Dahlia felt like an entirely new person.

She was calm and quite collected, emitting a glow of contentedness.

Would she be considered a bad person for enjoying some of the misery of her schoolmates? Natalie and the lot of them, they deserved it, right? Haven't seen them doing anyone any favors in recent memory. She was allowed to feel ... avenged, wasn't she?

There was the small consideration for a potential replacement. Meaning, all her life, there was always someone that Dahlia seemed to have looming over her. When one aggressor left, another would take its place. Sometimes a stranger, sometimes a schoolmate, sometimes family. At times, sometimes all of the above.

But maybe not this time. This time, people were taking things very seriously. The newspaper said that an armed person in a scarecrow costume committed an act of aggravated assault against two students. On top of that, the two showed signs of severe disassociation and panic, and early toxicology reports returned with unclear conclusions. They didn't release names in print, but Dahlia knew - Natalie and Chris hadn't been at school the last few days. Rumor was that they were in ICU at Gotham General.

It sounded like utter madness.

... And she liked it.

Although they hadn't bumped into each other outside of school since the bookstore, Dahlia recognized that she was feeling more and more at ease with Crane. He had behaved only like a gentleman and never made her purposefully feel uncomfortable. The anxiety levels were at a record low.

Once the last student left when class wrapped up and the door closed, she asked him: "So what's up? What did you want to talk with me about?"

Crane stood silent for a moment, arms crossed over his chest with a contemplative stretch of the lips. Then he said, "I hope this doesn't come out as awkward ... I want to perform a behavioral study for my next thesis. And frankly, I thought you might be a good participant."

Dahlia's cheeks flared as she let out a modest sigh. "Me? I mean, you sort of know me, right?"

"Which is precisely why I chose you."

Sometimes she felt as if Crane was on a secret mission to see how many times he could embarrass her with sweetness. It was overbearingly cheesy but so deeply welcomed.

Crane continued. "Well, also. Do you think I could persuade any other student on this campus, without them assuming that mean old Professor Crane is conducting some crazy experiment in his lab of doom?"

Humor. It felt a bit more natural now. Dahlia replied, "I'll bring the methanal for them." She mirrored the large smile that spread across Crane's face. And noted how warm she felt at that moment. "I'll do it, sure. Whatever you need."

A strange chill hit her. During this quiet pause in discussion, Dahlia noticed something.

It was the way Crane looked at her. Which, of course, is a very subjective perception. Yet she couldn't help but feel like she was a painting or a sculpture, being displayed and observed. It was a heavy sense of intimidation, and somehow, flattery. She couldn't quite place it.

Crane thankfully broke the short silence. "Would you be available Friday in the late evening?"

Dahlia nodded, while pondering just how much of her thoughts showed on her face that moment prior. She was so fixated on his eyes.

"Perfect." One of his hands came to rest on her upper back, as he eased her towards the door. "Let's meet at my house. But, let's also remain discreet on this, hm? I'd rather not get spun up in other rumors claiming favoritism or who knows what."

"Makes sense to me," Dahlia managed to say. "See you later, Professor."

Studying at the library was a wasted half-effort. Dahlia was extraordinarily distracted, with no intention of admitting to herself what by.

Before she knew it, night had come and the library was closing.

Leaving the building and passing through part of the campus, Dahlia overheard a conversation taking place between two girls. About the student attack, and Natalie and Chris.

A fading sentence from one of the girls stood out in the quiet air. "Natalie's biggest target was some goth girl. It makes me wonder if she has a dad in the mob or something."

The other one replied, "Just avoid her, dude. I don't want to end up in a psych ward, too. Hell no."

Dahlia couldn't hold back the excited gasp that swelled inside.

What a wonderful feeling.

Gotham might have had its vigilante savior, but Dahlia felt completely set free by this "Scarecrow." No attention, no targets on her back - Just peace. Finally she could finish her school days with minimal human interaction.

Before she could head home, Dahlia realized ... tonight was Thursday. She didn't have Psychology on Fridays, and she and Crane never clarified a specific time to meet.

Would he mind if she just took a guess? Eh, it was pointless, the lack of specificity would bug her all night and day. She figured there was a chance that Crane was still on campus. Maybe she'd just do the adult thing and ask.

Dahlia took a detour from her normal route to head back to the psychology classroom. The square window was dimly lit, so she figured he was still around. As she approached, she noticed the professor's singularly-lit desk was cluttered with papers and notes. At a closer distance, she could make out several amber bottles gathered at one corner of the desk. Crane wasn't in sight.

Dahlia thought nothing of grabbing the door, but was surprised to find it locked. She sidestepped to the window to knock, but took pause.

In the darkness somewhat behind the lit desk, she noticed something peculiar. It was a steel medicine cabinet with a handle for carrying, and she could barely make out a strip of tape across the front was labeled ... "corrosives"? It didn't seem to fit in with the expected supplies for this science wing.

And she couldn't help but admit that it didn't seem to fit in with what a psychology teacher does.

Then, Crane stepped out from a blind spot, heading towards his desk. Dahlia reared back in surprise and immediately started making her way off campus before she was noticed.

Her mind raced with all manner of queries and explanations. What was he doing? Why was he taking such dangerous materials? What would he possibly need with them? Or ...

... is it funded by the college, and he just had a late night so is only packing up now? Maybe he worked out a deal with the dean for getting support on that thesis?

The whole situation was making her head spin. She dismissed the notion, telling herself to feel confident that Crane had things worked out the right way.