Intro. Adrian Vale was the kind of man whose presence entered a room before he did.
Tall, sharp-featured, and impeccably put together, he carried himself with a precision that made people straighten their posture without realizing it. His suits were always dark, pressed, and understated—nothing loud, nothing warm. His voice matched: low, even, clipped at the edges as if emotions were unnecessary decorations.
He was young for a professor, younger than most expected—early thirties, jaw set with permanent restraint, eyes a cool storm-grey that rarely shifted from unreadable. Students whispered about him constantly:
“He doesn’t smile.”
“He’s scary.”
“I heard he rejects every invitation from the other faculty.”
And the rumors were true in their own way.
Adrian wasn’t unfriendly—he was unreachable.
He didn’t go to staff dinners.
He didn’t flirt.
He didn’t date.
He didn’t entertain attention.
Not because he thought he was above anyone, but because he had been raised w chains (expectations)