[It doesn't take too much fishing for Therion to narrow down which of the faculty dorms belongs to the math professor. As soon as he deems it reasonably safe--there's never going to be no risk, not in his line of work, but it's long after noon and Moriarty ought to be teaching or holding office hours or something, doing calculus for fun, whatever--a nigh-unnoticeable Therion slips into the Savant apartments and starts in on #107's locks. Soon enough, he feels the mechanism click open under his fingers, and, slowly, silently, he eases the door ajar.
There, he pauses. Suddenly, this feels chillingly familiar. Half his nightmares this week have started just like this, right foot over the threshold to find nothing, nothing, and the fall.
But Therion swallows, exhales, opens and closes his hands, and forces himself into calm. He's awake, and he's done this a million times. The floor is right there. So, with all due superstition, he taps his knuckles carefully on the door for good luck, puts his right foot forward, and sneaks inside to see what's not nailed down or on fire.]
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There, he pauses. Suddenly, this feels chillingly familiar. Half his nightmares this week have started just like this, right foot over the threshold to find nothing, nothing, and the fall.
But Therion swallows, exhales, opens and closes his hands, and forces himself into calm. He's awake, and he's done this a million times. The floor is right there. So, with all due superstition, he taps his knuckles carefully on the door for good luck, puts his right foot forward, and sneaks inside to see what's not nailed down or on fire.]