The Meeting

The morning air at Havenridge carried the scent of cut grass and damp stone. Garrett walked beside Simone through the south corridor toward the faculty lounges — their first public appearance since the engagement party. Students and junior staff passed with quick glances, uncertain whether to smile, nod, or vanish.

Simone moved with ease. Confident. Measured.

"Good morning. Ah, Professor Adair — lovely scarf. Tara, I’ll see you this afternoon. Don’t be late."

Her tone had precision — cool, practiced authority. Garrett remained quiet, his hands loose at his sides, eyes moving without urgency. Simone commanded with visibility; he preferred the shadows, the weight of his silence unsettling enough to shift the energy of every space they entered. He didn’t need to announce himself — only to watch, remember, and wait. He nodded, smiled when needed. He didn’t have to say much to unsettle people. They moved aside on instinct.

In the lounge, two women waited by the espresso bar.

"Garrett," Simone said, slowing, "allow me to introduce you properly. Farida Abbasi — she oversees examinations and budgeting. And Laila Nur, head of student housing and campus discipline."

Farida Abbasi, slight and composed, wore a modest robe in soft earth tones, her dark hijab pinned with care. Her gaze, lowered at first, rose only briefly to meet Garrett’s before dropping again. There was no hostility — just caution. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. "Professor Thomas."

Simone smiled. "It’s Hale now."

Farida gave no reply. Just a small blink.

Laila Nur, tall and thickset, wore a vivid blouse tucked into a fitted skirt. The fabric strained across her body with an air of defiance, like a challenge rather than elegance. Gold hoops and bright nails gave her presence. She didn’t offer a greeting. Her expression was flat.

"So this is the new hire," she said, arms crossed.

"You were invited to the announcement," Simone replied.

"I had interviews."

"They ended at noon."

Garrett remained neutral. He extended a hand. "It’s good to meet you both."

Farida shook it, briefly. Laila did not.

"Let’s move to the chamber," Simone said, her voice smooth, but steeled with satisfaction. She didn’t need to look at Garrett to know he was ready. They were walking into the lion’s den — but it wasn’t their blood that would be spilled.

The chamber air was cold and dry. Frosted panels lined the walls — symbols of progress and vigilance etched in glass.

At the head of the table: Dr. Octavia Thomas, arms folded, her expression unreadable.

To her right: Dr. Zuleika Mahfouz, from Mahqira, head of political theory. Unlike the others from her region, she had rejected the conservative customs — her lipstick was blood red, her hair wild, her neckline daring. Her eyes burned with confidence. Not defiant — dominant.

Beside her: Prof. Ji-Yeon Park, from Xinashi. A tailored white blouse, knee-length charcoal skirt, and a sleek, severe braid. She said little, but everything about her posture said: attention.

Farida and Laila took their seats silently. Simone sat. Garrett took the empty chair that once belonged to Marisol.

Octavia spoke first. "Mr. Hale," she said, pointedly omitting his title. "Your temporary appointment is noted. This meeting is to assess your integration."

Garrett inclined his head. "Understood."

Farida’s tone was soft, but direct. "Your record is… unusual. Published, but not peer-reviewed. No formal accreditation."

Laila cut in. "And yet you’ve already stepped into the faculty role."

Zuleika’s smile was sharp. "And into Professor Thomas’ bed." Ji-Yeon’s brows twitched almost imperceptibly. Farida stiffened, her eyes flicking down to her notebook though she wasn’t writing. Laila snorted softly, though whether it was derision or approval was unclear. Simone’s face remained impassive, and Garrett met Zuleika’s eyes without flinching.

The room froze.

Simone didn’t blink. Garrett remained composed.

"You’ve built something rare here," he said. "That’s why I’m here. To strengthen it."

"It doesn’t need you," Zuleika said flatly.

"Everything can evolve. Even strong foundations."

Ji-Yeon finally spoke. "One guest lecture. Supervised. No deviation."

Octavia tapped her pen once. "Actually — I think it’s an excellent idea. Let him demonstrate what he brings to our students. A real-time evaluation. You won’t mind being observed, will you?"

Garrett smiled faintly. "Not at all." He welcomed scrutiny—it only made their underestimation easier to exploit.

"He’ll bend the rules," Zuleika muttered.

"If he does," Simone said, "I’ll withdraw my support."

Silence.

Octavia’s tone was ice. "See that you don’t regret that promise."

Closing

As the discussion slowed, Garrett raised a hand slightly. "Before we close — may I speak briefly?"

Octavia nodded once.

He stood. "I’m not just here to teach. I’m a practicing psychologist. Certified in trauma work and faculty coaching. Per my contract, I also serve as liaison for staff well-being — confidential support, if needed."

Frowns. Zuleika narrowed her eyes. Farida shifted.

"That role was not approved," Octavia said tightly.

Garrett didn’t flinch. "Check the final contract. Signed and sealed by your office, Dean."

Octavia’s nostrils flared almost imperceptibly. Her fingers tapped the table once, then curled into her palm. Across the table, Ji-Yeon’s gaze flicked to Zuleika, who remained unusually silent. Laila shifted in her seat, folding her arms tighter. Farida frowned, eyes narrowing slightly as if recalculating her position.

Octavia blinked. Stood. Smoothed her sleeve.

"Meeting adjourned," she said. Her voice held steel.

She left first.

Zuleika followed. Ji-Yeon hesitated — then turned.

Laila and Farida exchanged a glance.

Simone remained seated. Her gaze swept slowly over the door, then the polished table, then the arrangement of chairs — as if memorizing the moment.

She breathed in slowly, then exhaled, her hand brushing over the smooth surface in front of her, not to steady herself — but to claim it.

A small, knowing smile touched her lips.

Not at anyone in the room. Not like last year, when Zuleika dismissed her syllabus as 'overly sentimental storytelling.' Not like the week Ji-Yeon turned her back mid-presentation, or when Farida vetoed her departmental hires citing 'ideological imbalance.' Not even like the night Octavia told her over dinner, "You’re not strategic enough to lead."

Her smile held.

Zuleika — arrogant and loud, always convinced she was the sharpest weapon in the room.

Ji-Yeon — cold, unreadable, hiding her disdain behind protocol and silence.

Laila — blunt and bitter, all resentment and no refinement.

Farida — timid behind procedure, playing devout while seething at anyone she couldn't control.

And Octavia. Her own mother. So proud of her order, so terrified of losing control.

Simone’s smile widened.

Each one of you thinks I won’t even last a month.

Each one of you will come crawling. Begging.

And when you do, I’ll be there. At his side. Loyal. Owned.

Smiling while you pray for five minutes of his mercy.