The library study room smelled like old books, fresh coffee, and impending disaster.
Athelia had claimed the corner table at 2 PM—large enough for spreading out textbooks, close enough to the reference desk to feel legitimate, far enough from other students to avoid distractions. She'd set up her fortress of patent law: MPEP open to § 2143 (Obviousness), her highlighted copy of KSR v. Teleflex, and three different colored pens for cross-referencing dependent claims.
Alex arrived ten minutes later with his Constitutional Law casebook and the careful, deliberate distance they'd been maintaining since last night's conversation with Severen.
He sat across from her. Not beside her. Across. Like they were negotiating a treaty instead of studying together.
His ears were at half-mast—not quite relaxed, but not flat either. Cautious. Uncertain.
"So," Athelia said, breaking the silence. "Obviousness. The bane of every patent application."
"Better than non-enablement," Alex offered. He was reading Erie but his ears kept swiveling toward her every time she moved.
"Is it though?" She tapped her pen against the MPEP. "At least with enablement you just have to teach someone skilled in the art how to... practice the invention." She said it with exaggerated innocence.
Alex's ears flicked. Almost a smile. "Are we back to the sex-tutorial interpretation?"
"I'm just saying, obviousness is worse. You have to prove that someone with ordinary skill wouldn't find your combination obvious. Which is basically arguing 'yes, all these elements existed separately, but combining them was TOTALLY innovative and not at all the first thing anyone would try.'"
"Like combining peanut butter and jelly," Alex said.
"Exactly. Obvious to try. Which is literally a rejection ground." She flipped pages. "MPEP § 2143, subsection III: 'Obvious to Try.' Post-KSR, if a person of ordinary skill would have reason to combine elements—especially when there's a finite number of predictable options—it's obvious even if no one actually did it before."
"So you can't patent PB&J."
"You can't patent PB&J." She looked up. Their eyes met. The bond pulsed—warm, uncertain, wanting something neither of them would name.
Alex's ears perked forward slightly.
Then Casey crashed into their moment like a wrecking ball. "Oh thank god, I found you. Torts is KILLING me. Can I study here? Please? I promise I won't interrupt your weird patent-law foreplay."
"It's not—" Athelia started.
"We're just—" Alex tried.
"Great!" Casey dropped into the seat beside Athelia, completely oblivious. She pulled out a massive Torts casebook. "I have to brief fifteen cases by Friday. Fifteen! Who assigns fifteen cases?"
"Sadists," Athelia supplied.
"Sadists," Casey agreed. She opened her book, muttering about proximate cause and duty of care.
They studied in companionable silence for twenty minutes. The library had that perfect late-afternoon atmosphere—quiet but not oppressive, the kind of productive energy that came from fifty law students simultaneously panicking about different subjects.
Then Severen appeared.
He materialized beside their table like he'd been summoned. Which, knowing him, maybe he had been. "Room for one more?"
Alex's ears flattened immediately.
"Sure," Casey said, because Casey liked everyone and hadn't yet developed the paranoia that came with understanding supernatural politics.
But instead of taking the empty chair across the table—beside Alex, opposite the girls—Severen pulled out the chair directly next to Athelia.
The empty chair that left him shoulder-to-shoulder with her.
He set down his bag. Pulled out a legal pad and the MPEP. And then—casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world—draped his arm across the back of Athelia's chair.
Not touching her. Just... claiming the space. His arm right there. Close enough that she could feel the warmth. Far enough to maintain plausible deniability.
The bond pulsed. Sharp. Alex felt it.
Athelia glanced up. Alex's ears were completely flat against his skull. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were locked on Severen's arm.
But he said nothing.
"So," Severen said cheerfully, opening his MPEP. "What are we studying? Let me guess—obviousness?"
"How did you—" Athelia started.
"Wavelander's homework. Parse the claims, find the weaknesses. I'm betting at least one of those patents is vulnerable under Section 103." His fingers drummed against the back of her chair. "What do you think, Athelia? Where would you attack?"
She tried to focus on the page in front of her and not on the fact that Severen's arm was right there. "Depends on the prior art. If you can find two references that teach all the elements—"
"Then you just need motivation to combine," Severen finished. He leaned closer to read her notes. His shoulder brushed hers. "That's elegant. Motivation to combine. It's like relationship advice. 'Yes, these two people existed separately, but was there a reason to bring them together?'"
Casey snorted. "Everything is relationship advice to you."
"That's because law IS relationships. Contracts—'we agreed to do this thing together.' Torts—'you hurt me and now you owe me.' Property—'this is mine, stay away.' Patents—" He gestured at the MPEP. "—'I invented this combination first, no one else can practice it.'"
"Practice it," Casey repeated. "Why does patent law sound so dirty?"
