By day, she was everything London society expected: well-mannered, elegantly dressed, and endlessly patient. By night, she slipped through the narrow alley behind Dr. Andrew Bennett's clinic and traded silk gloves for ink-stained ones.

It was a system that had functioned quite beautifully.

Camilla adjusted the collar of the boy's coat as she slipped through the back entrance of the clinic. The garment hung a bit loosely across her shoulders, but that was intentional. Loose fabric disguised curves, softened lines, blurred anything that may give her away. Her hair had been pinned tightly beneath a cap, the remaining strands tucked away with careful precision.

in the dim lamplight of the hallway mirror, Mr. Hayes stared back. A pale, narrow-faced medical student with ink-smudged fingers and an unfortunate habit of arriving late.

She was perfectly forgettable, which was precisely the point. Camilla pushed open the lecture room door and slid quietly into the back row, careful not to draw any attention to herself. Her disguise only worked as long as no one looked too closely.

Dr. Bennett was already mid-lecture, gesturing toward a chalk diagram of the thoracic cavity while several young men leaned over their tables with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Camilla recognized most of them from previous lessons.

Mr. Finch, who fainted during their first cadaver lab. Mr. Wallace, who asked far too many questions for her liking. And—

Her eyes stopped, noticing someone new at the front table. He was tall, very thin. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as though he had run a hand through it repeatedly in frustration.

Three books lay open before him. He was hurriedly writing in one while reading another text and occasionally glancing toward Bennett with unnerving focus.

Camilla frowned. Who was he, and why did she feel the need to know more?

Dr. Bennett continued his lecture, pacing back and forth at the front of the room. "Who can tell me what would happen if the blade penetrates here—"

The new student raised a hand. Bennett paused his pacing and pointed to him. "Yes?"

"The lung would collapse," he answered. "But death would not be immediate."

Bennett crossed his arms. "And how have you concluded that?"

"The angle," the young man said simply. "If the wound is shallow and lateral, the victim could remain conscious for several minutes."

A murmur rippled through the room.

Dr. Bennett studied the young man carefully.

"That is correct," he responded. "And what is your name, young man?"

"Spencer Reid," he responded.

Camilla hadn't recognized the name, and she presumed he may have been new to town.

London society rarely allowed such things to happen quietly. A new family meant speculation, visits, introductions. Mothers could not help whispering about fortunes and titles. Yet she could not recall hearing the name Reid at any dinner table or function.

Dr. Bennett studied the young man for a moment longer before giving a slow nod.

By the time the lecture concluded, the room was filled with scraping of chairs and the low murmur of departing students. Camilla remained where she was, gathering her books slowly while the others filed out.

Eventually, only three people remained in the room.

Camilla.

Dr. Bennett.

And the ever-so-curious Spencer Reid, who hadn't moved.

Camilla let out a small, controlled sigh, letting her gaze wander to the front of the class as she gathered her books. Dr. Bennett acknowledged her with a nod as she approached.

Camilla exhaled, letting the chair slide back against the worn floorboards. She dared a glance around the lecture room, ensuring the other students had done, leaving only the quiet familiar hum of the gas lamps and the lingering scent of ink and formaldehyde.

"Another late arrival, I see," Dr. Bennett said, his voice low and more amused than reproachful, as he adjusted a stack of papers on his desk. "Your father did not notice your absence, did he?"

Camilla stiffened for only a moment, smoothing the folds of her coat. "No," she said carefully, lowering her voice. "I made certain he would not. He believes I am at an evening piano lesson. I make an effort not to draw undue attention."

Dr. Bennett's eyes glimmered with amusement. "Indeed. Discretion is as valuable a skill as any lesson here, I dare say."

She allowed herself a small, conspiratorial smile, grateful that Bennett understood the precariousness of her secret. "It is...a delicate balancing act, sir. Society expects much of us women, and permits very little."

"Quite so," he replied, tapping a finger against the desk. "And yet here you are. Risking a scandal in pursuit of knowledge. You never cease to impress me, Hayes."

