20 reviews. 20 reviews and counting have been submitted just for the last chapter of this story. I can't even begin to explain my appreciation for you all—it just blows my mind every time I begin to think about it. I wish there was something more I could do for you all, but, for now, I'll just have to keep pumping out chapters as quickly as I can. (: Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Howl":

Favorite Line:

"I'm not a fan of being touched, if you must know. It seemed that your friend was unaware of that."

The sole mall tucked deep into Beacon Hills was surprisingly crowded that early evening. With some Homecoming dance fast approaching for the surrounding high schools, there were several groups of giggling teenage girls circling the overstuffed racks of dresses within each and every department store. The crisp sound of hangers sliding noisily along the metal racks and sharp noise of overbearing mothers clucking over dangerously low necklines and ridiculously marked dresses was enough to send any testosterone-riddled person fleeing in the other direction. Unfortunately, there was the occasional brother and boyfriend sulking in the corners, crowding the well-placed seats stationed near the fitting rooms, either checking their phones or simply rolling their eyes in annoyance as they waited for their female counterparts.

While this sight would surely send me straight back to my car, I was forced to chew on my bottom lip to stop from heavily sighing and join the insanity that came with shopping for a dress. Of course, I was hardly searching for something to wear to a silly dance—with the start of college came the utter relief that there would be no more miserable dances to consider attending. Instead, this dress would be for a date that I had foolishly agreed to, one that I was, in a matter of one day, already regretting.

After returning to my apartment, I had been fully prepared to huddle in my bed with a textbook and furiously study away in hope of efficiently erasing the horrible experience that had come with visiting Derek and his newfound pack. I had been searching through my backpack for my notes in my silent kitchen when my cell phone began vibrating loudly within my pocket, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. Dreading the idea of who it could be—Derek? Stiles? My uncle?—I found myself groaning at the sight of the familiar name flashing on the tiny screen.

Realizing that I had been avoiding his calls for long enough, I had unleashed one last internal groan before answering the phone. "Hello?" I tentatively asked.

"Jane!" exclaimed Gavin in relief, no doubt flailing his arms at his successful attempt at reaching me. "It's about time you answered your damn phone."

"Sorry, Gavin," I said sheepishly, reluctantly realizing that I had been ducking away from him for a little too long now. "I've just been so busy and it's been impossible for me to even get a chance to breathe. I…" Abruptly a fresh wave of tears clogged my throat, forcing me to unleash a horribly weak sobbing sound that even made me grimace. My fingers pressed sharply into my eyes, praying that my tears would just stop streaming down my face.

"Jane," said Gavin, his voice instantly softening as his cell phone seemed to shift from hand to hand, "what's going on? Are you alright?"

Pathetically sniffling, I shook my head, despite his complete inability to see me, and replied, "No, I'm not. For once, I'm not fine."

Despite my horrible attempt at a joke, Gavin still allowed himself to lowly chuckle before saying, "Do you want to talk about it?"

My insides immediately seized up, back stiffening as I realized there was no absolute way that I could ever talk about my issues with Gavin. There were only a handful of people that I could ever speak to, and yet they all seemed like they were miles and miles away. And here was this one man, stretching out his hand with that hopeful, gentle expression that I had never once seen on Derek's face before. Sucking in a breath, I prepared myself to say something, anything; but then my eyes settled on the calendar stuck to my fridge, obnoxiously reminding me that I had another shift at the hospital to look forward in an hour. "I can't," I finally told Gavin, massaging the growing ache embedding itself into my left temple with my trembling fingertips.

"Oh," he responded, disappointment flooding his quiet voice. "I just figured that, well, you could use a friend—"

"It's not like that," I interrupted him. "I really would love to talk to you, but I have to get ready for work tonight. I just don't have any time right now."

"Well, when are you free next?" Gavin asked, his tone peaking ever so slightly. "Let me take you out—we can talk about anything you want."

"Friday night, but—"

"But what?"

I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip thoughtfully as I considered his reasonable proposition. Surely I had an excuse to avoid this meeting with him, right? Stiles' lacrosse game was that night and, considering this was his team's chance to emerge into the playoffs, I had a duty to attend. Right? Of course, I was hardly a sports fan, let alone could I actually follow an entire game of lacrosse without getting lost in a daydream. But Gavin didn't have to know that. The only problem was that, if I did attend that game, there was always the chance that I could run into some of the other students attending Beacon Hills High. Allison would, no doubt, be cheering for her school's team, which seemed like a perfect recipe for an awkward encounter. And then there was Jackson Whittemore, star player of said lacrosse team and quite possibly still rather furious about my low blow only a week and a half ago. Would it really be so smart to attend a lacrosse game the temperamental boy would be playing in?

