Professor Evelyn Hart stood at the podium of Lecture Hall 204, watching the last stragglers file in for her Thursday afternoon seminar on Eroticism in Modernist Poetry. Forty-two years old, still handsome in the severe way that made undergraduates nervous, she wore her usual armor: charcoal pencil skirt, cream silk blouse buttoned to the throat, hair twisted into a knot so tight it looked painful. The room smelled of old paper and burnt coffee. Outside, October rain slashed against the tall windows.
She had taught this course for nine years and never once felt the air change when a particular student walked in. Until today.
Lila Moreau arrived late, as she had every week since the semester began. She slipped through the door without apology, combat boots leaving wet prints on the hardwoo
