Page 24 of The Drama King

"Unlikely. Her core markers are definitively Omega." I'd examined the data thoroughly using classification algorithms I'd developed during independent research. "More likely natural variation within phenotypical expression. Think of it as an opportunity to refine our methods."

Predictability had been boring me anyway. Vespera's resistance offered intellectual stimulation our previous targets had lacked.

"The scene study partnerships post tomorrow," Dorian said, his focus sharpening. "I've arranged the pairings."

My analytical circuits activated, processing tactical implications. "Excellent. Forced proximity will increase psychological pressure while isolating her from support networks." I was already calculating complementary strategies. "I'll coordinate with Oakley on technical theater requirements. Between academic preparation and mandatory rehearsals, she'll have minimal recovery time."

Dorian's expression altered. "Don't compromise her performance capabilities. I want her to fail on merit, not because we sabotaged her preparation."

The instruction disrupted my anticipated strategy tree. This deviated from established protocol, where comprehensive destruction—academic, social, psychological—was standard objective.

"You want her to perform well?" I asked, tone carefully neutral.

"I want to defeat her at her best," he clarified, though my microexpression analysis detected the probability of partial deception. "Breaking a weakened opponent proves nothing."

Fascinating. Dorian's typical methodology prioritized efficiency over sport. This shift toward seeking worthy opposition rather than convenient victory represented a significant behavioral anomaly.

"That approach has merit," I agreed, though privately I was recalculating success probabilities. "Academic failure achieved through legitimate means carries more institutional weight."

Before I could probe his motivations further, movement across the quad caught attention. Robbie Gao approached Vespera and Stephanie, his black hair gleaming in afternoon light. The male Omega triggered immediate physiological response. Increased heart rate, tightened muscles, involuntary sharpening of my scent.

"Gao's integrating himself into her support system," I observed, redirecting focus to tactical considerations.

Dorian's scent spiked with bitter displeasure. "I see that."

"He's strategically valuable," I continued, mentally calculating relationship vectors. "Family connections provide social insulation we can't easily penetrate. His previous exposure to our methods offers her foreknowledge. His involvement changes the equation," I said, highlighting relevant data points. "But creates new vulnerabilities we can exploit."

"Explain."

"If he's warned her about us, she's already primed to interpret neutral interactions negatively. We can use that hypervigilance against her. Establish expected patterns, then deviate unpredictably. The inconsistency creates cognitive dissonance, forcing constant alertness that exhausts psychological resources."

It was methodology I'd developed sophomore year, refined through multiple applications. The technique appeared in no standard psychological literature. My own innovation, intended for eventual publication once I had sufficient case studies.

Dorian nodded slowly, appreciation evident. "Gaslighting through expectation manipulation."

"Precisely." I felt familiar satisfaction at strategic elegance. The pure pleasure of perfect logical construction.

"I have a meeting with Professor Bray about showcase casting," Dorian said, standing and adjusting his cashmere scarf. "Coordinate with Oakley on technical angles. Full psychological assessment by tomorrow morning."

"Already in progress." I reopened my notebook to the green-tabbed section. Biological vulnerabilities and exploitation vectors. "I've identified several promising stress-response patterns."

I watched him stride away, drawing attention from everyone he passed. Only when he disappeared did I refocus on Vespera and her expanding protection network.

She was laughing at something Robbie had said, head tilted back, momentarily unguarded. The sound carried clearly. My hearing caught the specific patterns of genuine amusement. For a disconcerting moment, I found myself analyzing those patterns for aesthetic rather than tactical value.

I frowned at this neural aberration. Father's training echoed: "Emotional responses are data points, Corvus. Nothing more. Analyze them, catalog them, but never indulge them."

I realigned my thoughts, returning to systematic assessment. This subject requiring more sophisticated methods was merely an intellectual challenge. I would adapt approaches, refine models, and achieve intended outcomes.

Even still, I packed materials into my messenger bag, unwelcome questions lingered: Why was Dorian's scent changing whenever Vespera was nearby? And why was I experiencing these small but measurable lapses in analytical detachment?

These new feelings were frustratingly unscientific.

ten

Vespera

TheOctoberafternoonlightslanted through the tall windows of Studio B, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floor. Midterms were finally over, leaving behind a campus-wide sense of exhausted relief mixed with anxiety about grades. I should have been in my dorm room catching up on sleep, but instead I'd volunteered to help Stephanie with her lighting design project for Professor McGraw's technical theater class.