an answer by next class,” I say just as her fingers brush against the handle.
She looks over her shoulder. “I ‘m not agreeing to anything until I understand what you believe I need shielding from.”
I almost scoff at the sudden shifting back to defiance. She’s being too stubborn for her own good.
“Just keep your guards up in the meantime, Miss Keintson.”
She pauses, takes a deep, steadying breath, and steps out into the evening air without looking back.
Ariella hasn’t accepted the offer or surrendered to me yet.
Nor has she directly asked me about where she had been for the four weeks before she was brought here.
But whether she accepts it or not, she has willingly stepped into the orbit of the devil—me.
In the meantime, I’ll wait for her to either run back to me for answers or chase them down herself.