Chapter 4 The Professor’s Dilemma – Luna
“Miss Queen. Stay behind for a moment, please?”
Professor Austin’s voice catches me as I’m packing up my notebook, and I pause mid-motion, surprised.
The rest of the class files out around me, students chattering about the assignment due next week.
Erik shoots me a questioning look from the doorway, and I give him a quick smile and a shrug that I hope conveys it’s fine, just professor stuff.
He hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave me, but I wave him on. This is Professor Austin—the man who helped me take down my parents, who risked his career and possibly his life to support my testimony. Whatever he wants to discuss, it’s nothing to worry about.
The classroom empties, the sound of footsteps and voices fading down the corridor.
Professor Austin doesn’t speak immediately.
Instead, he moves to the door. He looks out into the hallway as if checking for eavesdroppers, then closes it with a soft click that sounds unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.
When he turns back to face me, I’m struck by how different he looks from the calm, collected professor who just spent fifty minutes lecturing on the importance of firewalls.
His usual composure has cracked, revealing something underneath that makes my stomach tighten with unease.
His fingers tap that erratic pattern against his leg—the one I’ve noticed before but never thought much about.
His eyes dart to the corners of the ceiling before settling back on me.
“Professor?” I prompt, gripping the strap of my bag. “Is everything okay?”
“That depends.” He moves back toward his desk but doesn’t sit, just leans against it like he needs the support. “Luna, I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly. Do you feel safe here?”
The question is so unexpected that I actually laugh. “Safe? Yes, of course. Safer than I’ve felt in years, honestly. Why?”
“And you haven’t noticed anything… unusual? Anything that makes you uncomfortable?”
I study him more carefully, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his hands grip the edge of his desk like he’s anchoring himself. “Professor Austin, what’s this about?”
He runs a hand through his dark curls, making them stand up at odd angles.
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m being paranoid.
” He looks at me, and there’s something almost desperate in his expression.
“When you came to me before—when you needed help exposing your parents—you trusted me. I need you to trust me now when I say that I’m… concerned.”
“Concerned about what?”
“About your safety protocols. About whether you’re being as careful as you should be.
” He pushes away from the desk, starting to pace in the small space behind it.
“You and your friends—Belle, Max, Erik—you’ve been through hell.
You exposed a massive criminal network. You put powerful people in prison.
And now you’re here, on this island again, believing that this time, things are different. That you’re protected.”
“We are protected,” I say, confused by his agitation. “Mrs. Harpsons made that very clear. The network can’t reach us here.”
“Did she?” Professor Austin stops pacing, fixing me with an intense look. “Or did she tell you what you wanted to hear?”
A chill runs down my spine despite the warmth of the classroom. “What are you trying to say?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it, clearly struggling with how much to reveal. “A student came to me recently. During office hours. Asked some very careful, very pointed questions about… institutions. About surveillance. About knowing who to trust.”
Belle. He’s talking about Belle. My mind races back to her behavior over the past few days—the tension, the exhaustion, the way she kept scanning the dining hall like she was looking for threats.
“What did they ask you?”
“Nothing I can repeat specifically. But it made me start paying attention. Really paying attention.” He glances at the ceiling again, and this time I follow his gaze.
There’s a smoke detector up there, blinking its steady red light.
Completely ordinary. “And once I started looking, I began to see… patterns. Things that don’t quite add up. ”
“What kind of patterns?”
“The kind that makes me wonder if we’re all being watched more closely than we realize.” His voice drops lower, barely above a whisper. “Luna, when was the last time you had a truly private conversation? One where you were absolutely certain no one else could hear?”
I want to dismiss this as paranoia, as the stress of someone who’s already stuck his neck out once and is now seeing threats everywhere. But something in his tone, in the way he’s looking at me, stops me.
“I don’t understand,” I say slowly. “You think someone is listening to our conversations? Here, at the school?”
“I think—” he starts, then stops abruptly, his gaze fixed on something behind me.