"Nothing," I finally told Gavin, shoulders slouching in defeat as I reluctantly came to my decision. "Maybe…maybe it would be good for me to get out for a little bit and have some fun."

"Great," said Gavin, the brilliant smile evident solely in his excited voice. "It's a date then."

Wait, what?

A date? I had figured we were just talking about two friends hanging out for a cup of coffee and a good chat. That's all we were supposed to be, right? But a date? This surely had to be a mistake. But then, as I continued to widely gape in pure confusion, Derek's warning about Gavin back at the hospital came rushing back to me—"Apparently he doesn't think so," he had told me, regarding the latter's perception of our obvious friendship. But I had been so positive that Derek had been wrong—Gavin had always been friendly with me, sure, but he was like that with all of the girls at the self-defense class. It was normal—we had just seen each other more often because we attended the same school. That was the only difference, right?

In all honesty, I wasn't even positive that I was ready for any type of date, whether it be a platonic one or not. Sure, I had pretty much screamed at Derek to stay the hell away from me that same day, but it didn't destroy my feelings for him. He may have been the most frustrating man I had ever met, not to mention had broken my heart on more than one occasion, but he still was the one person I loved most. Could it be so easy for me to just strip away my feelings for him and actually begin to move on? Of course, he had seemed to be just fine with that idea, considering the passionate embrace I had just witnessed between him and his beta. Shouldn't I be just as okay with my moving on as he apparently was with his?

"Gavin," I began, hesitant as my thoughts continued to battle with one another, "I don't think—"

"Listen, Jane, I have to go," he cut me off, sounding vaguely distracted as I caught the sound of a rush of voices blaring behind him. "My class is about to start and I'm already about to be late. But I'll pick you up on Friday at 6, okay?

"But—"

But nothing—I was left standing in my empty kitchen, clutching my phone to my ear as I wordlessly mouthed my puzzlement into the silence of my one-way phone call. And that was why, to my uttermost chagrin, I stand hesitantly approaching the nearest department store at the Beacon Hills Mall, already regretting my foolish decision to agree to a date on that Friday night. Not only would it be incredibly awkward when I was forced to tell Gavin that I only thought of him as a good friend, but now I would have to shell out the money that I didn't even really have on a dress that I would only be wearing once.

In case it wasn't obvious enough, my wardrobe is hardly what anyone would ever consider as fashionable. My entire closet mostly consisted of an endless supply of jeans, soft as flannel from years of wear, simple blouses that had been scavenged at various sale and bargain stores, and an array of colorful flip flops and tennis shoes. Of course, I did happen to own a few anomalies, such as my favorite pair of leather boots that were scuffed beyond belief and a dark blue sweatshirt emblazoned with the emblem of the Portland Police Department that my father had worn every chance he got. But, the one item of clothing that I had yet to purchase was, in fact, a dress. Well, I did own one dress, but it was the one that I had worn to my father's funeral—it wasn't exactly one that I felt like wearing on a date just yet.

My closet's utter lack of a wearable dress forced me out to the mall that very late afternoon, just two days before my supposed date. My nails were already aching to be chewed on as the crowds seemed to increase by the second, but I simply tightened my hands into fists before slipping into the endless racks and began to search for something, anything that would work for Friday night. Surely there had to be something.

After half an hour of browsing, I was quite positive that I was a goner. Everything was either fitted for a size zero or so low cut and dangerously short that I was already tugging on my clothes in embarrassment. I was hardly a prude, but there certainly had to be some dress that didn't make me feel like I would be walking the streets later that night. Wrinkling my nose at the sight of a blood red dress that seemed more like a shirt than an actual dress, I was moments away from completely giving up when I turned on my heel and nearly collided with a petite girl to my left.

"Sorry," I hastily said as I just managed to swerve around her, catching my balance by gripping the rack nearest to me. "I didn't even see you…"

Standing right before me, blinking her narrowed mocha brown eyes as she blew a perfectly curled, strawberry blonde hair out of her frowning face, was none other than Lydia Martin. I hadn't seen the constantly pouting and sulking girl since I had still attended Beacon Hills High School. Although we had met through Allison and had even gone shopping at this same mall before, that had been the extent of our social interactions. She had become easily bored with me, and she was hardly the type of person I was bound and determined to speak with. There was only time her name had even come to my mind, and that was when Stiles had informed me that Peter had attacked her on the same night his throat had been slashed by Derek, and yet she hadn't turned into a werewolf. The strange occurrence had boggled my mind at the time but, with my determination to keep my life as supernatural-free as possible, I allowed Stiles and Scott to be concerned with her condition, and kept my nose clean. But now, as I gazed down at the petite redhead, I realized that perhaps I should've been a bit more concerned with what exactly had happened to her that night.

