7. Hideout

As I stood in Professor Sherman's office, my mind raced, trying desperately to regain some level of composure. The haunting images of Cameron in the bathroom surged back.

The Professor's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're early, Mr. StClaire. I specifically said 15 minutes," he remarked, his frown deepening with stern disapproval.

Standing all nonchalant, Cameron appeared utterly indifferent to the Professor scolding him. His focus was solely on intimidating me, making me almost shiver involuntarily. My stomach churned uneasily at the thought of being under his 'guidance.'

Like during that distressing encounter in the shower, he was impeccably dressed. He had on black slacks that were perfectly pressed and crisp. Clinging to his muscular frame, he wore a midnight blue silk button-down shirt neatly tucked in. His hair was styled with precision, not a strand out of place.

Among the sea of students who typically roamed the halls in their uniforms or athletic jerseys, Cam stoo