The lecture hall smelled of old wood, chalk dust, and the faint metallic tang of anticipation that always hung in the air before Frederick began speaking. Sunlight slanted through high windows, casting long shadows across rows of desks. At the front, Professor Frederick Langford stood behind the podium, his broad shoulders filling out the crisp white shirt he wore beneath a charcoal vest. His jaw was set in that familiar line of controlled irritation, dark hair threaded with the slightest silver at the temples. He looked every inch the respected academic—mid-forties, married, and dangerously composed.
Victoria sat in the front row, legs crossed demurely, though nothing about her was demure today. Her short plaid skirt rode high on her thighs, and beneath it, as always, she wore nothing. T
