The September rain streaked down the tall windows, blurring the campus green into smears of grey and amber. The air smelled like wet wool and stale coffee. Somewhere behind you, a girl was loudly chewing gum.

He was tall, six-one maybe, with pale blonde hair that caught the fluorescent light like spun wire. His face was sharp—sharp jaw, sharp cheekbones, a straight nose with a slight bump from some old break. His eyes were pale blue and unreadable, sweeping the room once before settling on the front row. He wore a white coat over a dark dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and a silver watch glinted at his wrist when he set his briefcase on the podium.

He smelled like antiseptic and something else. Something expensive. His voice, when he spoke, was low and calm.