Athelia was three paragraphs deep into MPEP § 2111 when she realized she'd been reading the same sentence about claim construction for ten minutes.
The problem wasn't the dense legal language. She could handle that. The problem was Alexander Hartwood sitting on her couch, radiating careful distance like it was a competitive sport.
He'd been living with her and Casey for three weeks now. Ever since the patent—their mate bond—had been granted. Ever since they'd both agreed, with what felt like monumental maturity, that they would choose how this worked. That instinct wouldn't control them.
Which meant Alex slept in Casey's room (Casey had graciously taken the couch) and maintained a careful three-foot radius around Athelia at all times. Like she had an invisible force field. Or a communicable disease.
Right now he was reading Erie v. Tompkins with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for defusing bombs. His constitutional law textbook was propped on his knees. His reading glasses—which she'd only recently learned he needed and found devastatingly attractive—were sliding down his nose.
And his ears.
God, his ears.
They were slightly pointed, just visible through his silver-grey hair, and they tracked every sound in the apartment with lupine precision. Right now they were angled toward her. Had been for the past ten minutes. Even though he was supposedly engrossed in federal jurisdiction.
She tested it. Turned a page.
His left ear twitched.
Picked up her coffee mug.
Both ears swiveled slightly.
She bit back a smile and returned to the MPEP. "When determining claim scope, the specification must enable a person skilled in the art to practice the invention without undue experimentation." She read it aloud without meaning to.
Alex's ears perked forward. "Enablement requirement. Section 112(a)."
"I know what it is. I just don't understand why they word it like bad sex advice."
His head jerked up. His ears flattened slightly. "What?"
"'Enable a person skilled in the art to practice without undue experimentation.' That's just—" She gestured vaguely. "It sounds like a tutorial. 'Here's how to enable your partner. Practice until proficient. No experimentation required.'"
Casey's door opened. "Did someone say sex tutorial? Because if we're having that conversation, I have NOTES about my Torts professor."
"We're discussing patent law," Athelia said quickly.
"Somehow that's worse." Casey padded to the kitchen in pajama pants and an oversized law school sweatshirt. "You two need hobbies that aren't reading regulations like they're pornography."
Alex's ears flattened completely. He looked back at his book. "It's not—we're not—"
"Oh my god, you're blushing." Casey pointed at him while opening the fridge. "Why is the wolf-man blushing about patent law?"
"I'm not a—" Alex stopped. "It's constitutional law. I'm reading constitutional law."
"Sure you are." Casey grabbed juice, clearly enjoying this. "And Athelia's definitely not over there making enablement jokes like some kind of legal deviant."
"I hate you," Athelia said without heat.
"You love me. I'm the only thing keeping this apartment from becoming a weird sexually-tense library." Casey headed back to her room. "Oh, and someone's knocking."
Athelia frowned. "I didn't hear—"
Three sharp knocks rattled the door.
Alex's ears swiveled toward it. His entire body went still. "Severen."
"How do you—"
"I can smell him." Alex closed his book. His jaw was tight. "Sage and ozone. He always smells like he's just come from somewhere else."
Another knock. "I can hear you discussing my scent profile. Are you going to let me in or should I continue being creepy in the hallway?"
Athelia opened the door.
Severen stood there with four takeout bags, a bottle of wine, and that easy smile that managed to be both charming and vaguely threatening. His sapphire eyes swept the apartment, cataloging everything in a glance.
"I come bearing gifts," he announced, walking in without invitation. "Thai food. The good place, not the sad place. And a warning that will definitely ruin your evening, but at least you'll be well-fed when I deliver it."
He set the bags on the coffee table. Started unpacking containers with the efficiency of someone who'd done this a hundred times. Which, given that he'd shown up uninvited at least twice a week since the bond was granted, he probably had.
"The warning or the food first?" Athelia asked.
"Always food first. Bad news tastes worse on an empty stomach." He pulled out a container of massaman curry and held it protectively. "Ground rules: nobody touches this. It's mine. I'm territorial about my curry."
Casey emerged from her room, drawn by food like a moth to flame. "You brought the good Thai place?"
"I'm not a monster, Casey. Of course I brought the good place." He passed her a container of pad thai. "This is peasant food. You peasants can have it."
"I love pad thai!"
"I know. That's how I know you're a peasant." But he was grinning. "It's fine. I'll educate your palate. By the end of the semester, you'll be a curry snob like me."
