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My office on campus is supposed to be a temporary space for a temporary position, but it’s mine for now and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to stay. I’d forgotten how much I loved lecturing.

The office they’ve put me in is tiny. It’s never belonged to anyone long term. This is where they put visiting professors and anyone who needs a space who isn’t that important.

A year ago, I’d have been able to command a bigger space. The university would never have dreamed of shoving me into a space not much bigger than a closest, but then my reputation isn’t what it was a year ago.

I’d also have been given someone to do the basic admin work for me. I wouldn’t be sitting at this scarred desk, stapling together the handouts for my next lecture.

I saw Leo yesterday. On campus.

He’d turned away and practically ran in the other direction, but even at the distance, I could tell he didn’t look well. He looked exhausted. It made my heart clench. I’m his alpha. I’m supposed to be looking after him and I’m not.

Yet, I’m completely sure that if I had approached him, he would have run away a lot faster.

My phone buzzes, mercifully interrupting my thoughts..

“Thorndike,”

I answer, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I continue stapling hand outs.

“There’s going to be a protest.”

Halvorsen’s voice is tight.

“Outside your lecture. I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

I staple the last handout, neaten them then slide them into my briefcase.

“Not exactly unexpected. How many?”

“Campus security estimates thirty to forty students. The usual activists.”

A pause.

“Torres isn’t among them, if you’re wondering.”

I wasn’t wondering. I was hoping. I need to see him again.

“Thanks for the warning,”

I say instead.

“But I’ve handled worse.”

“Security will meet you at the south entrance of Halley Hall,”

Halvorsen continues.

“Try not to engage with them.”

“I know how to handle protesters, Ben.”

He chuckles.

“I know. Good luck.”

The line goes dead.

I slip the phone into my pocket and glance at my watch. Twenty minutes until my first lecture. Plenty of time to walk across campus, even with a gauntlet of protesters to navigate.

Outside, sunlight bathes the quad in gold, the kind of perfect day that makes even a concrete university campus look almost poetic. Students sprawl on the grass, textbooks and laptops in front of them.

I’m halfway across the central lawn when the chanting reaches me. Distant at first, then growing louder as I approach the hall. The crowd comes into view as I round the social sciences building, and I stop short, momentarily stunned.

This isn’t thirty to forty students. It’s well over a hundred people blocking every entrance to the lecture hall. Signs bob above the crowd.

“NO BUREAU PUPPETS IN OUR CLASSROOMS,”

“CONSENT MATTERS,”

There are more signs calling me Thorndick than there are calling me Thorndike. How very original.

Some protesters have megaphones, leading call-and-response chants that echo across the quad. Others form a human chain across the main stairs. Campus security officers stand uncertainly at the perimeter, clearly outnumbered and unprepared.

I scan the crowd, unable to help myself. No Leo. But there—near the front, megaphone in hand—is Meg Deveraux, Leo’s right hand. Her voice carries over the others as she leads a chant about me. It rhymes and it’s crude but I wouldn’t say it is particularly clever.

These can’t all be students. The university’s entire omega rights group barely numbered thirty at its peak. Someone has rallied outside support, brought in people from the surrounding community.

I spot Halvorsen standing with a cluster of security personnel at the south entrance. His expression is grim as I approach.

“You said thirty to forty,”

I observe mildly.

He grimaces.

“It escalated quickly. Someone tipped off local activist groups.”

His gaze cuts to Meg.

“Three guesses who.”

“Not Leo,”

I say with more certainty than I feel.

“Maybe not, but it’s definitely his people.”

Halvorsen runs a hand through his thinning hair.

“Police are on their way. We’ll get you inside.”

“Is that necessary? They’re just protesters.”

I gesture toward the crowd.

“Loud, but peaceful.”

“They’ve blocked all entrances, . That crosses the line from protest to obstruction.”

He checks his watch.

“Students are waiting at the north entrance. They deserve access to their class.”

He’s right, of course. My students shouldn’t have to force their way through a human barricade to attend a lecture they’ve paid for.

Police arrive minutes later—around twenty officers in uniform who immediately begin conferring with security. One breaks away to address me directly.

“Dr. Thorndike? We’re going to create a corridor through the north entrance. Stay between officers at all times.”

I nod, clutching my briefcase tighter.

“There are students waiting to get in as well.”

“We’ll bring them in after you’re secure. Please follow me.”

The police form a tight formation around me, shields raised. As we approach the human chain blocking the entrance, the chanting intensifies, faces contorting with genuine anger. The officer speaks through a bullhorn, warning protesters to clear a path or face removal.

Most step aside reluctantly. A few have to be physically moved, though the officers use minimal force. I keep my gaze forward, expression neutral, even as shouts hit me from all directions.

“Asshole!”

“How many omegas did you force-match?”

We’re almost through when Meg Deveraux appears directly in my path, megaphone lowered, eyes blazing with righteous fury.

“Where’s Leo?”

I ask before I can stop myself.

