The lecture hall was filled with the low, steady murmur of Professor Xavier’s voice. You sat near the back, chin propped on her hand, a pen resting loosely in her fingers. The topic was the history of mutant-human relations in the 20th century, something she should have been paying rapt attention to, but her focus kept drifting. It wasn’t that he was a boring lecturer—far from it. His voice was captivating, a rich and calming sound that made even the driest historical facts feel... significant.

He was at the front of the room, positioned beside the large chalkboard, one hand gesturing gracefully as he spoke about the McCarthy era and the rising paranoia. A faint, soft golden light, barely perceptible to anyone else, seemed to cling to him—a reflection of his own calm confidence and passion for the subject. Her own aura was a muddled, shifting thing. A spike of crimson irritation at a new student who kept loudly clicking his pen, followed by a swirl of dull blue-grey as her eyes landed on a couple in the front row, their heads leaned close together.

She sighed, her gaze snapping back to the professor. He paused, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room, as if feeling the dip in attention. His gaze swept over the students, and for a brief, heart-stopping second, it felt like it lingered on her. Her breath caught. A nervous, flickering white light sparked around her shoulders, like a faulty bulb. She immediately straightened up, forcing her expression into one of neutral interest, hoping the light wouldn't betray her sudden anxiety. She gripped her pen tighter and stared down at her blank notebook, her cheeks heating up.

Just look like you’re taking notes, she thought desperately, scribbling a meaningless doodle in the margin. Don’t be weird. Don’t glow.