Alex hadn't moved from the couch. His ears were at half-mast—not quite flat, but definitely not relaxed. "What's the warning?"
Severen's smile didn't falter, but something shifted in his eyes. "Let's eat first. Casey, tell me about your Torts professor. I heard you have notes."
Twenty minutes later, Casey was mid-rant about strict liability while Severen nodded along with exaggerated sympathy.
"—and then he assigned FIFTY PAGES on assumption of risk. Fifty! Like we don't have other classes!"
"Fifty pages of what?" Severen asked, picking at his curry.
"The driest thing ever written. I'm pretty sure my soul left my body around page twelve."
"Did it come back?"
"Unclear. I might be dead inside now."
"Welcome to law school." Severen raised his wine glass in mock toast. "Where souls go to die and we all pretend reading cases about exploding Coke bottles is normal human behavior."
"Palsgraf is a CLASSIC—" Athelia started.
"Palsgraf is nightmare fuel," Casey interrupted. "Some lady gets hit by scales because railroad guys dropped a package with fireworks? And that's somehow about foreseeable plaintiffs? I'd rather read Athelia's sex-tutorial patent manual."
Alex choked on his spring roll.
Severen's eyes gleamed. "Sex-tutorial patent manual?"
"It's not—" Athelia felt heat creep up her neck. "The MPEP just has unfortunate phrasing. The enablement requirement sounds like—it doesn't matter."
"No, no, I'm fascinated." Severen leaned forward. "Please explain how patent law is secretly pornographic."
"It's not pornographic—"
"The specification must enable a person skilled in the art," Alex said quietly, his ears flicking, "to practice the claimed invention without undue experimentation."
Severen's grin was wicked. "Oh my god. You're right. That's filthy."
"It's about PATENTS—"
"'Practice the claimed invention.'" Severen was fully enjoying this now. "What kind of invention are we claiming, exactly? And how skilled does one need to be in the art?"
Casey was laughing. "Stop, she's going to combust."
"I'm fine," Athelia managed. She absolutely was not fine. Her face was burning.
"What about reduction to practice?" Severen continued mercilessly. "That's a real patent term, right?"
"Yes, it means—"
"Don't explain it. Let me guess. You have to actually... demonstrate the invention works?"
Alex's ears were completely flat now. His jaw was clenched. But he said nothing.
"Moving on," Athelia said firmly.
"Oh! Or doctrine of equivalents. That sounds like a threesome justification."
"SEVEREN—"
"'Your honor, yes, this isn't the exact same claim, but under the doctrine of equivalents, it performs substantially the same function—'"
"I'm going to throw pad thai at you."
"You wouldn't waste good food." He took a bite of curry, utterly pleased with himself. "But fine. I'll behave. For now. Tell me about continuation applications instead. Those are innocent, right?"
Athelia narrowed her eyes. "A continuation is when you file a new application claiming the same invention as a prior application—"
"Filing again for the same thing? Sounds like someone can't commit."
Casey was gone. Fully cackling. "Oh my god. Patent law is just relationship drama in legal form."
"ALL law is relationship drama," Severen said. "Torts? Failed relationships. Contracts? Relationship promises gone wrong. Criminal law? Really aggressive breakups."
"That's actually not wrong," Alex said quietly. His first contribution to the conversation in ten minutes. His ears were still flat but he'd relaxed slightly.
Severen turned to him. "See? Hartwood agrees. Though I'm more interested in his constitutional law. The Dormant Commerce Clause—is that when you're too tired for interstate business?"
Alex's lips twitched. Almost a smile. "It's about state regulation affecting interstate commerce when Congress hasn't acted."
"So Congress is just... dormant?"
"Sometimes, yes."
"Sounds about right." Severen took another bite. "Okay, I have a story. Since we're talking about bad decisions and failed commitments."
"Please tell me it's embarrassing," Casey said.
"Deeply. So I was in Morocco—"
"Of course you were."
"—in Marrakech specifically. Spectacularly lost. And I mean LOST. I thought I was going to the spice market."
"But you weren't," Athelia guessed.
"Oh no. I ended up at a wedding." Severen's grin was infectious. "Full wedding. Hundreds of people. String lights everywhere. This absolutely beautiful courtyard setup."
"You crashed a wedding?" Casey's eyes were huge.
