Page 49 of The Drama King

Professor De Scarzis appeared at the theater entrance, clipboard in hand. "Students! Gather round for attendance and seating assignments."

We filed into the ornate lobby, its gilded moldings and crystal chandeliers a reminder of a more elegant theatrical era. The space was already crowded with well-dressed patrons sipping pre-show drinks, their murmured conversations creating a genteel hum that set my already frayed nerves further on edge.

"When I call your name, approach to receive your ticket and program," De Scarzis announced, her Italian accent more pronounced in the echoing space. "Remember that this attendance is mandatory and counts toward your practical theater experience grade."

She began calling names alphabetically, which meant I'd be waiting a while. Stephanie was called in the first group, and she shot me a worried look as she moved forward.

"I'll wait right here," she promised, pointing to a spot near one of the massive columns that lined the lobby.

As the crowd of students thinned, I found myself increasingly exposed, standing alone while waiting for my name to be called. The weight of unwanted attention settled between my shoulder blades. That distinctive prickling awareness that I was being watched.

I didn't need to turn to know it was Dorian. His sandalwood scent reached me even across the crowded lobby, wrapping around me like an unwanted caress. Since my Lady Macbeth performance, something had shifted in his approach. The overt hostility had transformed into something more insidious. An almost proprietary interest that frightened me more than his previous tactics.

"Levine, Vespera," De Scarzis finally called.

I moved forward, relieved to have a reason to put distance between myself and Dorian's attention. De Scarzis handed me a ticket and program with a small nod that might have been approval. She'd been different toward me since the showcase, her usual brusque demeanor softened by what seemed like genuine respect.

"Balcony right, row C, seat 7," she said, making a notation on her clipboard.

I glanced at the ticket, then at Stephanie across the lobby, already examining her own. Her face fell as she held up her ticket, mouthing "Orchestra" with obvious dismay.

They'd separated us. Of course they had.

Scanning the lobby, I saw other students comparing tickets, discovering the same thing. Friends and usual groupings split up, distributed throughout the theater's different sections. On the surface, a logical educational choice, forcing us to experience the production from varying perspectives. In reality, a perfect opportunity for isolation.

Stephanie pushed her way back through the crowd, her expression worried. "They've got us in completely different sections," she whispered. "What are the odds?"

"About the same as the pack showing up at a required theater outing that wasn't on the original semester schedule," I replied grimly. "This feels planned."

"Okay, new strategy," Stephanie said, her voice low. "Meet me in the lobby at intermission, center bar. If you don't show within five minutes, I'm coming to find you."

I nodded, trying to ignore the anxious churning in my stomach. "And after the show, we leave together. No exceptions."

The house lights flickered, signaling five minutes until curtain. Stephanie squeezed my arm one last time before we were swept into separate streams of theatergoers moving toward their designated sections.

The balcony right section was more sparsely populated than the orchestra, the seats narrower and more steeply raked. I found my seat. An aisle position that would normally be preferable but now left me feeling exposed on one side. The two seats beside me were still empty, though the rest of the row was filling quickly.

I busied myself with the program, trying to focus on the production notes rather than my growing sense of unease.The Duchess of Malfi. Webster's Jacobean revenge tragedy about a widow who marries beneath her station and faces brutal consequences from her controlling brothers. Not exactly cheerful fare for a rainy November evening, but a classic of the theatrical canon.

"What a pleasant surprise."

Corvus Barclay's voice sent ice through my veins. I looked up to find him standing in the aisle, elegant in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Seat 8, I believe," he said, gesturing to the spot directly beside me. "May I?"

There was nothing I could do but nod stiffly as he settled into the adjacent seat, his expensive cologne mingling with his dark chocolate Alpha scent in a combination clearly designed to project sophisticated dominance.

"Enjoying the academic experience so far?" he asked, his voice pitched for my ears alone despite the conversational tone.

"It's certainly educational," I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the program.

"Indeed." I could hear the smile in his voice without looking up. "Though I should warn you. The evening's most valuable lessons may come after the final curtain."

Before I could respond, another familiar figure appeared in the aisle. Oakley, dressed in a navy suit that made his cedar scent seem warmer, more approachable. His expression showed a flash of something like surprise when he saw me, quickly masked.

"Seat 9," he said, his voice notably less smug than Corvus's as he slid past us to take his place.

My heart rate accelerated as I realized what was happening. Two Alphas flanking me, cutting off escape routes, controlling my space. And if Corvus and Oakley were here...