I turn to find Selena Harpsons standing in the doorway. I didn’t hear it open. Didn’t hear her approach. She’s just suddenly there, tall and elegant in her customary skirt suit, those cat-eyed glasses reflecting the fluorescent light.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, though her tone suggests she’s not sorry at all. Her pale eyes move from Professor Austin to me and back again. “Luna, dear, I believe you have another class starting soon. We wouldn’t want you to be late.”
It’s not a question. It’s a dismissal, polite but absolute.
“Yes, Mrs. Harpsons,” I hear myself say automatically. Years of conditioning make me obey authority without thinking. “Professor Austin was just—”
“Discussing your website design,” he interjects smoothly, though his face has gone pale. “Miss Queen had some excellent insights on the use of menus and pages that I wanted to explore further.”
“How lovely.” Selena’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Luna, why don’t you head to your next class? I need to have a word with Professor Austin about some administrative matters.”
There’s no refusing. No way to stay without making it obvious that something is wrong, that this conversation was more than what we’re claiming. I gather my things, hyperaware of the tension crackling in the air between them.
“Thank you, Professor,” I say, trying to catch his eye, to silently communicate that I understand something is happening here even if I don’t know what.
He nods once, jerkily, and I move toward the door. Selena steps aside to let me pass, and I catch a whiff of her perfume—something expensive and subtle that reminds me uncomfortably of my mother.
I should leave. Should just walk away and go to my next class like she ordered. But something makes me pause in the hallway just beyond the door, pressing myself against the wall where I’m not immediately visible from inside the classroom.
“Peter.” Selena’s voice carries through the partially open door, and there’s something different about her tone now—sharper, with an edge that wasn’t there when she was speaking to me. “We need to discuss your recent… extracurricular activities.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Professor Austin’s voice is steady, but I can hear the fear underneath.
“Don’t insult my intelligence. You’ve been spending quite a bit of time in the old computer lab in the basement.
Very dedicated of you, maintaining those legacy systems. Though I have to wonder why you felt the need to mention that particular facility to Miss Gallagher during your office hours yesterday. ”
My blood runs cold. She knows. Whatever Belle asked him, whatever concern he was trying to express to me just now—Selena knows all of it.
“I was helping a student with her assignment,” Professor Austin says. “That’s my job.”
“Your job is to teach and to maintain the standards of excellence that Shark Bay is known for. Your job is not to make students paranoid or to suggest that they’re unsafe within these walls.
” There’s a pause, and when Selena speaks again, her voice is softer but somehow more menacing.
“I saved you once, Peter. When the investigation into the Queen family threatened to expose your involvement, I protected you. Made sure your name never appeared in any of the court documents. Made sure you kept your position here.”
“I had no involvement,” he protests. “I helped Luna expose—”
“We both know what you did to help Luna. The systems you accessed without authorization. The confidential files you copied. The legal boundaries you crossed.” Another pause, letting each word sink in.
“I protected you from the consequences of those choices because I understood your motivation. But if you’re now sowing doubt about my ability to protect these students, if you’re working against this institution’s interests…
Well, I may need to revisit exactly what happened during that investigation.
I’m sure the authorities would be very interested in how Miss Queen obtained some of her evidence. ”
The threat hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable.
“I’m not working against anyone,” Professor Austin says, and his voice sounds smaller now, defeated. “I’m just concerned about—”
“About things that are none of your concern. Those students are under my protection. What they do, where they go, who they speak with—all of that falls under my purview as headmistress. Not yours.” The sound of heels clicking on the floor, moving closer to the door.
“I trust we understand each other, Peter. I would hate to lose such a dedicated member of our faculty. Especially over something as unfortunate as misplaced concern.”
I don’t wait to hear more. I push away from the wall and hurry down the corridor, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Behind me, I hear the classroom door open fully, hear Selena’s heels clicking out into the hallway.
I don’t look back. Don’t let her see that I was listening. I just keep walking, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what I just heard.