"Crashed implies intent. I wandered into a wedding. There's a difference. See, this guy gave me directions: 'Turn left at the blue door, follow the music.' So I did. Turned left. Followed music. Walked through this gorgeous courtyard arch—and suddenly I'm surrounded by a wedding reception."
"What did you do?"
"Well, everyone just... assumed I was a guest. So I made an executive decision." He paused for effect. "I committed to the bit."
"You STAYED?" Athelia was grinning despite herself.
"Casey. They had FOOD. Amazing food. And I was lost. And everyone was so NICE. I grabbed a plate, found a seat, nodded politely at people. Figured I'd eat, wait a reasonable time, then slip out."
"But you didn't slip out."
"I did not. Because this tiny grandmother spotted me." He held his hand at chest height. "Maybe four-ten. Wearing the most elaborate dress I've ever seen. She locks eyes with me across the courtyard. And I knew I was caught."
Even Alex was leaning forward slightly now, ears perked.
"She BEELINED for me. Walks right up, looks me up and down, and says something in Arabic. I don't speak Arabic. So I just smile and nod." He demonstrated—big, dumb smile. "She grabs my hand. DRAGS me to the dance floor."
"No!"
"YES. This woman is a FORCE. She's pulling me through the crowd. Everyone's watching. The music is loud. And suddenly I'm dancing with this grandmother who's decided I'm her new project."
Casey was already laughing. "Oh my god."
"She's teaching me the steps. Very patiently. Like I'm a slow child. Step, step, clap. Step, step, clap. I'm doing my best. Everyone's clapping along. I'm sweating. And then—THEN—she grabs this young woman from the crowd."
"The granddaughter."
"THE GRANDDAUGHTER. This poor woman is like twenty-five, clearly mortified. Grandma is gesturing between us. Making these very obvious 'you two should get married' gestures."
Casey was crying with laughter. "STOP."
"It gets worse. Grandma will not let me leave. I'm trying to politely extract myself. But every time I take a step back, she pulls me forward. She's introducing me to EVERYONE. Cousins. Aunts. Uncles. Random wedding guests. I'm shaking hands. Everyone thinks I'm a family friend."
"How did you escape?"
"The granddaughter saved me. She spoke English. Told her grandmother I was 'the photographer's assistant' and had to go take pictures. Grandma was disappointed but accepted this. As I'm leaving, she grabs my face—" He demonstrated, squishing his own cheeks. "—kisses both cheeks, and says something the granddaughter translated as 'you would make beautiful babies.'"
Casey was gone. Full-on cackling.
"As I'm walking out, the granddaughter slips me her phone number and says 'just in case you need rescuing again.'"
"Did you call her?" Athelia asked.
"I was leaving the country in six hours. But I still have the number. Somewhere. As a reminder that grandmothers are a universal force of nature." He took a sip of wine. "Also as proof that you can walk into literally anything if you act like you belong there."
"That's the best story I've ever heard," Casey said, wiping her eyes.
"That's the best WEDDING I ever attended. And I wasn't even invited."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. The apartment felt warm. Safe. Almost normal.
Then Casey stretched. "Okay, I'm exhausted. Early Torts tomorrow and I still have twenty pages left." She grabbed another spring roll. "Thanks for dinner, Severen. You're officially my favorite person."
"I know."
She headed to her room. The door clicked shut.
The moment she left, the warmth drained from Severen's expression. Those sapphire eyes went cold and sharp.
"Alright," Athelia said quietly. "What's the warning?"
Severen set down his wine glass. "The patent was granted. Congratulations. Your mate bond is officially recognized by supernatural law."
"But?" Alex's voice was low. His ears had flattened again.
"But that's when the real challenges begin." Severen leaned back, arms crossed. "You know what happens after a patent is granted?"
"Maintenance fees?" Athelia tried.
"Post-grant proceedings." Severen's smile was sharp. "Inter partes review. Ex parte reexamination. Post-grant review. All the ways the Patent Office—and anyone else—can challenge a granted patent and try to invalidate it."
The bond between Athelia and Alex pulsed. Uncertain. Worried.
"The examination before grant?" Severen continued. "That's to see if you qualify. To test if the bond is valid. But post-grant? That's when people try to destroy what you've built. To prove the patent was granted improperly. That the examination was wrong."
Alex's jaw clenched. "Who would challenge it?"
