Eden Bova-Cho knows that there is something awful in the air on this beautiful Thursday afternoon when an educator's worst nightmare occurs:

"I'm sorry, I mean no disrespect, Professor Bova, but how is this relevant to the real world?"

There is definitely disrespect laced into that question.

Eden simply sighs.

It's her fourth semester teaching Anatomy and Physiology, and some students don't think she's qualified enough to be a good teacher. Understandable, because it's not like she hasn't asked herself that same question multiple times when she was in college, nor has it been that long since she was in these students' shoes – eight or nine years ago, almost?

The problem comes when a question like this is asked with ill intentions. Students can be challenging, especially for new teachers who haven't yet built a brilliant reputation on campus.

Just let her ask her fifth stupid question of the day, and you can end the lecture, Eden tells herself.

The student, probably a junior from Eden's guess, tries to defend herself when she notices the nasty side-eye from her classmates. "I just mean — well, in your line of work, for example. How does the knowledge of endocrine disorders help you if you work in anthropology?"

Pin-drop silence. The entire lecture hall sits at the edge of their seats, staring at their professor with attentiveness so intense that the sun itself could explode.

Kids these days. If she wanted to challenge her professor's credibility in front of one hundred and ten students, then so be it.

"How else would you determine what a bone fracture was caused by? Osteoporosis or osteogenesis imperfecta?" Eden asks. "Cushing's syndrome? Hyperparathyroidism? Or... maybe blunt-force trauma to the radius bone? It's important to know because there are multiple possibilities. I can't just assume that every piece of evidence I find is a result of a violent act."

She notices the student's bright blush, clearly embarrassed at being passively scolded in front of the entire class.

"Look, I'll be completely honest and admit that sometimes what you're learning in class doesn't always stay with you in your career. I've been there – I get it. But you can't jump five levels ahead when you don't know the basics."

A boy's hand shoots up from the third row. "I'm assuming you're probably not allowed to say anything, but since we're somewhat on the topic – the stuff all over the news... there's been an increase of missing people. Would you happen to know anything about what's going on?"

The question causes a wave of whispers around the lecture hall, and Eden mentally smacks her forehead because of course she had just given them a perfect window of opportunity to ask her about her job. When students hear that their professor has an uncommon doctoral degree in forensic anthropology, they're bound to get asked questions. Many, many questions.

And yesterday at Eden's lab, word had spread that there hadn't been much progress in finding any of these missing people. The only thing the FBI was sure of was that multiple people were involved in these crimes.

Not that it's technically her business. She's not working on that case.

"I know some of you may be worried about... current events happening. But that's a highly classified case that I'm not involved in and even if I did, I wouldn't be allowed to discuss it with you all. It's still an open case," Eden says. "Besides, this isn't a forensics course, and the things I do at work aren't exactly appropriate for an anatomy and physiology class. I'm sure many of you have different majors and aren't even interested in forensics anyway." Her eyes widen at the time on her watch. "That's it for today. Be sure you're studying for the midterm exam."

The exhausted sigh lodged in Eden's chest finally gets released. It has been an incredibly long week, juggling between teaching at her alma mater and working as a newly graduated forensic anthropologist for the district. Not to mention her home life, where a cute little five-year-old is constantly driving Eden up every wall.

And she misses her husband, who she sees for about four hours a day during the week, because his clients love to drown him in paperwork at the law firm at nine o'clock at night.

The weekend needs to come now.

As students begin to rush out of the auditorium, a tall boy with brown hair hops down the steps and approaches the podium at the front of the room. Tired, dark circles have settled under his eyes over the past few weeks – typical for a college student in his last year. "You wanted to speak with me after class, Professor?" her teaching assistant asks.

Eden shoves the last of her students' papers into a thick folder and away into her tote bag. Then, she takes a thick hardcover book out from behind the podium and hands it to him. It's a microbiology textbook (the most recent edition, obviously) that Jacob Harlow had asked about. She's not entirely sure how this will help him with his medical school admissions exam, but it certainly doesn't hurt to take a look.

"How do you feel about making a review for next week's midterms?" she asks him. "I have to pick up my daughter that day, so I'll have to cut the lecture a bit short. You can use the rest of class time to prep for the exam."

Jacob hesitates for a split second before smiling. She's never asked him to do anything like this before. It's a huge responsibility, but she knows he can handle it. After all, she's known him for almost two years now. "Really? I'd love to! Thanks for the opportunity." He's about to walk away when he suddenly turns around again. "For the record, these students are really interested in your profession. That's why they take your class and not another professor's. You offer a pretty cool, uh, different, perspective on things."

Eden waves off the flattery as she quickly finishes cleaning up before heading to the lab.

"I'm serious." Jacob shrugs. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but this particular class is really difficult to get into. Even the waitlist is ridiculous."

That puts a halt to her actions. Huh, she didn't know that. If it's true, Eden believes she deserves a pat on the back. And a massage. But that's only if it's true.

"I've only been teaching for four semesters," she says. "I doubt there are that many students who know what I do outside of teaching."

"Word travels fast, Dr. Bova." He turns to hold the door for Eden as they both leave the lecture hall. "It's also why I fought so hard to be your teaching assistant."

- - -

Dr. Eleanor Kinsley is a woman of many talents, and calling her "brilliant" would be considered the biggest understatement known to man. She is more than that — a former chief of trauma surgery at John Hopkins Hospital. Lead forensic anthropologist for the state government of New York. Teacher. Researcher. Mother. Grandmother. Wife. Her background makes up for her frigid personality, and Eden had the greatest privilege to not only complete her PhD internship under her, but also work in the same lab for the district.

Not in the same team, though – just a floater helping other anthropologists around.

