I should have trusted my instincts about Professor Eldon from the start. I noticed him during my first year, standing in the arched hallway of the university's east wing. He stood at the center of a loose ring of admirers, his dark hair catching the sunlight as he held court with practiced ease.
There was something unnatural in the way his pale green eyes flicked from face to face, measuring each student with a precise, reptilian calculation. That cold scrutiny sent a shiver up my spine, the kind that urged you to run away before he decided what to make of you.
But hunger has a way of drowning out wisdom's whispers. It gnaws at the edges of your resolve until you find yourself grateful for even the smallest crumb, the faintest promise of relief. By the time I crossed paths with Professor Eldon, my hunger was both literal and figurative.
The eviction notice had been taped to my apartment door that morning, the tape barely holding fast against the worn paint. It fluttered in the draft from the window that was cracked open at the end of the hallway. I pulled it free with shaking fingers and read it twice, as if reading it again might make it less true.
It joined the termination letter from the campus bookstore, which had found its way to me the night before, slipped under my door. Apparently budget cuts to the work-study program meant they could no longer afford me. I'd put both letters aside, face down on the cracked kitchen table and told myself I'd figure something out in the morning.
Morning came, and no solutions presented themselves. The clock on my phone blinked 10:12 as I trudged across campus, numb and leaden. I'd skipped breakfast, saving what little was left in my nearly empty pantry for dinner.
I stood for a long time at the notice board in the student commons, rereading the job postings until the words blurred together. I imagined the flyers might rearrange themselves into something useful if I just focused hard enough.
But the same tired ads stared back: tutoring for ten dollars an hour, a desperate plea for a roommate to split rent in a dingy basement, an offer to buy used textbooks for cash. None of them would save me. Tutoring might have worked, but it was the end of the semester. I had been counting on the bookstore job to carry me through. This time last year we'd been swamped with inventory and restocking.
That was when Eliza Chen appeared at my elbow. We'd gone to the same high school, where she'd kept mostly to herself, always hovering at the edge of things. But at university, she'd found her footing. Today her dark hair was pulled back into a messy knot, and clay was still caked beneath her nails, a clear sign she'd just come from her pottery class.
"I heard from Nathan about the cuts to the work-study program," she said, her voice dipped with sympathy that hovered close to pity. I could hear the way she tried to soften the blow, as if changing the tone could change the facts. "Sorry, Harper. I'm sure something will come up."
"It's okay, it's just temporary," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I'll find something else soon."
The words felt hollow even as I said them, more habit than hope. I should be careful with the word temporary. In my experience, it had a way of dragging on until you stopped noticing it wasn't supposed to last.
Eliza's lips pressed together, a faint line of worry creasing her brow. "Actually," she said, hesitating. "There might be something. Professor Eldon is still looking for people."
"You still have that scholarship, right?" She shook her head, her words coming faster now, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as me. "Eldon's pulling students from outside the department this time. Something about avoiding competition. Last time he took all archaeology majors, and they ended up fighting over dig sites. He wants a more balanced group."
The practical details spilled out of her, the way they did when Eliza grew excited. "It's a full month in Egypt. Plus a stipend that's actually decent. Real money, Harper. We're flying out in two days, but there are still spots."
I opened my mouth to protest, to list all the reasons this wasn't possible, but something caught my attention in the hallway before I could speak. The crowd parted, almost without thinking, and Professor Eldon stepped into view. He moved with the fluid grace of someone used to being watched, his presence somehow magnified by the hush that followed him.
There was something wrong in how perfect he looked. His features were too symmetrical, more designed than human. His skin was pale and smooth, untouched by time, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights.
It was the kind of perfection that unsettled more than it impressed, and it made me uneasy. But I'd learned to keep that to myself. Most of the students were too captivated by him to notice anything strange. They leaned in when he spoke, laughed a little too easily at his dry remarks. Even Eliza wasn't immune. A faint blush rose on her cheeks as she turned toward him.
