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Riley’s voice, steady and clear, resonated through the lecture hall as she recounted the final showdown with Timothy Lancaster in Kirkwood Hill Cemetery. The faces of her students showed a mix of admiration and horror as they hung onto every word.

“His obsession with his mother’s legacy led him down a path of retribution,” Riley said, her eyes scanning the sea of young, aspiring agents before her. “But it also led to his own downfall.”

She paused for effect before advancing to her next point of discussion. With a click, the projector hummed to life, and two algebra quiz sheets filled the white screen. Murmurs rippled through the class as they took in the images.

“These,” Riley explained, “are not just remnants of a high school math class. They are calculated messages from a killer.” Her gaze lingered on the first sheet, its corner stained darkly with the blood of Robert Nash.

Then she shifted to the second, pristine and unmarked, intended for Gwen Beck—a message never delivered.

The room was still, save for the occasional shuffle of notes being taken. Riley let the silence hang heavy, driving home the reality of the brutality they might one day face themselves.

“Take a good look,” Riley instructed. “How would you decipher their message?”

“Those are algebra problems,” a student offered. “Solve them, I guess.”

“Good enough, guess,” Riley replied. “One answer on this sheet,” she pointed to a seemingly random equation on Nash’s quiz, “gives us an important number—37.12. What do you think that could mean?”

“A latitude coordinate?” came a reply.

“Right.” She moved her laser pointer to the second sheet, Gwen Beck’s would-be death marker. “And here, we find the longitude— -78.52.”

She paused, letting the coordinates sink in.

“An FBI team followed those coordinates to an out-of-the-way spot in Pine Creek State Park,” Riley continued, her gaze sweeping over her students. “What they found was a grave encircled by stones, mirroring the resting place of Patricia Warren that we’d found earlier in Blue Ridge Wilderness Park.”

The room fell quiet, waiting for more information.

“The body was that of Clive Brown,” Riley said. “The college department head who fired Martha Lancaster from Corbin College—and vanished without a trace 20 years ago.”

“Any questions?” she asked, knowing full well the minds before her were racing with them.

A hand shot up from the middle row—a young woman with keen eyes that reminded Riley so much of herself at that age.

“How did it feel to work on a case so close to your heart? I mean, with the murder of your favorite high school teacher, Margaret Whitfield,” the student’s words tumbled out, almost tripping over themselves in their haste.

“It’s... complicated,” she began, her voice betraying a hint of emotion.

“Justice is often bittersweet. It doesn’t bring back those we’ve lost, but.

..” She paused, her gaze returning to the expectant faces before her.

“But I’d like to believe that Mrs. Whitfield can rest easier now, knowing that her killer won’t hurt anyone else. ”

Another hand rose, this time from a confident young man in the front row.

“Does solving a case like this make you want to quit teaching and get back into fieldwork full-time?” he asked, a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

Riley let out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle. It was a question she had asked herself during the last couple of days more times than she cared to admit. She leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, her stance relaxed but her mind anything but.

“Fieldwork will always be a part of who I am,” she admitted, allowing herself a moment of reflection. “But teaching... sharing my experiences with all of you, helping to shape the next generation of investigators—that’s something I’m not ready to give up.”

Her smile was genuine, even as she grappled with the pull of the field, the adrenaline, the satisfaction of piecing together the puzzles left behind by twisted minds.

Gathering her notes, she glanced around the room, the sea of eager faces, some still hungry for the sordid details of the cases she’d dissected before them.

“Alright, everyone, that’s it for today,” Riley announced, signaling the end of the session.

“Do your assignments,” she said sternly. “I’ll still be here tomorrow. For now, I’m sticking to my ‘day job.’”

Riley’s laughter mingled with the students. As the students filed out, she couldn’t shake the relief that settled over her. Leo Dillard, with his unsettling intensity, hadn’t been present. It was a small mercy, one she clung to as she made her way through the familiar corridors of the Academy.

The walk to her office was a quiet one, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. She pondered the curious balance she maintained between the classroom and the chaos of fieldwork.

Her pulse quickened as she rounded the corner, spotting the tall figure of Leo Dillard lurking outside her office door. His presence, an unwelcome intrusion into her sanctuary, set her instincts on edge.

