Page 36 of Saint Céline
She sighed. “At least lie better.” I gave her the smile she wanted and walked inside.
* * *
The lab was already bright when I arrived, too bright, with white counters and glass cabinets and stainless steel instruments and labels printed neatly on every shelf. Everything was clean enough to suggest purity, which felt funny considering how much living tissue people cut and stained and starved and stressed inside rooms like this.
Wendy stood near the incubator with Dr. Patel. Julian was at the bench pretending not to watch me. Christina smiled nervously when I entered. Elias sat at the computer with headphones around his neck, looking at a spreadsheet as if it had offended him personally.
Professor Moreau was nowhere in sight, and the relief came too fast.
Dr. Patel looked up. “Céline, good. You’re here. Professor Moreau wants you in his office before you start.”
I thanked her, and my voice sounded normal, which felt like a victory.
His office door was half-open.
I knocked once.
“Come in.”
He stood by the window with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a mug of coffee. Morning light turned the edges of him deceptively soft. Dark hair. Rimmed glasses. White shirt. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. No coat today. No rain on his shoulders. No sign that he had stepped inside someone else’s locked apartment hours earlier and rearranged my life. He looked like Professor Moreau again. Beloved, brilliant, and safe.
“Miss Martin,” he said. “You look tired.”
My hands curled at my sides. “You broke into my boyfriend’s apartment.”
He took a sip of coffee.
“Oh yes, I did do that, didn’t I?”
“Are you insane?”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “Still?”
I crossed the room before I could stop myself. “You had no right.”
“No.”
I stared at him. He did not bother to defend himself.
“No?” I repeated.
“No,” he said. “I had no right.”
“You’re not going to apologize?” I ask incredulously.
“Would you believe me if I did?”
“No. I probably would not.”
“Then it would be wasteful.”
I hated him so sharply my vision seemed to clear.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.” He set his mug down on the windowsill. “I think it was necessary.”
“To what? Scare me?”
