Page 37 of Saint Céline
“To clarify something.”
“What?”
“That Thad Rodriguez cannot keep you safe.”
His name in Vincent’s mouth sounded almost cruel because he said it correctly this time.
“You don’t get to decide where I’m safe,” I said.
“No. But I do get to observe where you are not.”
I took another step toward him.
“You come near me outside this lab again, and I’ll report you.”
“To whom,Selena?”
The question was gentle, but the emphasis on my real name posed the real threat.
My mouth went dry. Vincent tilted his head slightly.
“Dean Waverly? Campus security? The police? Chad’s father?”
“Stop.”
“What would you tell them?” He paused. “That I entered an apartment with no sign of forced entry? That you woke frightened and confused after a traumatic week? That your boyfriend slept through an event he cannot verify? That I, beloved Professor Moreau, somehow stood in a room where no one saw me come or go?”
My skin went cold. “I hate you,” I said.
“No,” he said softly. “You hate that I’m right.”
I lifted my hand before I knew I was going to do it. He caught my wrist midair. For one second, neither of us moved. My pulse beat against his fingers. He looked down at my hand, then back at my face.
“If you want to strike me,” he said, “do it when you are prepared for what comes after.”
I pulled free. This time, he let me. The office felt too small, too bright, too full of him. On his desk, beside a stack of lab reports, lay a slim black pen. Mine. I recognized it immediately. My stomach dropped.
Vincent followed my gaze. “You left that in orientation.”
“Did you keep it as a trophy?”
“Would that disturb you?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps.” He smirked.
A laugh escaped me, small and disbelieving. “You’re sick.”
“You said that too.”
“And yet you keep proving me right.”
His expression softened into something almost pleased.
“Careful, Selena. Repetition is the foundation of most good science.”
I moved toward the door. His voice stopped me before I reached it.
