Extra Credit

Clara drove home in a fugue state. Adrian had stayed behind to "clean up the demonstration."

She sat in the middle of her living room, staring at the fireplace. Her husband was a philosophy professor. He graded papers. He drank Earl Grey. He cried when they watched *Up*.

He had a silencer.

* I stole it from a dragon.* The text about the book.

Clara stood up. She walked to Adrian’s study. The one room in the house she rarely entered because he claimed it was where he did his "deep thinking."

She opened the door. It was immaculate. Walls of philosophy texts. A large oak desk.

She went to the desk. She opened the drawers. Pens. Stationary. A spare silencer in a velvet box next to a box of paperclips.

Clara gasped, slamming the drawer shut. She opened the bottom one.

Inside was a thick, black leather ledger. It was labeled: *Grade Book: 2024-2025*.

She opened it.

It wasn't a list of students. It was a dossier. Photographs, addresses, schedules. And grades.

* Subject: Thomas Reedy (Mechanic).*
* Offense: Overcharged Clara for transmission repair. Verbal disrespect.*
* Action: Liquidation of assets. Physical intimidation.*
* Grade: A (Resolved).*

Clara’s hand trembled. She flipped the page.

* Subject: Michael O’Connell (Clara’s Ex-Boyfriend).*
* Offense: Stalking. Threatening communication.*
* Action: Expulsion.*
* Grade: A+ (Terminated).*

Clara stared at the photo of Michael. He had disappeared a year ago. She thought he had moved to Florida.

She flipped more pages.

* Subject: Mrs. Higgins (Neighbor).*
* Offense: Spreading rumors about Clara’s foster history.*
* Action: Warning issued.*
* Grade: C (Probation).*

The world tilted. Adrian wasn't just a professor. He was... she didn't even know the word. A hitman? A vigilante?

"I see you've found the syllabus."

Clara spun around.

Adrian was leaning in the doorway. He had changed his jacket. He held a glass of red wine in each hand. He looked calm, domestic, and utterly terrifying.

"You killed Michael," Clara whispered.

"I removed an obstacle," Adrian corrected, walking into the room. He offered her a glass of wine. "Michael was a weed, Clara. He was choking your sunlight. A gardener doesn't apologize for weeding."

"You're a murderer."

"I'm a cleaner," Adrian said. He took a sip of his wine. "And a very good educator. Though my students in the underworld rarely survive the final exam."

"Who are you?" Clara backed up until she hit the desk. "The man in the office..."

"My brother," Adrian said softly.

Clara blinked. "Your brother?"

"Marco. He works for the family I left behind to marry you. He came to demand I return to the fold. He threatened to hurt you to motivate me." Adrian’s eyes darkened, the gold flecks turning to steel. "So I was teaching him why that was a philosophical error."

"You were going to kill him."

"I haven't decided yet. He's currently in the trunk of my Volvo."

Clara put a hand to her mouth.

Adrian set the wine down and stepped closer. He didn't touch her. He looked at her with an intensity that burned.

"I know you crave safety, Clara. You told me about the foster homes. The uncertainty. The fear." Adrian lowered his voice. "I promised to keep you safe. I promised to give you a quiet life. Sometimes, to maintain the quiet, you have to silence the noise."

"By killing people?"

"By curating your reality," Adrian said. "I built this life for you. A fortress of books and tea and peace. I just stand on the wall and shoot anything that tries to climb over."