"Because it is," Severen said. His arm was still across Athelia's chair. "The whole field is about claiming exclusive rights to do something, then defending those claims when other people want to practice the same thing."
"That's not—" Athelia tried.
"It absolutely is. Look—" He pointed at her MPEP, leaning further into her space. "Section 2143, Teaching, Suggestion, or Motivation. The examiner has to show there was a reason to combine the prior art references. A motivation. Something that would lead a person of ordinary skill to put these elements together."
His finger traced the text. His shoulder was definitely against hers now.
Across the table, Alex's hands clenched into fists.
"What if there's no motivation?" Casey asked, completely missing the tension. "What if it's just... random combination?"
"Then it's not obvious," Athelia managed. "If there's no teaching, suggestion, or motivation in the prior art to combine the references, the combination is patentable."
"So you can patent random things people do together as long as no one suggested it before?" Casey grinned. "That's definitely relationship advice."
"Casey—" Alex's voice was strained.
"What? I'm just saying, patent law is weirdly applicable to—oh!" Casey looked up. "Isaac! Hi!"
Athelia's stomach dropped.
Isaac Wavelander stood beside their table, coffee in hand, easy smile in place. "Mind if I join? Patent Two is kicking my ass. Figured studying together might help."
Before anyone could object, he pulled out the chair on Athelia's other side.
The chair between her and Casey.
Which meant Athelia was now bracketed. Severen on her left, arm still across her chair. Isaac on her right, setting down his coffee and pulling out the same homework packet. Casey beyond Isaac. Alex across the table.
Watching.
His ears were flat. His jaw was clenched so hard she could see the muscle jumping. His eyes were gold-flecked and dangerous.
But he didn't say anything.
"So," Isaac said, leaning toward Athelia's open MPEP. "Patent Two—the obviousness analysis. I drafted the petition at work but I'm still not sure I nailed the motivation to combine. What do you think makes a combination non-obvious?"
His arm brushed hers as he pointed at the page.
The bond shrieked. Alex felt it—the contact, the proximity, the way two men were crowding her space while he sat across the table doing nothing.
"Unexpected results," Athelia said, trying to focus. "If the combination produces results that wouldn't have been expected from the prior art—"
"Exactly." Wavelander's smile widened. "Unexpected results. Secondary considerations. Evidence that the combination is more than the sum of its parts." He held her gaze. "That's what we're looking for. Proof that bringing these elements together creates something... surprising."
Was he talking about patent law or something else?
Severen's fingers drummed against the back of her chair. "What about competing claims?" he asked. "If two people claim the same invention, how do you determine who gets the patent?"
Wavelander's eyes gleamed. "Ah. Priority. Now that's an interesting area. Under the old pre-AIA law, we'd fight an interference—whoever invented first won. But that's gone now. Post-AIA, it's first-to-file. And if someone stole your disclosure, you allege derivation under Section 135."
"So speed matters," Severen said softly. His arm shifted slightly—still on the back of her chair, but somehow more present. "Whoever files the patent application first gets the right. Even if someone else invented it earlier."
"Exactly," Wavelander agreed. "The race goes to the swift. Not the first inventor—the first filer."
Both of them were looking at Athelia now.
The bond pulsed. Hurt. Angry. Alex's ears were so flat they were practically invisible.
Casey, finally sensing something was wrong, looked between them. "Um. Should we maybe—"
"Keep studying?" Wavelander suggested smoothly. "Yes. Let's walk through one of the homework patents. Athelia, why don't you read claim 1 aloud?"
She pulled out the homework packet with shaking hands. Found the first patent. Started reading.
"A method for combining elements comprising: identifying a first element with specific properties; identifying a second element with complementary properties; determining compatibility between said first and second elements; and uniting said elements under conditions sufficient to create a stable combination."
Silence.
Then Severen laughed. Actually laughed. "Oh, that's good. That's very good. Wavelander, did you write this?"
"I may have contributed to the homework selection," Wavelander said mildly.
"It's a patent for relationship formation," Casey said, eyes wide. "That's literally—'identifying compatible elements, determining if they work together, creating stable combination.' That's dating!"
"That's chemistry," Severen corrected. "But yes, it could apply to relationships. Which makes it obvious, doesn't it? If the claim language is so broad it reads on basic human behavior—"
"Then it lacks novelty," Wavelander finished. "Section 102: prior art. If something has been done before, publicly, it's not patentable."
"People have been combining compatible elements for thousands of years," Severen said. His hand moved—not quite touching Athelia's shoulder, but close. "So this patent is invalid. Obvious. Anticipated by prior art."
"Unless," Wavelander said, leaning closer, "the specific combination produces unexpected results. Unless bringing these particular elements together creates something novel that wouldn't have been obvious to a person of ordinary skill."
They were talking about the patent. They were definitely talking about the patent.
But they were also talking about her.