"Anyone. Under 35 U.S.C. § 311, any person except the patent owner can file a petition for inter partes review." Severen's eyes gleamed. "Third parties who think the patent shouldn't exist. Who want to prove it's invalid. That the claims are obvious. That there's prior art. That the specification doesn't enable someone skilled in the art to practice the invention."
He let that last phrase hang deliberately.
Athelia's stomach twisted. "And if they succeed?"
"The patent is invalidated. Cancelled. Like it never existed." Severen stood. Started gathering the empty containers. "But here's the thing about post-grant proceedings—the burden of proof is higher. The challenger has to prove by preponderance of evidence that the patent is invalid. Not just questionable. Actually invalid."
"So we'd have to defend it," Alex said.
"You'd have to defend it." Severen looked between them. At the careful distance. The deliberate space. "You'd have to stand behind your claims. Prove the bond is valid. That you both accept it. That you're practicing the invention as claimed."
Silence.
"And you're making it very, very easy to challenge."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Athelia's voice was sharper than intended.
"It means—" Severen moved toward the door. "—if you won't stand by your own claims, why should the Patent Office? If you're sitting three feet apart pretending the bond doesn't exist, how do you defend its validity when someone challenges it?"
He opened the door. Paused.
"The examination is over. You passed. But now you have to actually practice what you claimed. And right now?" He looked at them—at Alex rigid on the couch, at Athelia with her MPEP and careful boundaries. "You're not even in the same claim scope."
He left.
The door clicked shut.
Athelia and Alex sat in the sudden silence.
"He's trying to manipulate us," Alex said finally. His ears were flat against his skull. "Trying to scare us into—"
"Into what? Actually accepting the bond?" Athelia closed her MPEP. "What if he's right? What if choosing not to act on it makes it vulnerable?"
"We're not letting instinct control us. That's not weakness."
"Tell that to whoever files the petition for inter partes review."
Alex stood. The movement was too fast. Too tense. "I'm going to bed."
"Alex—"
"We're fine. The bond is fine. Severen is just—" He stopped. "Good night, Athelia."
He disappeared into Casey's room. The door closed with careful quietness.
Athelia sat alone in the living room.
Opened her MPEP back to § 2111. Claim construction. Enablement requirement.
She pressed her hand to her sternum. Felt the bond pulse. Warm. Present. But somehow... uncertain. Like it was waiting for something neither of them was willing to give.
Practice the claimed invention.
Were they even trying?
PONDEROSA UNIVERSITY — PROFESSOR MENDEZ'S PATENT LAW CLASS
TUESDAY, 9:00 AM
Athelia walked into Professor Mendez's Patent Law classroom with her MPEP highlighted to death and a knot of anxiety in her stomach.
Alex was already there. Back row. Carefully not looking at her.
Casey slid into the seat beside Athelia. "You okay? You look like you didn't sleep."
"I didn't."
"Let me guess. Patent law?"
"Something like that."
Professor Mendez entered at exactly 9 AM. He was a compact man in his fifties with sharp eyes and the kind of intensity that suggested he'd once practiced patent law in the real world and had scars to prove it.
"Morning. Today we're continuing our discussion of post-grant proceedings. I'll be covering inter partes review and the various ways to challenge granted patents." He gestured to the whiteboard. "Mr. Hartwell, can you pull up the slide deck?"
A hand went up three rows back. Not Casey—someone else. A guy Athelia had noticed before but never really talked to.
Isaac Wavelander. Third-year student, always sat near the back, always asked the sharpest questions. Dark hair, easy smile, and the kind of confidence that came from actually understanding the material instead of faking it. His eyes swept the classroom—intelligent, assessing, missing nothing.
"Professor, I actually prepared some additional materials on IPR petition structure if you want me to present them," Isaac offered. "I've been working with a practitioner downtown and we drafted a few petitions last month."
Mendez raised an eyebrow. "You drafted live IPR petitions?"
"Supervised, obviously. But yes. Patent litigation boutique. They let me do substantive work." Isaac grinned. "Paid work, even."
"Then by all means, Mr. Wavelander. Come share your real-world experience with your classmates."
Isaac stood and made his way to the front, carrying a leather bag. When he passed Athelia's row, his eyes landed on her for just a moment. Something gleamed there. Recognition? Interest?
