Perfect. Also, files. Up-to-date ones this time.

I searched for the year, then our year. A little overwhelmed by all the files, I sat down on the floor, but immediately regretted it, because a terrible creaking sound rang out underneath me.

My eyes fell on the black dividers between the years, which on closer inspection were not dividers but entire files. I pulled out our year’s. Sports courses and leisure activities. Jackpot!

I didn’t have to browse for long before I found what I was looking for. Quickly, I took a photo of the football team list with my cell phone.

Now let’s get out of here.

I pushed the file back into its holder and closed the drawer. Then I straightened up.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

I looked around, caught off guard, and swallowed hard when I saw a dark shadow standing in the doorway. As he quietly closed the door behind him, more candlesticks and the chandelier on the high ceiling illuminated the entire room, bathing the walls in a brighter, albeit dimmed, light.

Professor Copeland...

“I...” I started, trying to talk my way out of it, but he raised his hand.

“We all have our secrets...” he said, and it seemed to me that an amused smile played around his lips.

He crossed the office and poured an auburn-colored drink into one of the crystal glasses on an antique cupboard next to a chest of drawers.

“It almost seems like life is coming back to these old walls after a long time. Young men fighting, female students looking for things that shouldn’t be their concern.”

He looked at me and sipped his drink. The warm light illuminated his handsome face, making him look younger than he probably had to be to run such an institution. The flickering candles cast a moving shadow on his emerald green satin vest.

“And yet, appearances are deceptive... Every time anew.”

He motioned for me to come to him, and I obeyed.

How had I not heard him come in? And how had he seen that I had been at the sports files?

The professor held out a glass to me, but I refused.

“I’m only eighteen,” I said, trying to process that my English professor had offered me a drink.

“I can make you a year older if you want,” he laughed, one of his slightly longer hair strands falling into his forehead.

Professor Copeland strode over to the couch and gestured to the other side, which made me sit down opposite him.

He himself went to the fireplace, where he lit the fire and looked thoughtfully into the flames for a moment, as if he saw something specific there.

Grace had told me that many Senseque were afraid of fire, but that the intensity of this fear depended on the strength of the creature.

“You’re not afraid of fire.”

The professor laughed softly and sat down opposite me.

“Everything is controllable.”

I said nothing, just stared at the blazing flames of the noble fireplace as he did.

“So, you are a Quatura?” he asked, propping his elbows on his knees.

It sounded less like a question, but I decided to be polite and answer him.

“I don’t think so... How do you know, Professor...?”

“Oh, please. Call me Alarik. These formalities are not for me, especially not outside of my classes, Miss...?”

He looked at me questioningly.

“Adams...” I stuttered a little sheepishly. “But I prefer the first name, too.”

By now, I had lost my fear. For whatever reason, the professor was still here at this hour. It must be some kind of wolf thing. Nothing frightening at all...

He looked at me in surprise.

“Adams? Is that your mother’s name?”

I hesitated.

If I found out anything else about her that I didn’t know, I would probably have to confront her again. But she would most likely close up and lie to me, as usual…

“Yes, why?”

The professor smiled.

“And so, our paths cross again.” He looked at the fireplace, lost in thought, before drinking from his glass as if he needed it badly, and finally looked at me as if I’d escaped from the zoo.

In the end, he laughed, shook his head, and leaned back.

“Diana Adams has a daughter...”

Curious as to how he knew my mother, I watched the man.

“We were in the same year, your mother and I.” He took a sip of his whiskey, then looked at me again. “She was such an ambitious researcher. Molecular biology.”

He seemed to remember her really well.

“You don’t seem that enthusiastic about science? What was your name again?”

“Bayla,” I helped Alarik out. I didn’t hold it against him because his seminars hadn’t taken place that often.

“I’m more of a literature type,” I admitted shyly.

Alarik looked at me with a friendly smile and nodded. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”