Afterwards, in the class...
The lecture hall for Advanced Media Economics felt different today. To the two hundred other students, it was a room filled with the scratch of pens, the hum of laptops, and the dry, rhythmic drone of Professor Harrison's voice. To Rex, it was a cacophony that needed a conductor.
Every time the Professor tapped his stylus against the tablet, Rex heard a perfect staccato. When a girl three rows back whispered to her friend, Rex didn't just hear the gossip; he heard the sibilant 's' sounds as a high-frequency hiss that lacked proper breath support.
18 years of subjective training, Rex thought, leaning back in his seat with an effortless grace that drew the eyes of every female student in his periphery. I've turned into a human tuning fork.
"Mr. Aeric?"