Camilla's cheeks warmed at the rare compliment. "Thank you, sir. Though I assure you, I do not intend to make a habit of shocking respectable society."

Bennett's smile widened slightly. "As long as no one exercises care, I see no reason why your intellect should be constrained by something as trivial as society's expectations."

Camilla's lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded, feeling the warmth of his approval bloom faintly in her chest. She was about to respond when the soft scrape of footsteps echoed across the worn floorboards.

Spencer Reid approached slowly, books tucked under one arm, his eyes fixated on Dr. Bennett. "Excuse me, sir," he said, polite and measured. "I was hoping to clarify something regarding the cadaver incision. May I?"

Bennett inclined his head, gesturing toward a clear space on the desk. "By all means. Please."

"You're more than welcome to observe as well, Miss."

Camilla's eyes widened, caught off guard. He said it so casually, as if the careful layers of her disguise were irrelevant. She had thought herself invisible, and yet here he was, acknowledging her as a woman, without hesitation or judgement.

She felt her heart skip a beat, caught somewhere between alarm and fascination. "I beg your pardon?"

Spencer's dark eyes lifted from his notebook, calm and unassuming. "I merely assumed you'd be interested in observing, Miss," he repeated, voice level. "I assume you are here to learn, as am I."

Camilla blinked, frozen in place. Her disguise was meant to erase her. It was the only way she'd be allowed into Bennett's lectures. She had moved through the classroom for months without anyone so much as noticing her presence.

"I...I don't understand," she murmured, her voice low, almost incredulous. "How do you—how do you know I'm...?" Her hand waved vaguely toward her figure.

"A lady?" Reid finished, tilting his head slightly. "It was rather obvious, but I didn't think it required mention."

Camilla swallowed, at a loss for words. She felt a strange mix of relief and surprise. But before she could respond, he had shifted his attention to Dr. Bennett. "Sir," he said, his voice measured, "about the incision through the lateral thoracic wall...I had a question. A posterior shift would improve the visibility of the diaphragm, would it not?"

Dr. Bennett leaned forward slightly, resting a hand on the edge of his desk. His brow furrowed slightly.

"Indeed," he said thoughtfully, "a posterior displacement could improve your view, particularly if your initial incision skirts the lower costal margin. But one must proceed cautiously. If the retraction is too forceful, you risk compromising the intercostal vessels—or worse, inadvertently nicking the diaphragm itself."

Spencer Reid nodded his head animatedly. Bennett inclined his head. "I hope that answer is sufficient, Mr. Reid. The practical demonstration next week will allow a better understanding of the material."

Reid shut his book, tucking it under his arm. "Yes, sir. Thank you. That clarifies it considerably."

Bennett gave a small, approving nod. "Very well, then. That concludes our session for tonight. Both of you are excused. Take care walking back, both of you."

Reid gathered his scattered books, glancing briefly toward Camilla. "Excuse me, Miss," he said softly, his voice carrying just enough for her to hear. "I was wondering if we may speak for a moment, in private?"

Camilla's heart gave a small, imperceptibly flutter. She nodded, allowing him to lead the way down the narrow hallway.

Camilla lowered her voice, almost instinctively. "I would greatly appreciate your discretion," she said, her eyes flicking up toward him. "You must understand...I do not have permission to be here. Dr. Bennett is risking a great deal, allowing me to participate. My parents...if they discovered where I've been, the consequences would be...severe."

Reid's dark eyes met hers, softening. "I understand," he said simply. "I shall keep your secret. No one will know."

A small, relieved exhale escaped her lips. "Thank you," she responded. "My mother insists on propriety above all else. If she knew I'd been engaged in such activities, she would forbid it outright. She is far more concerned with frivolous matters, such as finding me a suitable husband and ensuring I maintain correct social appearances. She is not concerned whether I am learning anything of real value."

