Unfortunately.
The first lesson covered a passage from the textbook.
It was about a protagonist trapped in a room, repeatedly checking the door lock and windows.
Ms. Walker wrote "Actions" on the blackboard.
"Fear doesn't have to be stated outright. It can be hidden in actions. Repeatedly checking the door, for instance, or making sure the windows are secure."
Chen Mo stared at the blackboard.
Repeatedly checking the door.
Repeatedly checking the windows.
Repeatedly checking for pressure sensors, transparent wires, and backup explosive charges.
Gotham literature classes really knew how to pick their material.
This wasn't a textbook passage.
It was an incident report in a different font.
Barbara tapped his textbook with the tip of her pen.
Chen Mo snapped out of it.
She wrote three words beside it:
Page number fourteen.
"I know," Chen Mo whispered.
"You just turned to page nineteen," Barbara whispered back.
Chen Mo silently flipped back to page fourteen.
Ms. Walker asked, "If it were you, why do you think the protagonist didn't just leave the room?"
Nobody raised a hand.
Eighty percent were catching up on sleep, ten percent were zoning out, and the remaining ten percent were listening attentively, mostly so they could sell their notes after class.
Ms. Walker didn't rush them. She just waited.
Chen Mo looked at the passage, his mind full of rooms, doors, locks, wires, and traps.
He tapped the edge of his desk and couldn't help saying:
"Because there were still people inside."
Every eye in the class swung toward him.
Chen Mo paused.
Ms. Walker looked at him.
"Go on."
Chen Mo steeled himself. "If he were only afraid for himself, of course he could leave. But if there were other people inside, or one wrong step would trigger something else, he couldn't just think