"I know you," said Lydia, frowning slightly as she clearly tried to remember my face. "How do I know you?"

"I'm Jane Brown," I told her, hardly offended that she didn't recall meeting me. Considering I had only spoken to her a handful of times, it was only understandable. "I'm one of Allison's friends. Or, uh, I was, until…well, it's complicated—"

"Now I remember you," Lydia cut me off, smirking slightly now. "I could recognize that social awkwardness anywhere."

"Uh…thanks?" I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows at both her and my odd behavior. For some reason, those sharp eyes just seemed to make me more nervous than I usually was. Despite her younger age, it seemed that Lydia had the powerful ability to turn anyone completely inside out. Clearing my throat, I said, "Well, I guess I'll see you around, Lydia."

Turning on my heel and just relieved that the conversation was over, I was fully prepared to flee from the store and perhaps just give up on finding a dress. I could get away with wearing a pair of nice jeans, right? But then Lydia's voice forced me to stop completely.

"Aren't you going to ask?" she called after me, causing me to frown as I turned back to face her own unreadable face.

"Ask what?" I asked her, completely lost as to where this was coming from.

"About how I'm doing. Or that night," replied Lydia, bitterness creeping into her annoyed voice. Tossing her hair back, she continued, "Everywhere I go, people are asking me about how I'm doing or feeling or whether I remember what that…that freak did to me. Shouldn't you be like all the rest and just get the questions over with?"

Shaking my head and just being able to stifle my disbelieving laugh, I couldn't believe quite what I was hearing. Lydia Martin, the one girl who had made sure to view me as nothing more than dirt on her expensive heels throughout my time at Beacon Hills High, was actually sounding human. Realizing that she was still glaring at me, I told her honestly, "Lydia…we were never friends. Not during high school, and most definitely not now. Why would I think you would ever want to talk about that night with me? If you want the truth, I figured you've been asked enough about that night. Everyone needs a little break at some point. Even if they seem invincible to everyone else."

That should have been it. I should have been able to stride out of that department store, the thought of my ever-growing pile of homework an ever-present reminder that I needed to go home eventually. Maybe I would stop for a pint of ice cream to stem my disappointment of not being able to find anything that would be remotely appropriate for this damn date that I was absolutely dreading.

But, just as I went to turn around, Lydia's oddly quiet voice dragged me back to that spot. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm sorry?" I asked her, startled by her random, vague question.

"Well, you're in a store and you look extremely annoyed about the fact that you are not about to spend an obscene amount of money," said Lydia, crossing her arms over her chest. "Obviously you're looking for something."

Shifting my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, I reluctantly replied, "Well, I was looking for a dress to wear on this date, but it's not that big of a deal—"

"You're in the wrong section," she interrupted me, clearly not interested in the details of this horrible idea of a date. "Unless you're going on a date with a guy who plans on paying you afterwards, I suggest you follow me."

Without even waiting for my response, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and began to stride away, clearly confident that I planned on obediently listening and following her. However, I hesitated—surely this couldn't be happening? Lydia had barely given me the time of day the last time we had met up, and yet she seemed fully prepared to teach me the art of shopping for a dress. Maybe this was a mistake—I had always sworn that there was something off about Lydia, whether it be her attitude or her complete disregard for the people she trampled over.

And yet, after she glanced over her shoulder with an impatient glare and said coolly, "Are you coming?", I swallowed my reservations about the mystery that was Lydia Martin and, positive that this day could not get any stranger, I nodded.

Oh God, I so missed this.

Tucked into hidden alcove of the campus library, I was quite positive that I was the most relaxed I had been in a very long time. Several books were spread out before me, another misshapen pile of books moments away from teetering over the side of table with a ridiculously loud thump. My hand was already beginning to cramp from holding onto my ink pen so tightly, the midnight blue ink smearing onto my fingertips as I continued to furiously take notes on my readings. If there was a single soul traipsing around the library besides the librarian herself, I hardly took notice—I was too focused on my work to give a care in the world.