He stopped a few feet away, surveying us both with clinical interest. When his eyes met mine, something clenched deep in my gut. It was the same instinctive recoil I'd felt as a child in foster care when certain adults looked at me with too much interest. I tried to hold his gaze but ended up staring at the floor, my heartbeat suddenly loud in my ears.
"Miss Chen," he said in greeting, his voice carried a trace of an accent I couldn't place. "And you must be Harper."
He extended his hand, and I shook it out of reflex. His fingers were warm, his grip lingering just a little too long. As our hands touched, the symbols on his rings seemed to writhe and shift beneath my gaze. I blinked hard, certain I was seeing things, and when I looked again, they were still. But the confusion clung to me. As I pulled my hand back, my skin prickled where he'd touched me.
"I hear you're interested in joining my expedition," he said, smiling. It wasn't quite friendly. More like someone who already knew the answer and was waiting to see if you'd say it out loud.
My sense of unease grew, nausea rising until saliva pooled in my mouth. I should have walked away. But desperation made people practical, and I was nothing if not practical these days. A month in Egypt with food and shelter guaranteed was hard to turn down.
"I'm interested," I heard myself say, my voice steadier than I felt.
Eldon's smile deepened, and for a moment, I could have sworn his canine teeth looked a little too long. Too sharp. Probably another trick of the light. Beside me, Eliza shifted, her hands tightening around the strap of her bag.
"Excellent," he said, stepping in just a little too close. "Unfortunately, a few of my students withdrew at the last minute. I suppose the opportunity didn't suit them after all."
The word unfortunately rolled off his tongue with a hint of amusement, like he found something about it quietly entertaining. I'd seen how competitive these opportunities were, how students clawed over each other for a chance like this. People didn't just drop out.
"Professor Rickton mentioned how brilliant you were in his class," he said, his eyes locking onto mine. The praise felt rehearsed, like a line he'd delivered more than once. I'd done fine in Rickton's course, but nothing worth remembering. Certainly not enough to earn personal attention from a department head I hadn't even spoken to before today.
His hand landed on my upper arm, his fingers pressing against bare skin just below the sleeve. He held on just a little too firmly, enough to keep me in place. "I'm confident you'll acclimate quickly. Miss Chen will see to it that you're prepared by Tuesday."
He didn't wait for a response. Just turned and walked around the corner, his stride easy and unhurried. A few students followed him with their eyes, conversations dropping off as he passed.
When I looked back at Eliza, something flickered across her face. It vanished almost instantly, but I recognized it. Regret. Maybe she'd had someone else in mind for this.
She spoke before I could ask. Her gaze didn't quite meet mine, landing just to the side for a heartbeat before she looked up again. 'You're lucky. This will open doors for you,' she said, quieter now. 'You're too smart to be stuck bussing tables or pouring coffee."
I decided she was probably right. I signed the packet of paperwork that afternoon, telling myself the unease in my gut was just nerves.
The next two days blurred together in a mix of packing and preparation. I left my apartment with less ceremony than I'd expected. It had come furnished, so there wasn't much to take. I packed a few boxes of books, some winter clothes, and the battered French press that still made the best coffee I'd ever had. I crammed them into the smallest storage unit I could find, a local place running a first-month-free promotion. If I needed it longer, I could stretch what was left of my savings to cover it.
While I handled that, Eliza handled everything else. She moved through each task with relentless energy, pressing guidebooks with cracked spines into my hands and loading translation apps onto my phone. One of them was a university project still in beta, designed to help translate hieroglyphs. She lent me a sunhat that had belonged to her mother and a pair of worn-in hiking boots she promised wouldn't give me blisters. We both knew it was better than buying new.
If nothing else, this trip was a chance to make connections. Maybe it was even a stepping stone to something better. I looked around the empty apartment, my duffel bag at my feet. There was nothing here worth staying for.