Eighteen

Rowen paid no heed to the students filing out of his classroom as he stacked test papers on his desk. He glanced at his watch, reminding him he had half an hour till his next lecture.

Any other day he would’ve used the time to grab a bite, but today he was too bothered to feel hungry. Instead of retreating to his office, he headed straight for Paxton Hall—a good five-minute walk as he ascended to the third floor and went inside one of the computer laboratories.

At the far end of the empty classroom, Sean Yang was about to drink coffee in front of his computer. His mug paused halfway to his mouth at Rowen’s arrival.

“You’re looking more sinister than the Grim Reaper today, my friend,” Sean chirped. “What terrible tidings do you bring today?”

“You sound straight out of a book in Keiran’s shelves.” Rowen approached Sean’s workstation. “You’d be better off speaking in your code gibberish.”