It is forty-five seconds past Eden's clock-in time when Dr. Kinsley says "You're late" without turning around to greet her.

It's not the first time she's heard those words, and it's definitely not the first time her coworkers all turn to stare at her for it either. Heat blooms around her ears as Eden mumbles a bashful apology. She finishes tying her long, brown hair and scrubbing her hands in a nearby sink. "A student of mine needed help."

It's then that Dr. Kinsley finally turns around to meet Eden's brown eyes. "It's admirable that you also teach, Eden, but this is the third time you've been late. Try to figure out your priorities if you want this job. You did just graduate after all, and there's still a lot to learn."

There's a sharp prickle behind her eyes from the embarrassment. "Right. Won't happen again."

"See to it that it doesn't," Dr. Kinsley says before grabbing a notebook and walking to the other side of the open lab to an enclosed conference room with glass walls.

It is the meeting room, where agents and scientists come together to debrief on current cases and theorize possible solutions.

But having glass walls also means that it doesn't stop anyone (especially Eden) from taking a peek at what the slanted black marker says on the glass or what the numbers represent on the projector screen.

There's already a group of people sitting at the conference table. There are two forensic pathologists that Eden has worked with before, along with Kinsley, and three agents donning FBI jackets – a recently transferred unit working on the missing persons case.

One of the pathologists hands Dr. Kinsley a report, which she examines with furrowed brows. An FBI agent with dark hair watches the pathologist speak while the other agent – an older, taller man – stands in the corner with his arms crossed.

The last FBI agent is a blond man with wavy hair, the ends slightly curling at the nape of his neck and near his ears. He sits facing the glass wall, his head slowly tilting forward over the table.

A smack to the shoulder from Dr. Kinsley's paper-in-hand jolts him awake.

Don't laugh, don't laugh.

Eden joins her coworker Josie at the open lab table, where a table of small discolored bones lies with pins and labels sticking up in every direction. "Do you know if Kinsley made any progress on her case yet? I know it's been slow recently."

"Why? Nosy?" Josie shoots her a sly look.

"Absolutely."

The pathologist finishes prepping a microscope slide. "She's been able to identify some of the victims, but the team has been pretty secretive about it, actually. Trust me, I tried flirting with Susanna, and she still wouldn't tell me anything."

"You two broke up months ago."

"And I know she's still not over me." Josie shakes her head, sneaking a glance back at the conference room. "That tall agent with grey hair in the corner is the new squad's chief. They just relocated here from NYC for this case."

How on earth does Josie know everything when she's only been here two and a half years? Eden, quite frankly, is too afraid to ask.

"Anyways," her coworker continues, "I think the reason that progress is slow is because they're one anthropologist down."

Eden whips her head around so fast that she's lucky that the sample in her hand doesn't shatter to the ground. "What? Someone left Dr. Kinsley's team? Since when?"

"Since two and a half weeks ago. Which means there's an open spot." Josie grins. "You going to go for it?"

Having an opportunity like this fresh out of school would be huge. Working with someone like Dr. Eleanor Kinsley on top of being an adjunct professor at her alma mater would be. Huge.

Landing a job immediately after graduating – after completing her internship here – felt like a homecoming. She had always felt like she belonged in this lab, and she got along wonderfully with her coworkers.

However, things had been different when she was a student. Kinsley had loved to throw Eden to the wolves (read: medical examiners, coroners, police, FBI) as if she was already a lead scientist that had already obtained her degree and passed her board exams. Like she was a real, legit forensic anthropologist.

And as awful as it was being tossed into the field filled with tough love, Eden fucking learned. And she wants to keep learning. She needs to be on Kinsley's team just as much as she needs oxygen to survive.

But there's a small hint of doubt pinching the back of her head, slowly beginning to spread her mind with what ifs? and but....

"Should I?" she asks, more to herself than to Josie.

"Why not?" Josie says.

"Because I'm sure there are other candidates who are highly skilled and have years of more experience than I do."

"You may be a new grad, but Kinsley was your preceptor when you were a student. She knows your work ethic and knows what you're capable of. It doesn't hurt to try."

Josie takes another nosy glance at the conference room, but does a double-take when she notices something. Eden follows her gaze –

The blond FBI agent suddenly stands up, runs a rough hand through his scalp, before throwing it up in the air in clear frustration. The unit chief steps in between Dr. Kinsley and the agent and gently pushes him away. Kinsley waves the report in his face (is she trying to prove a point? Eden can't tell). She can make out the word "no" from the blond, but nothing else.

And then Kinsley sticks a hand out towards the glass wall, almost as if –

Kinsley's head turns, her eyes meeting Eden's.

The blond agent's head turns, blue eyes meeting Eden's.

Everyone in the conference room turns to look towards Eden.

Eden follows, glancing behind her at whoever they all look like they're about to throw a rock at and –

No, they're all looking at her. Right. Okay.

Kinsley shrugs at the blond agent, and he sighs in defeat. Fine, she thinks he says.

Her heart thumps rapidly. She's not sure what just happened, but for some reason, it involves her.

It feels like a challenge. Maybe even a test.

And despite it all, Eden wants that fucking spot on the team.

"You know what? I think I will go for it."

- - -

A/N: idk if writers still do author's notes but here i am!! listen.... i know this chapter feels all over the place but that is because i am RUSTY and this is a first draft and i would like to stop being a perfectionist on a FIRST DRAFT bc it is tiring and preventing me from accomplishing anything.

also i am going to be so honest and admit that idk about the intricacies of the fbi and frankly i am too afraid to look too much into it bc #digitalfootprint and i feel like i might go to #jail if i dig too much LOL??? so dont ask silly questions about the obvious inaccuracies im just trying to have a silly fun time here thank you