It was a late Thursday afternoon, so I was fairly confident that I would be the sole inhabitant of the library. With the sun shining so brightly, the sky a pure shade of pale blue, anyone else would surely be foolish to actually want to visit the library. This was quite fortunate for me, as I was finally able to sit down with my assignments and finish the huge amount of work assigned to me that had begun to pile up. With my mind still buzzing with my ever-present issues—both social and supernatural—it was just a relief to sit down and clear my thoughts with the aid of some old-fashioned schoolwork.

Sighing in relief as I finished writing up my notes for my Advanced Chemistry class, I firmly shut my textbook and slipped it into my unzipped backpack, stashed away underneath my stiff wooden chair. Just one more assignment—an outline for my English class—and then I'd be a free woman for the weekend, barring, of course, any last-minute assignments on Friday. Biting back my bubbling excitement at the thought, I went to grab my English binder, when a loud cough nearly sent me tumbling to the floor in surprise.

Flushing as I realized my humiliating jumpiness, I blinked through the ridiculously bright sunshine streaming through the open windows surrounding me and found my gaze settling on all-too familiar frowning face directed straight at me. This couldn't be, I thought to myself numbly as I blankly stared up at the tall, straight-backed figure of FBI Agent Roger White.

It had been quite a few months since I had last seen Agent White, and yet time had done nothing to dull my last memory of the older man still standing silently before me. His cruel interrogation techniques in his search for Derek—a murder suspect at the time—had nearly turned me inside out in the span of only a few minutes. Those pictures of my father's mutilated body would still flash before me late at night, Agent White's harsh voice screaming at me that my father would be disappointed in me, that he would always be disappointed. Just the memory caused my hands tighten into shaking fists, the ink from my pen pooling into my lined palm.

Time had done nothing to change Agent White. He was still the same rigid, tight-lipped, older man that was continuously dressed in a black suit that seemed to be his only attire. I vaguely recalled my initial thoughts when I had first met the man back in Portland when he and my father began working together. I had later whispered to my father these thoughts of how this man must have surely slept in those suits every night, just in case he got a call and had to be ready to return to his job. My father had laughed so hard he had squirted his soda straight out of his nose.

My first impression of Agent White hadn't been all that interesting. While he had seemed like the typical straight-backed suit that had probably never smiled once in his entire life, I hadn't honestly believed that Mr. White was exactly a bad guy. Maybe a bit too devoted to his line of work and the activity of studying behavior patterns—I had even caught him staring at me during these obvious studies—but not a bad person. Unfortunately, after I had slipped into a deep depression following my father's murder, I had all but turned away Mr. White when he had tried to awkwardly comfort me. This rejection was what must have caused him to change his attitude towards to me, so drastically that, when he had arrived at Beacon Hills all those months ago, he had even gone as far as use the lowest interrogation techniques in the book to find the whereabouts of Derek Hale, then a murder suspect.

"Hello Miss Brown," said Agent White, reluctantly dragging me away from those lingering memories as he realized I had finally noticed his presence. Wetting his lips, he continued, "It's been…uh…quite a while since we've seen each other."

Stiffening slightly as I glanced down at my mountain of textbooks spanning before my eyes, I swallowed the anxious lump forming in the back of my throat. Suddenly wishing that the library was just a little more crowded, I replied bluntly, "Not long enough, I'm afraid."

Visibly wincing at my harsh tone, Mr. White nodded slowly and said, "I suppose I deserve that."

"Yes," I told him simply, "you did." Despite my unfinished work still waiting patiently for me, I began to return my textbooks back to my backpack, ultimately ready to leave the once-comforting library far behind me.

"Miss Brown, I'm—"

"Why are you here?" I demanded, nearly losing my temper and raising my voice so sharply that the strict librarian would surely have a conniption. Being sure to keep my tone level, I added, "What are you doing in Beacon Hills? My uncle made sure to keep you far away from here ever since your last attempt to help in his investigation."

His frown deepening, Mr. White responded in a cool voice, "While your uncle was quite…vocal with his complaints about my behavior, my superiors understood that, with the lack of available agents within the Bureau, it was necessary for me to return to this town to help the sheriff with the recent spike in murders."

"Murders?" I repeated, furrowing my brow. "What murders?"

"You must be living in a hole, Miss Brown," said Mr. White, a ghost of a smile flitting across his lined face for just a second. "With the brutal murders of Mr. Daniel Lahey and Mr. Trevor Davies—who just died last night—and the current trend of strange occurrences within this town it's only necessary that the FBI step in and take control of this investigation before it gets out of hand."