“You weren’t in class,” she remarked, her voice carefully neutral.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he replied, looking at her with those piercing eyes that seemed to attempt to unravel her composure. “I had a lot on my mind and really needed to talk to you—one-on-one.”

The memory of their last encounter in her office lingered unpleasantly. She resisted the urge to tell him to leave, reminded again of the delicate balance she maintained as both an instructor and a protector.

“Alright,” she conceded, as she reached for her keys. “But make it quick, Leo.”

The lock clicked, a sound that seemed to resonate with finality, and she stepped inside, steeling herself against whatever Leo Dillard thought he needed from her so desperately. She ushered them both into the room.

“Please, have a seat,” Riley gestured toward the chair opposite her desk, her tone betraying none of the apprehension she felt. Then she settled into her own chair.

“Congratulations on cracking the Lancaster case,” Leo began, his voice smooth, almost rehearsed. “The whole Academy is buzzing about what a brilliant job you did.”

“Thank you, Leo,” she acknowledged.

He leaned forward, an earnest expression on his features. “Also, I meant to wish April a happy birthday. I hope she enjoyed it.”

A shiver of disquiet traced Riley’s spine as she contemplated how he knew about her daughter’s birthday. The private details of her life were not fodder for classroom exchanges or casual conversation.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice steady despite the alarm bells ringing softly in her mind.

His gaze lingered a moment too long before he continued, unfazed by her curt response. “You know, we should really spend more time together outside of class, get to know each other better.”

Riley’s fingers tightened around the edge of her desk. Leo’s voice snagged on her nerves like barbed wire, his words invasive than.

“I know about you and Bill Jeffreys—the relationship you have,” he said with an air of condescension that set Riley’s teeth on edge. “But he’s not right for you. He’s practically out to pasture—an old agent staring down retirement.”

The statement clanged in her head, discordant and presumptuous. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping back against the floor. “Leo, I think it’s time for you to leave,” Riley said, her tone brooking no argument.

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an undercurrent of defiance. Riley’s patience had reached its limit. She strode to the door and pulled it open. The gesture was clear: an unspoken invitation to exit, a dismissal she expected him to heed.

“Please,” she said, gesturing towards the hallway.

Leo rose slowly, his height unfolding like a shadow stretching. As he passed by her, he leaned in, his lips aiming for hers in a bold, unwanted advance.

Instinctively, Riley shoved him away, her hands firm and unforgiving against his chest. She pushed him beyond the threshold, her strength catching him off guard. Leo stumbled back, surprise etched on his face, but she spared no thought for his shock.

The door slammed shut with a resounding thud. Riley leaned against the wood, its solid presence a small comfort against the tremor that now shook her frame.

She told herself he was just an arrogant youngster, that his foolish advances shouldn’t bother her, if he persisted she would simply report him. But Riley had faced plenty of monsters—men and women whose minds were dark—and she recognized something of that in Leo.

*

The closing door echoed like a gunshot in Leo’s ears. He stood motionless, his hand still suspended in the air where Riley’s door had been a moment before.

Her face, stern and angry, lingered in his mind’s eye—an image at odds with the warmth he’d imagined between them. Confusion knotted his brow as he tried to reconcile the woman who had just shut him out so definitively with the one he had envisioned sharing his thoughts, his dreams.

The sting of that rejection ran deep, a wound to his pride and his heart alike. Where was the connection, the chemistry he felt sure was between them? What had he misread?

He had come seeking kinship, perhaps even understanding, but left with nothing but the echo of a closing door. As he walked away from Riley’s office, the fabric of his fantasies unraveled. The woman he thought he knew was now just an illusion.

The warmth he had felt in her presence, the domestic tranquility he yearned to be part of, all dissolved, leaving Leo grasping at the remnants of what never was.

Riley Paige had embarrassed him, left him exposed and raw.

She had drawn him in with her enigmatic aura, only to shut him out when he dared to lean too close to her flame.

It was a cruel game she had played, whether she knew it or not, and for that, she must atone.

A steely edge crept into his thoughts, the gentle longing that once occupied his heart now replaced with a simmering anger.

He would no longer be the discarded suitor, the footnote in someone else’s narrative.

Riley Paige would come to understand the gravity of her mistake—he would make sure of that.

The cost of dismissing Leo Dillard as inconsequential was going to be terrifying and painful for Riley Paige.