Professor Austin was asking about safety protocols. About surveillance. About whether I’d noticed anything unusual. And when Selena caught him, she threatened him—subtly, professionally, but definitely threatened him.
Why would she do that if she’s really protecting us? Why would she care if Professor Austin talks to us about being careful?
Unless being careful is exactly what she doesn’t want us to be.
I make it around the corner before I have to stop, pressing my back against the cool stone wall, breathing hard. Students pass by, some glancing at me curiously, but I barely register them. My mind is replaying every interaction I’ve had with Selena since we returned to Shark Bay.
The way she appeared at the cliffs exactly when we needed her. Too perfectly timed.
The way she killed Dominic without hesitation. A man who was supposedly a threat but who might have had information we needed.
The way she made such a public show of checking on us in the dining hall, making sure everyone saw her caring, protecting, watching.
Watching.
The word echoes in my head, taking on new meaning.
My phone buzzes—Erik texting. Where are you? Class started 5 minutes ago.
Sorry, got held up. Be there soon, I type back, my fingers shaking slightly.
I should go to class. Should maintain the appearance of normalcy, of a student going about her day without any concerns.
But I can’t make myself move. Can’t stop thinking about the fear in Professor Austin’s eyes, about Selena’s veiled threats, about Belle’s strange behavior suddenly making terrible sense.
What if we’re not safe here? What if coming back to Shark Bay was the biggest mistake we could have made?
The sound of footsteps makes me look up. Selena is walking down the corridor in my direction, speaking quietly on her phone. I force myself to straighten, to plaster on a casual expression.
“Yes, I’m aware,” she’s saying. “Keep monitoring the situation. I want to know immediately if there are any changes.” She ends the call and notices me, her expression shifting to pleasant concern. “Luna, are you all right? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just felt a bit dizzy. I think I might be coming down with something.”
“You should go to the infirmary. Have the nurse check you over.” She reaches out, placing a cool hand on my forehead in a gesture that might seem maternal if it didn’t make my skin crawl. “We can’t have you getting sick. You need to stay healthy, stay strong. You have so much ahead of you.”
“I will. Thank you, Mrs. Harpsons.”
“Of course, dear.” She smiles, and it’s the same warm smile she’s given me since we arrived. But now I can’t stop seeing the sharp edges underneath. “And Luna? If you’re ever concerned about anything—anything at all—you can come to me. My door is always open.”
“I know. Thank you.”
She pats my shoulder once before continuing down the corridor, her heels clicking a steady rhythm that sounds like a countdown.
Nothing feels normal anymore.
I think about Belle’s exhaustion, her wariness, the way she’s been watching everything so carefully.
I think about Professor Austin’s questions, his concern about surveillance and safety protocols.
I think about Selena’s perfectly timed appearance, her subtle threats, the way she wants us to feel protected while keeping us isolated.
I think about how Shark Bay was one of my original prisons—a place my parents sent me to keep me compliant and controlled. And I think about how the place where you feel safest is often where you’re in the most danger.
By the time I slip into my seat in Ethics and Philosophy, I’m already planning.
Already thinking about how to share my concerns with Erik without being overheard or sounding paranoid, about how to reach Belle and Max, about what Professor Austin was trying to warn me about before Selena silenced him.
Professor Jamal is discussing moral relativism and the nature of institutional authority. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“The question we must ask ourselves,” he says, writing on the board, “is whether those in positions of power are inherently trustworthy, or whether power itself corrupts even the best intentions.”
I stare at those words, thinking about Selena Harpsons with her cat-eyed glasses and her promises of protection. Thinking about how sometimes the monster isn’t hiding in the shadows—sometimes it’s standing right in front of you, wearing a respectable mask and offering salvation.
Erik glances at me from across the room, concern evident in his gray eyes. I try to smile reassuringly, but I’m not sure I succeed.
Because I’m starting to realize what Belle must have already figured out.
We’re not safe here.
We’ve never been safe here.
And Selena Harpsons isn’t our savior.
She’s our captor.