Jaw tightening at the thought of another murder happening right under my nose—the brutality of Mr. Lahey's death could only point at something unnatural—I continued to frown up at Mr. White, the book currently caught within my grip beginning to tremble. Finally, I said, "And what do you want with me? Plan to interrogate me about these deaths as well?"

Mr. White chuckled wryly as he took a couple steps towards me, his arms reaching up to cross right across his chest. At his nearing me, I instantly shuffled to my feet, fully prepared to leave in an instant, even without my belongings in my grip. Catching this, Mr. White told me, "You have nothing to fear, Miss Brown. I can assure you that I am no threat—I'm simply here to inform you that I'm in town. Your uncle has made it quite clear that I am to keep a safe distance from you during my time here in Beacon Hills."

"And will you comply?" I asked, glaring up at him as I realized there was an underlying trace of fear beginning to build in my tone that caused my skin to crawl.

Initially Mr. White did not respond, instead allowing an almost sinister smile to creep onto his face. However, just as I blinked, it disappeared before I could even let myself realize that it must have just been a trick my mind was playing on itself. It took one more moment to realize that Mr. White had not replied, but instead took a step away from me. Before I could say a single word, another voice trickled into the tiny alcove, this one smooth as silk as it coldly said, "You should know that this library isn't open to the public."

Professor Kohler emerged from the shelves, his cracked, chestnut brown leather bag slung over his shoulder as he glanced between Mr. White and me. His hardened steel gray eyes narrowed on the FBI agent for one last moment before returning to my own face. "Jane, I didn't think I'd find you in here so late," he said.

Swallowing the ever-present lump clogging my throat, I replied nervously, "I, um, was just t-trying to get some work done—"

"Well, this worked out quite well then," Kohler interrupted me, turning his back completely to Mr. White as he continued to gaze down at me. There was something in his eyes that caused my fear to relinquish itself ever so slightly, just enough to cause muscles to unloosen themselves ever so slightly. Ignoring the transition in me, he continued, "I wanted to talk to you about your last assignment. Would you mind coming to my office with me?"

My tentativeness evaporating now at the thought of finally getting away from Mr. White, I nodded and hurriedly bundled my belongings into my arms before stepping forward, taking care to avoid the curious gaze of the FBI agent. Just as I went to pass Professor Kohler, Mr. White's voice caused me to stall my strides.

"Wait a second," he said, but his eyes were narrowed, not at me, but straight at Professor Kohler. "I know you from somewhere."

"I doubt it," said Kohler, barely sparing White a single glance before he uninterestedly went to take a step away from the man. Mr. White's hand reached out to tightly grasp Kohler's shoulder, obviously in hope of forcing him to stop, but his grip did not last for too long.

Instantly Kohler whipped around, viciously gripping Mr. White's offending arm and spinning him in the opposite direction. In the blink of an eye, Mr. White was pressed up against a nearby bookcase, Kohler's force so powerful that a few books were jostled from their homes and noisily tumbled to the carpeted floor. Agent White's arm, still clasped in Kohler's hand, was now twisted painfully behind his back, his whimpers completely disintegrating his high level of seniority as an FBI agent.

"Do you have any idea who I am—"

"I honestly don't give a damn," snarled Kohler, yanking White's arm into an even more painful position. At his sharp gasp, I couldn't help but take a hurried step forward—despite Mr. White's obvious disdain for me, I was in no way prepared to watch him be brutalized by my instructor. At my sudden movement, Kohler briefly glanced over his shoulder and stopped me with a shake of his head. Initially I thought I had just imagined it, but then I overheard Kohler's final words.

"I suggest you don't touch me again," Kohler breathed lowly into White's ear before releasing him from his iron-like grip. Acting as if nothing had happened, he offered me one last glance, seemingly unaware of my wide-eyed, shell-shocked stare up at him, before saying, "After you, Jane."

Unable to believe what I had just witnessed, I was given no choice but to numbly stride forward, my books still tightly bundled up in my trembling arms. I had no idea if Mr. White said anything to Professor Kohler, but, if he had, it must have been quick, as Kohler was right on my heels as he followed me out of the library. My heart continued to race within my rib cage, blood rushing to my cheeks as I continued to comprehend what had just happened. Unfortunately, before I could even manage to spill a single word to my instructor, we seemed to abruptly reach Professor Kohler's office.

