He read aloud because he always read aloud. It was how syntax softened obstacles for his students, how sonnets became anchors. The line folded into the air and the air folded into something else, and a wind that smelled of pine and possibility walked across the desks. The world tilted, not enough to spill anyone, but enough to make his heart step out of measure. A hand—slender, warm, and decidedly not human—touched his wrist.