The drive to Ashford University was quiet, filled with unspoken tension. The closer we got, the heavier the air felt, as if the weight of what we were about to do was settling on all of us.
Jake drove, his hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly, while Sarah sat in the passenger seat, flipping through notes we’d printed from our research. I stayed in the back, staring out the window, trying to focus on what we had to do and not on the nervous energy bubbling inside me.
When we arrived, the campus was alive with students rushing between classes, their laughter and chatter floating through the crisp autumn air. But to me, the university felt like a maze—unfamiliar and unwelcoming.
“Let’s keep this subtle,” Sarah said as we stood near the humanities building. “We don’t want anyone catching on to what we’re doing too quickly.”
Jake nodded. “Right. We’re just asking about Professor Mitchell. Nothing too direct. And let’s meet back here in an hour.”
We split up, each of us heading in different directions. I took a deep breath and walked toward a group of students sitting under a tree, pretending to check my phone as I approached.
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Do you know Professor Mitchell? I’ve been looking into his teaching methods and was wondering if you’ve had him for any classes.”
The students exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from neutral to wary. One of the girls spoke first.
“Yeah, I’ve had him,” she said hesitantly. “Why?”
“Oh, just curious,” I said quickly. “I’ve read a lot of mixed reviews about him. Some people say he’s really strict.”
The girl nodded slowly. “Yeah, he’s... intense. Definitely not someone you want to get on the wrong side of.”
Another student, a guy with dark glasses, chimed in. “He’s one of those professors who thinks he’s above everyone. Like, if you don’t do things his way, good luck passing.”
Their words were vague, but there was an underlying tension I couldn’t ignore.
“Have you ever heard of anyone having issues with him?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “Like, anything beyond academics?”
The girl’s eyes flicked to her friend before she shrugged. “Not really. I mean, he can be a jerk, but that’s just how he is. Why are you asking?”
I felt the walls go up around me, their suspicion clear. “No reason, please just take my card if you remember anything related” I said with a forced smile. “Thanks for your time.”
When I met back up with Jake and Sarah at the café we’d chosen as our base, they didn’t look much more hopeful than I felt.
“Any luck?” Sarah asked, sipping her coffee.
I shook my head. “They know something’s off about him, but no one wants to talk. It’s like they’re scared.”
Sarah sighed, leaning back in her chair. “This is going to be harder than we thought.”
That evening, as we settled into the small motel where we were staying, I found myself alone in the tiny kitchen with Jake while Sarah stepped outside to take a call.
He was leaning against the counter, flipping through his phone as I busied myself with making tea.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing up at me.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just... frustrated. It feels like we’re so close, but we can’t get anyone to open up.”
Jake nodded, setting his phone down. “People are scared. They don’t want to get involved in something that could blow up their lives.”
Jake stepped closer, his voice softer now. “We’ll figure it out, Emma. You’re doing the right thing. You always do.”
His words caught me off guard, and I looked up at him, surprised by the warmth in his eyes.
He smiled, but there was something else in his expression—something I couldn’t quite place.
Before I could say anything, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The gesture was so gentle, so unexpected, that it sent a jolt through me.
“Jake—” I started, but he cut me off, leaning in and pressing his lips to mine.
The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was testing the waters. But when I didn’t pull away, it deepened, his hand sliding to the back of my neck as he drew me closer.
For a moment, I let myself get lost in it, the warmth of his touch and the way he made me feel safe. But then reality came crashing back, and I pulled away, my heart racing.
“I can’t,” I whispered, stepping back.
Jake looked at me, his expression a mix of regret and understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” I said, shaking my head. “I just... I can’t.”
He nodded, stepping back to give me space. “I get it,” he said softly.
As I lay in bed that night, my thoughts drifted back to Logan. To the way his kisses had felt, to the way he’d held me like I was the only thing that mattered.
The memory of him sent a wave of heat through me, and I closed my eyes, letting myself get lost in the thought of his hands on my skin, his lips on mine.
I reached for my phone, my heart pounding as I typed out a message.
Logan, I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you.
His reply came almost instantly.
I’m thinking about you too. Tell me what you’re thinking, Emma.
I bit my lip, my cheeks flushing as I typed my response.
I’m thinking about the way you are getting inside of me, right fucking now.