After Kohler easily unlocked the door, he allowed me to hurry inside before he shut the door behind me. I had never had the luxury of having to visit Kohler's office since he had made it quite obvious during our initial introductions that, if any student was willing to meet with him during his office hours, they better be prepared to work harder than they had ever before. The walls were bare, the only furniture besides his desk and the single chair behind it being a tall antique bookcase that was stuffed with a colossal amount of books. There were no certificates blaring about his past achievements, no paintings that were more expensive than my car, no photographs of his family. It was so unlike any professor's office that I was quite positive that he must have just moved into the office, despite my knowledge that he had been teaching at the school for almost an entire semester now.

Again, my words seemed to fail me as I was forced to gape up at him. Catching my expression, he almost seemed to smirk as he said, "Just so you know, gaping like that is hardly a good look for anyone."

Flushing as I snapped my mouth shut and pursed my lips, I finally managed to ask, "Professor Kohler…what happened back there?"

"Nothing to worry about, Jane," replied Kohler instantly, dropping his bag onto his desk and beginning to rifle through his folders and papers. Noticing my unsatisfied glare, he sighed and added, "I'm not a fan of being touched, if you must know. It seemed that your friend was unaware of that."

"Until now, of course," I couldn't help but offer to him.

Keeping his face downturned in hopes of poorly hiding his amused smile, Kohler nodded.

"And he's not my friend," I hastily added. "He's just someone who used to work with my father."

"Well, I suggest you let your father know that his former co-workers should know better than to bother his daughter," he replied distantly, for some reason refusing to meet my gaze.

"I can't—he's dead."

Instantly Kohler tilted his face towards mine, his steel gray eyes unreadable as they bore straight down into my own wide ones. A strangely tense silence filtered between us as I felt my cheeks flush as I tried to decipher the odd emotion settling into his stare. Where had I seen that before? It was on the tip of my tongue as I swallowed nervously, my books tightening themselves against my chest. The motion seemed to awaken my instructor, who blinked before returning to his bag.

"I'm…sorry to hear about that, Jane," said Kohler, his uncomfortable tone doing nothing to shake my own awkwardness. Shaking his head slightly as he seemed to settle on the folder he needed and smacked it down hard against his desk. Catching my distant nod as I found myself blankly staring at the bare wall spanning above his head, he said, "I never told any of my students this before, but I grew up here in Beacon Hills. I moved away after my senior year to attend college out of state, but I had a few friends. I…I even knew your father."

"You did?" I asked dumbly, blinking up at him in shock as I froze in my spot. I had no idea that my father had any other connections still in Beacon Hills, besides my grandparents and my uncle, of course. And yet my own professor stood before me, revealing that he had known him when he was a child. Maybe they had been friends? Maybe they had known each other since their childhood? Maybe—"

"I didn't know him very well," said Kohler hurriedly, noticing my wide eyes. "I just knew him by name, and that he was best friends with your uncle. We…well, we ran in different crowds, you could say."

Swallowing my disappointment, I nodded, allowing my gaze to filter down to my shoes. Abruptly another question poised itself on my tongue, forcing me to glance back at him as I asked him curiously, "Did you know my mother?"

Professor Kohler's back stiffened as he continued to stare down at the folder he had just snatched up, although his eyes seemed to be devoid of any emotion. After the strange, silent moment, my instructor simply shook his head and replied, "No, I didn't. Like I said, we all ran in different crowds."

Chewing on my bottom lip, I reluctantly nodded. Just as I opened my mouth to ask him another question, Kohler's voice cut me off completely.

"It seems that I left your paper at home," said my instructor, shaking his head at his forgetfulness as he fixed his abruptly cold, steel gray stare on me. Frown deepening by the second, he continued, "We'll have to talk some other time."

Hesitant, I finally replied, "Sure. That sounds…fine."

Offering him a weak smile, I went to turn on my heel and retreat from both the bare room and my strange encounter with my professor. Abruptly Professor Kohler's voice caused me to hesitate as he added, "And…I would appreciate if you kept my encounter with…with your father's former friend between us. I'm sure my superiors would hardly be satisfied if they realized I was sparring with a stranger in the library."

Glancing over my shoulder at Kohler's face, hidden in the shadows now as he seemed particularly interested in his bag once more, I nodded and replied weakly, "Of course, Professor."

Before either of us could say another word, I found my legs carrying me out of the office. My mind continued to buzz with questions and confusion, even as I drove away from the campus and arrived at my home. Perhaps not everything was as it seemed.

Of course, I would soon later find that I was painfully correct.

And that is the end of this chapter! Wow was that long, haha. Hope you all enjoyed it! I know, I know, no Derek, but the next one should be pretty good! Thank you all for reading and please don't forget to leave a review!