Fury flickers across her face.

“Stay away from him.”

An officer moves to separate us, but not before she adds, low enough that only I can hear.

“He doesn’t need you.”

Then she’s gone, pulled back into the crowd, and we’re through the doors into the relative quiet of the building. The sound of the protests is muffled now, reduced to a persistent background rumble.

“Your lecture hall is on the second floor,”

my escort informs me.

“We’ll bring your students in groups.”

I nod my thanks and follow him up the stairs, aware of the absurdity of the situation. All this security, all this furor, for a basic lecture on alpha-omega chemical markers. The protesters probably imagine I’m teaching some propaganda course on forced matching, not the dry biochemistry that actually forms today’s lesson plan.

The lecture hall is cavernous, designed to hold three hundred students. Only about forty trickle in over the next fifteen minutes, escorted by police in small groups. Their expressions range from annoyed to excited by the drama. A few look genuinely apprehensive.

“Quite the welcome committee,”

I say once they’re settled, aiming for a light tone. A few nervous laughs ripple through the room.

“I’m Dr. Thorndike, and this is Omega Biology 301: Designation Biology and Behavioral Impact.”

Through the walls, we can still hear the rhythmic chanting outside. I acknowledge it directly.

“As you’ve probably gathered, my presence on campus is somewhat controversial. If any of you would prefer to drop this course, I completely understand. No judgment, no consequences.”

No one moves. A few students actually lean forward, more engaged.

“Right then.”

I open my presentation slides.

“Let’s begin with the basic biochemistry of designation markers.”

For the next fifty minutes, I focus entirely on the science. Just data and established research findings. The persistent soundtrack of protests fades into white noise as I settle into the familiar rhythm of teaching.

As the lecture ends and students begin gathering their things, I offer.

“Next time, we’ll address how these biochemical markers influence behavioral patterns. Readings are posted on the course site.”

The protests have thinned somewhat when my escort returns to take me back to my office. A few die-hard protesters shout slogans, but the earlier energy has dissipated.

“Thank you,”

I tell the officers as we reach my building.

“I appreciate your assistance.”

“Just doing our job, sir.”

He nods respectfully.

“We’ll have personnel monitoring your lectures for the next few weeks.”

I want to protest that it’s unnecessary, but after today’s display, the argument feels hollow. Instead, I thank him again and retreat to my office, closing the door with a sigh of relief.

I’ve barely sat down when a sharp knock interrupts the blessed silence. Before I can respond, the door swings open to reveal the Dean, his expression severe. Dean Richard Jones is a career academic, career meaning he has worked his way up the layers of university management until he reached the top and can boss around everyone underneath him. He’s a small, squat little man with hair a little too long for the way the hair on his forehead is rapidly receding.

I’ve met Jones three times and disliked all of them. If it wasn’t for Leo’s presence at this university, Jones would have been one of the factors in the ‘against’ column of taking the job.

“,”

Jones doesn’t wait for an invitation before entering and closing the door behind him.

“Quite the spectacle today.”

I rise automatically, extending my hand.

“Dean. I apologize for the disruption.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not unexpected.”

He ignores my hand, moving instead to examine the sparse bookshelves along the wall. He turns back to me.

“We’ll be implementing new university policies from six this evening. I’ve had a copy sent to your email. We can’t have that kind of disruption on campus.”

I know universities. With the exception of my time at the Bureau, I have spent years at them. Wheels turn slow in the admin buildings. Any new policy would need to be proposed, written and then go through about a dozen committees and iterations before it could be made official.

They didn’t invite me here to lecture. They invited me to be their bait.

I’m used to controversy. Every man and his damn dog has an opinion on Thorndike, but that doesn’t mean I court it.

I don’t stir up controversy deliberately. Controversy muddies the water of the message I am trying to get across. I’d bet a hundred dollars Jones is the one who got the message out that I was lecturing today.

“I’m not interested in being used as a pawn, Jones. I--”

“I don’t particularly care what you think on this matter, .”

His interruption is smooth.

“Your visiting position is at my discretion and our contract includes a standard clause about ‘supporting university policies.’”

“This will only escalate tensions,”

I state bluntly, trying a different angle.

“Cracking down on protesters often backfires. Just ignore them. They’ll grow up and go away.”

“We’ll manage the public relations aspects.”

He says ignoring me. He moves toward the door, conversation clearly over in his mind.

“Your job is to teach your classes and let the administration handle student discipline.”

He pauses, hand on the doorknob.

“I’ve scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning to announce our new security measures. Your presence would be... appreciated.”

It’s clearly not a request.

I nod. I’ve not agreed but it looks like I have. I’m no fan of protestors. I think half of them are idiots and the other half are even bigger idiots. There are better ways to get your message across, but I don’t like being used.

“Excellent.”

His smile returns, satisfied.

The door closes behind him and I resist the urge to make a rude gesture at it. This is going to make things a lot more complicated. Damn the man.