Reid's eyes flickered with the faintest trace of a smile, a quiet acknowledgement that seemed to bridge the invisible distance between their secret worlds. "It seems as if we are both burdened by the weight of appearances," he said softly. "Who am I to judge anyone for seeking substance?"

Camilla allowed herself a small, wry smile, the tension in her shoulders loosening ever-so-slightly. There was a comfort in his understanding, in his absence of judgement. She had grown used to performing, to hiding, but in his presence, she felt a rare flicker of authenticity.

"Well," she said, drawing herself up with the smallest trace of formality, "I appreciate your discretion." She extended a gloved hand, the gesture, deliberate, measured, like a careful step onto unfamiliar ground. "It seems only proper that I formally introduce myself. I am Camilla Hayes. Though, as you can see, I am not quite the young lady society expects me to be."

Reid took her hand with careful steadiness, his grip warm and gentle. "Spencer Reid," he said, inclining his head slightly. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hayes."

"The pleasure is all mine," she replied softly, allowing her fingers to linger for the briefest moment before withdrawing them. Her pulse had quickened, a curious blend of anticipation and curiosity threading through her chest.

"I trust," she continued, a hint of playful caution in her tone, "that your discretion extends beyond this evening?"

"Absolutely," he said with quiet conviction. "My lips are sealed indefinitely, Ms. Hayes."

Camilla nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. In that narrow, dimly lit corridor, the rigid structure of their society seemed to dissolve. She felt as though she was his equal. They were simply two minds, eager to explore, to question, and to learn—beyond what was expected, and far from prying eyes.

"Well, then," she said, letting a faint note of amusement creep into her voice. "I look forward to continuing our...clandestine studies."

His eyes sparkled faintly, and he inclined his head once more. "Indeed, Ms. Hayes. I suspect that we have much to learn from each other. I look forward to seeing you next week."

Camilla exhaled quietly and nodded her head. For the first time in many months, the exhaustion of her double life felt slightly lighter, as though having found a kindred intellect had shifted the balance, if only a little, in her favour.

The following week arrived with a strange and unfamiliar weight.

Camilla had long since mastered the art of compartmentalization—of dividing her life into neat, manageable halves. There had been no risk, no uncertainty. But as she made her way once more through the narrow alley and slipped into the clinic she found the careful lines she had drawn for herself were no longer quite so rigid.

The lecture had passed much as the others had, though she found her attention drifting in spite of herself. He was seated at the front again, entirely absorbed. He did not look at her. It was almost as if their conversation had never happened at all, and she could not decide whether she preferred it that way or not.

At the end of the lecture, Dr. Bennett dismissed everyone and invited those who remained interested to remain for further observation. Camilla did not hesitate. Neither did Spencer, apparently.

The room emptied gradually, the low murmur of departing students fading until only they remained in the classroom once more. Bennett uncovered the cadaver with practiced ease, adjusting the instruments on the table.

"Which of you would like to make the incision?"

Camilla did not hesitate, her hand shooting up instantly. Beside her, Spencer had done the same. For a brief moment, neither of them moved.

Dr. Bennett's lips twitched, amusement flickering across his features. "Well," he said lightly, "it seems I have fostered a rather competitive environment."

The silence stretched. Camilla exhaled quietly and let her hand fall, smoothing her sleeve. Beside her, Spencer did the same, though a fraction slower, as if the decision required more deliberate thought.

"Perhaps collaboration would serve you better than competition?" Bennett suggested. "Hayes, go ahead and make the incision. Reid will assist you."

Camilla inclined her head, stepping forward without hesitation. The instruments lay neatly arranged before her, polished metal catching the low glow of the lamps. She reached for the scalpel first, her fingers steady as ever.

"Your grip," Spencer said quietly.

She stilled, her blade hovering just above the skin. Before she could respond, his hand had moved, settling over hers.

Camilla's breath caught in her throat.

His fingers adjusted hers with careful precision, guiding rather than correcting. The angle of the blade shifted beneath his direction, her wrist tilting ever so slightly under the gentle pressure of his hand.

