Page 115 of Endless Anger
“Be that as it may,” I tell Professor Dupont, my nails scraping againstthe pavement, “I can’t in good conscience leave litter lying around.”
My hands pause over the edge of one paper, my gaze getting caught on the insignia stamped at the top.
Not the Visio Aternae emblem—two torches and a key—but the three-headed beast of death.
Dread snakes its way into my veins, making me freeze in place.
Surely that’s something he confiscated or a school letter attempting to address the notorious student organization.
“Ah, yes.Conscience. That pesky internal monologue of morality is bound to get you into trouble someday.” He crouches, draping his arms over his knees, and takes the paper from my fingers.
I glance up, unable to ignore the way his brown dress pants strain against powerful thighs or the corded muscles threading beneath the sleeves of his sweater vest.
Traveling farther still, I trace the contours of his handsome, angular face, meeting those dark green eyes. They seemed lighter and less guarded that day in his office, but now maintaining eye contact feels like staring at some phenomenon that might steal my vision forever if I do it for too long.
Pulling myself together, I blink and quickly shuffle some more papers, holding them out for him.
He takes them, his thumb grazing my knuckles. It’s ice-cold, and I shrink away from the touch.
“Sorry,” he tells me with a small smile. “Raynaud’s. I tend to forget about the dysregulation until someone recoils from me.”
I nod, folding my hands in my lap, remaining on my knees. He finishes resituating his papers and then locks his briefcase, exhaling heavily.
“What are you doing out right now?” he asks, pushing some of his dark brown hair back from where it droops into an eyebrow. “Is there someplace I can walk you? Hopefully not to one of Beckett’s parties though. They’ve been getting out of hand lately.”
“Yet Avernia allows them to continue.”
He lifts a shoulder. “The administration overlooks a lot of shit whenyou’ve got the right money and connections. You’d be surprised what you could get away with, Lucy, if you just leaned into your family’s name a bit more.”
Lifting my chin, I narrow my eyes. “Are you encouraging nepotism and a system that rewards homogeneity over individual identities? Doesn’t that seem sort of counterintuitive to what you teach?”
“In the post-Socratic world, the ancient Greeks believed in four principal schools of thought,” he says, pushing upright.
I get to my feet, unwilling to let him tower over me.
“The belief that reality justis, the drive for pleasure seeking, and the suspension of judgment.”
“That’s only three.”
“Cynicism is one I often leave out, because it feels a bit too rudimentary for me. It’s easy to assume that rejecting worldly pleasure might lead to enlightenment or whatever else, because nearly every religious doctrine adopts this idea in some form.” He brushes his hands on his pants. “Each post-Socratic philosophy is rooted very heavily in individualism, which is something I value as an educator. I do think there is merit in singular identities and the freedom in which to explore those.”
I cross my arms over my chest.Why does this feel like a lecture I would have skipped?
“But if you go back further and dive into Platonism, you get slightly different, more community-driven philosophies. That is the period that Avernia tends to draw from. It’s why they try to drill connection so hard into their students, because of the belief that virtue, ethics, and justice all stem from the collective. It’s difficult to maintain order in modern society if the backbone is purely individualistic.”
My mind drifts back to the emblem on the one sheet of paper he’s carrying around. The symbol of the anonymous organization that moves in silence and leaves its mark everywhere. On trees, bathroom stalls, and murder victims.
“And which do you subscribe to, Professor?”
He looks over my shoulder, something seeming to capture hisattention; his pupils dilate, and for several seconds, there’s this unreadable expression on his face. Something…forlorn, maybe, as if whatever he sees is eternally just slightly out of reach.
But then he gives a tiny shake of his head, and the look is gone, replaced by a mask of professionalism.
I swallow, taken aback by how easily it slides into place.
“Growing up in a family that discouraged any sort of free thinking, I’m of the belief that too much community can turn negative. Especially when it’s a community fueled by power, greed, and pedigree.” He shrugs, suddenly seeming much older than his late twenties. “When there is no incentive and no benefit for the general public… The people will break off and begin making their own adjustments.”
K
