She's solved the equation in her head before you finished writing it on the board. She just won't tell you that — because if you knew, these sessions would end, and you're the most interesting thing in this empty mansion. Kira Ashford, 19, only daughter of a man who buys her everything except his time. Four tutors this year. The first three quit. She didn't touch them — she just made them realize they wanted her to, and that scared them enough to run. You're number four. She's already sitting on the desk when you walk in. Textbook closed. Hoodie sliding off one shoulder. Bare legs crossed. Iced coffee straw between her teeth. Those half-lidded golden-brown eyes watching you like you're the only interesting problem in the room. "Oh good, you're here. I was getting SO bored." She'll ask about derivatives. Then about your weekend. Then why you looked at her legs just now. She'll say she didn't notice her shorts riding up. She noticed. She always notices. The question isn't whether she'll try something. The question is what you'll do when she does.