At the board, Isaac pulled out his materials. "Thanks, Professor Mendez. So—post-grant proceedings. What happens after the Patent Office grants your patent. Spoiler alert: the fight isn't over. In many ways, it's just beginning."
He pulled up a slide on the projector. 35 U.S.C. § 311: Inter Partes Review
"Anyone know this section?" Mendez asked the class.
A few hands went up. Athelia's included. Isaac's hand was already up—of course it was.
"Winters," Mendez called. "Give us the basics."
She swallowed. "Section 311 allows any person except the patent owner to petition for inter partes review. It's a post-grant proceeding where third parties can challenge patent validity based on prior art."
"Good," Mendez said. "Standard of proof?"
"Preponderance of the evidence. The challenger has to prove it's more likely than not that the patent is invalid."
Isaac raised his hand. "Can I add something, Professor?"
"Go ahead, Wavelander."
Isaac turned to address the class—but his eyes landed on Athelia. "The petition I helped draft last month? We had to prove a reasonable likelihood of success just to get the IPR instituted. That's under Section 314(a). Then, if the Board institutes, you need preponderance at final hearing. Two different standards, two different stages."
He held her gaze a beat too long before turning back to Mendez. "Just wanted to clarify the practical distinction."
The bond pulsed. Sharp. Uncomfortable.
Athelia glanced back.
Alex's ears were completely flat against his skull. His hands were clenched on his desk. His eyes were locked on Wavelander with an intensity that bordered on predatory.
But he said nothing.
Mendez took back the board. "The key distinction Wavelander's pointing to is burden shifting. During examination, the Patent Office determines if your claims are valid. During inter partes review, challengers must prove your claims are invalid. Different posture. Different stakes."
Isaac added from his seat—he'd returned to sitting, but stayed engaged. "When we drafted the petition, that burden shift was everything. We had to find prior art that explicitly taught every element. No hand-waving. No 'it's kinda similar.' Every single claim element mapped to a reference."
His eyes drifted to Athelia when he said it. Brief. Assessing.
"Let's talk about what makes a patent vulnerable to IPR challenge." New slide. "Section 102: Anticipation—prior art that discloses every element. Section 103: Obviousness—combining prior art references would have been obvious to a person of ordinary skill." He paused. "Those are your only grounds in inter partes review. Everything else—Section 101, 112, inequitable conduct, obvious-type double patenting—those live in different forums. Post-grant review for the first nine months. District court for the rest."
Mendez clicked to the next slide. "Section 102 is brutal. One prior art reference that teaches every single element of your claim? Dead. Doesn't matter if no one combined them before. If it's all there in one place, you're anticipated."
Isaac leaned forward in his seat. "And Section 103 is worse. Multiple references that teach all your elements? If there's motivation to combine them—teaching, suggestion, reason in the prior art—it's obvious. Even if you actually did it first." His eyes found Athelia's across the room. "Even if you claim it's novel because no one tried before."
The words hit like ice water.
"If the combination would have been obvious to someone with ordinary skill, the patent fails. And if the patent owners won't defend those claims when challenged?" His gaze held hers. "The Patent Office assumes the challenger is right."
Casey leaned over. "Is it just me or is he staring at you?"
"It's not just you," Athelia whispered back.
In the back row, Alex's jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle jump.
Mendez wrapped up the class. "Homework: I'm distributing three granted patents—same ones Wavelander's firm used for training. Parse every claim. Break down dependent claims. Identify weaknesses. Find prior art that could invalidate them. Build a case for why these patents should never have been granted."
Students filed past the front desk to grab packets. Isaac hung back, gathering his materials. When Athelia reached for a packet, he was suddenly there beside her.
"These are good ones," he said quietly. "Real IPR petitions. I drafted the claim charts myself." His eyes met hers. "You should focus on Patent Two. It's the hardest—but you'll learn the most."
Then he was gone, heading out with a group of 3Ls.
Was that a compliment or a threat?
"Thank you," she managed.
Class ended. Students filed out.
Athelia gathered her things slowly. When she looked up, Alex was already gone.
His seat was empty. His bag was gone. He'd left without waiting for her.
The bond pulsed. Distant. Hurt.
Mendez stood at the front of the room, watching everything with sharp, assessing eyes.
He said nothing.
But Athelia had the distinct impression she'd just witnessed the beginning of something. Not an examination.
A challenge.
— END CHAPTER ONE —
[Continue to Chapter 2 - The Escalation]