A week later,
The soft hum of holographic displays filled the professor's office, a warm glow from floating screens casting shadows across the walls. Shelves lined with thick, leather-bound books stretched to the ceiling, each volume inscribed with golden lettering. A framed newspaper clipping hung just above the desk, the headline bold: "Hero of Titan's Fall Saves 3,000."
Beatrix wandered slowly through the room, her eyes trailing across relics of past heroics, fingers itching to touch but not daring. Her reflection flickered faintly in the glass as she peered at a medal case. She was supposed to be asking questions, it was some thin excuse about needing clarification on his last lecture.
She glanced toward him. Professor Lennox sat at his desk, his expression calm, eyes narrowed with focus as he graded essays. His black button-down shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing cords of muscle and faint scars that told stories of battles long past. His hair, dark and neatly combed, framed a face that looked no older than thirty.
Beatrix bit her lip. Thirty, maybe—except not.
She had paid attention in class. He had mentioned, in passing, that one of his powers slowed physical aging, a side effect of his regenerative abilities. He had been active during the Fall of Titan, making him…
"Old," she whispered to herself, lips curving into a smirk.
"You said something?" Lennox's voice was smooth, but his eyes didn't lift from the paper.
"Just wondering what you think of these ethics papers." She gestured vaguely toward the stack. "Any promising philosophers in the making?"
"None," he said dryly. He marked a page with a red slash, flipping to the next without missing a beat. "Most of them can't tell the difference between a moral dilemma and a bad decision."
She laughed, stepping closer to the desk. "Is that what you think? That the difference is that important?"
He looked up, his dark eyes catching hers for the first time. There was something sharp there—intelligent, steady, and… completely unmoved. "Important for some. Dangerous for others."
Her pulse quickened.
Beatrix leaned against the edge of his desk, tracing the grain of the wood with her fingertips. "Do you think I fall into the dangerous category, Professor?"
His brow lifted, just barely. "You tell me, Miss Tate."
She smiled, a slow, playful curve. "Depends. Are you the kind of man who likes dangerous women?"
He didn't blink. "I'm married."
The smile didn't falter. "Not blind, though."
"Clearly." He returned to his grading.
Beatrix let out a soft, almost breathless laugh, enjoying the game, she needed a distraction from the mess her life had become these days, she found it entertaining to come here every now and then to disturb this particular professor and for whatever reason he always entertained her. "So i've been wanting to ask....How old are you really?"
He didn't look up this time. "A few decades beyond where you're aiming."
"Decades?" She leaned forward. "You don't look it."
"That's the idea."
Her eyes danced over the lines of his face—sharp, chiseled, with the kind of restrained strength that made her imagination wander. "Superhero ethics must keep you young."
"Regeneration helps."
"So does flirting," she murmured, her voice dropping just enough to be heard but not acknowledged.
Lennox sighed softly, setting his pen down. He laced his fingers together and finally, fully, met her gaze. "Miss Tate, if you want to pass my class, you'll need more than charm. Understanding comes from study, not distraction."
Beatrix opened her mouth, a quick retort forming, but his calm, steady voice cut through.
"Go flirt with someone your age."
She blinked.
His expression didn't change, but there was a faint quirk at the corner of his mouth, almost like amusement. "You're smart. You're bold. But you're also a kid. And I have papers to grade."
For the first time in years, Beatrix felt the barest hint of heat rise to her cheeks. She smirked, rolling her eyes as she pushed off the desk. "You know, you could have just said no."
He stood, moving smoothly past her as he opened the door. "I just did."
As she stepped out, he shook his head, murmuring under his breath. "Kids."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Beatrix's smile lingered as she walked through the quiet hallway. The rejection didn't sting as much as it should have—it wasn't the kind of dismissal that left scars. If anything, it made her like him more.
She turned the corner, her thoughts still on the sharp cut of his jawline when she felt a presence at her back.
She stiffened.
"Relax," a voice said, smooth and easy. "I'm not here to fight."
Beatrix whirled, her guard rising, but the face that greeted her wasn't hostile. Dark brown eyes met hers, calm and friendly, framed by smooth, dark skin and a disarming smile.
"Sorry if I startled you." The boy lifted his hands, palms out. "Didn't mean to sneak up."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept her stance neutral. "Who are you?"
"Marcus." He extended a hand, his grin widening. "Second-year. You're Beatrix, right?"
She didn't take the hand. "You know who I am. Did Blair send you "
"Yes, and no" he admitted easily, lowering his arm. "You've made quite an impression. But I'm not here to talk about that and Blair did not send me to you."
Her eyes didn't leave his. "What do you want?"
"There's a party." He smiled again, the kind that could melt ice. "Nothing official, just something fun. I thought you might want to come. You know, unwind a little. here's the address" he handed her the invitation flier.
"I don't really do parties."
"Then this is a perfect time to start." He took a step back, his hands sliding into his pockets. "It's low-pressure. Drinks, music, dancing. A chance to feel like a normal person for a change."
She tilted her head, watching him carefully. He was charming—too charming. But there was no sharpness in his voice, no edge to his smile.
"I'll think about it," she said finally.
He nodded, still smiling. "I'll see you there."
He didn't wait for her to reply. He turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, his footsteps fading into silence.
Across the academy, the same invitation was given in different places, with different smiles—and always the same result.
Vivienne agreed with a shy laugh.
Reina smirked and accepted.
Leo shrugged, already bored but too curious to refuse.
Kian didn't hesitate.
The trap was set.