"Here," he murmured. "If you hold it this way, the incision will be cleaner."

His voice had remained calm and clinical. It was as if he had not just undone every boundary she had carefully constructed in a single thoughtless motion.

Camilla forced herself to focus on the blade in her hand. Not the warmth of him behind her. Not the way her pulse had begun to betray her entirely.

"Like this?" she murmured, adjusting her grip slightly.

"That's perfect," he replied, his breath tickling her ear. Her lips pressed together, and she could not stop the flicker of something from surfacing.

He applied gentle pressure to her hand, lowering the blade. The incision was clean and precise. Perfect.

Camilla was acutely aware of every second of it because his hand had not moved. It remained over hers, steady and deliberate, guiding only when needed, but never quite withdrawing.

"Very good," Bennett said, breaking through the moment with a satisfied hum.

For a moment, Camilla had forgotten he was there.

Spencer cleared his throat and withdrew immediately. Camilla placed the scalpel down with careful precision, as though nothing at all had occurred. Her composure slipped neatly back into place, each piece of it settling where it belonged.

And yet, she could still feel it. The ghost of his hand against hers. Her hand flexed at her side, trying to shake away the feeling of it.

They finished the remainder of their observation in near silence, exchanging only the occasional remark when necessary. By the time Dr. Bennett dismissed them, the lamps had burned low, casting wavering shadows across the floorboards. Camilla gathered her things with practiced calm, slipping her gloves back into place.

She had nearly reached the doorway when—

"Ms. Hayes!"

She stopped.

Camilla turned slowly, one brow lifting ever so slightly. "Ms. Hayes?" She echoed. She stepped closer, lowering her voice instinctively. "I think we are well beyond the pleasantries, Mr. Reid. It is Camilla. Or Hayes, if you feel compelled toward formality. But please, no more 'Miss' nonsense."

"Very well," he said at last, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. "But only if you extend me the same courtesy. If you insist on abandoning formalities, then I cannot very well remain 'Mr. Reid,' can I?"

There was the faintest hint of something warmer in his expression now.

"Just Spencer, please," he said.

"Very well...Spencer," she said slowly, testing his name on her tongue.

Spencer's lips quirked slightly, as if he were fighting back a smile.

"I shall see you tomorrow, Camilla," he said simply.

"Tomorrow?" she repeated. A small crease formed between her brows. "We don't see each other until next week."

"My mother received an invitation," he said as if it were common knowledge. "From yours. We are to have dinner tomorrow evening."

"My mother has not mentioned any such thing," Camilla replied, faltering slightly.

Spencer's head tilted slightly, studying her reaction with that same unnerving attentiveness. "I assumed you were aware."

"I am rarely aware of my mother's intentions until they are already in motion," Camilla replied. "She does so enjoy...surprising me."

Camilla inhaled slowly. She already knew why her mother had extended the invitation. A new family in town with a son of appropriate age. Respectable, no doubt. Education. Presentable. It was everything her mother had wanted in a husband for her.

The thought alone was enough to send a strange, unwelcome heat rushing to her face.

"Well," she said at last, lifting her chin slightly, though the composure felt thinner now. "It would seem I shall see you tomorrow evening then under...rather different circumstances."

"I suspect so," he said. "Though I imaging you won't be wearing that."

His gaze flicked to the boy's coat, the cap, the carefully constructed disguise. Camilla's lips pressed together, something dangerously close to a smile threatening to surface despite herself.

"No," she said, her voice quieter now. "I suppose I shall not."

Tomorrow, he would see her for the first time. Exactly as society intended her to be.

Camilla stepped back, gathering herself once more. "Well then, I shall see you tomorrow evening, Spencer."

He inclined his head, just slightly. "I look forward to it."

She turned before she could linger any longer, before she said something she may later regret. She made her way down the corridor and out into the night air. The cool breeze did little to steady her thoughts.

Tomorrow, when she saw him again, there would be no disguise. And for a moment, she was not entirely sure which version of herself he would prefer.