Athelia looked across the table at Alex. His eyes were gold. Fully gold. The wolf was right there, barely contained. His ears were invisible against his skull. His hands were claws on the table edge.
Say something, she thought desperately. Tell them to back off. Claim your space. Enforce the bond.
But Alex said nothing.
He gathered his books. Stood abruptly. "I need to go."
"Alex—" Athelia started.
"See you at home." His voice was flat. Controlled. Wrong.
He walked away.
Left her there. Between Severen and Wavelander. In the library. Surrounded by students who were starting to notice.
The bond went cold.
Not severed. Not muted. Just... withdrawn. Like he'd taken a step back. Let the distance grow.
Casey looked stricken. "What just—"
"He's stressed," Athelia said automatically. "Law school, teaching, everything—"
"Right," Wavelander said softly. "Just stress."
His arm was still against hers.
Severen's arm was still across the back of her chair.
And Alex was gone.
PONDEROSA UNIVERSITY — PROFESSOR MENDEZ'S PATENT LAW CLASS
WEDNESDAY, 9:00 AM
The classroom felt different.
Athelia noticed it the moment she walked in. Students were whispering. Phones were out. Eyes tracked her movement to her seat.
Casey slid in beside her. "Okay, people are weird today. Did something happen?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. But Madison Chen just took a picture of you. And Tyler's group is definitely talking about—" Casey stopped. "About you and Wavelander."
Athelia's stomach sank.
"And Severen," Casey continued quietly. "People saw you in the library yesterday. With both of them. And then Alex leaving."
"Nothing happened—"
"I know. But it looked like something happened. And in law school, appearance is everything."
The side door opened. Severen walked in—not a student, not officially enrolled, but somehow always present. He headed straight for their section.
And instead of sitting in his usual seat three rows back, he sat down directly beside Athelia.
The whispering got louder.
"Morning," Severen said cheerfully. He pulled out his notes. Shifted in his seat so his shoulder was against hers. "Ready for another riveting lecture on post-grant proceedings?"
"Severen," she hissed. "People are staring."
"Let them stare." He opened his MPEP. His arm came up—casual, natural—draped across the back of her chair just like yesterday. "We're just studying. Nothing inappropriate about studying."
But it didn't look like studying. Not with the way he leaned close when pointing at her notes. Not with the way his arm claimed space around her shoulders. Not with the way he smiled when she tried to shift away.
The back door opened.
Alex walked in. His eyes swept the classroom—found her immediately. Found Severen beside her. Found his arm across her chair.
His ears flattened. His jaw clenched. His eyes flashed gold.
But he walked to the back row. Sat down in his usual seat. Pulled out his laptop.
Said nothing.
The bond pulsed. Hurt. Distant. Fading.
Professor Mendez entered at exactly 9 AM. "Morning. We're continuing our discussion of inter partes review. Specifically, we're covering IPR institution standards, the preponderance of evidence burden, and how claims are construed under the Phillips standard at the PTAB."
Isaac was already seated—not beside Athelia this time, but two rows behind her where he had a clear view. His eyes found her immediately, then tracked to Severen beside her, arm around her chair, intimate and possessive.
Something gleamed in his expression.
Mendez started lecturing. "Today we're discussing how to challenge a granted patent. The standard of proof required. And the critical question—" He glanced at his notes. "—whether patent holders adequately defend their claims when challenged."
Isaac raised his hand. "Professor, at my firm, we tracked defense rates. You'd be surprised how many patent owners don't even file a response. They just... let the patent die."
His eyes drifted to Athelia when he said it.
"Winters," Mendez called. "Come to the board. Walk us through the elements of a prima facie obviousness rejection in IPR."
She stood. Severen's hand brushed her arm as she slid past him. Everyone saw it.
At the board, Mendez handed her a marker. "Write out the elements."
She wrote:
"Perfect," Wavelander said. He stood close—too close. "Now tell me, when a patent owner receives an obviousness challenge in IPR, what's their burden?"
"They have to overcome it. Show why the combination isn't obvious. Provide evidence of unexpected results with nexus to the claimed features, or other secondary considerations, or—"
"Or they can simply not respond," Wavelander interrupted softly. "If the patent owner doesn't defend the claims, the Board can enter adverse judgment against them. The record swallows the patent. Game over."
His hand came to the board beside hers. Not touching. Just... present.
"But surely," he continued, "a patent owner who truly believes in their invention would defend it. Would fight for it. Would prove the claims are valid no matter what challenges arise."
In the back row, Alex's laptop screen went dark. His hands were clenched on the desk. His ears were invisible.
But he didn't speak. Didn't object. Didn't stand up and drag Wavelander away from her.
"Return to your seat, Ms. Winters," Wavelander said finally.
She walked back. Severen shifted as she approached—making room, but barely. She had to slide past him. His hand caught her hip, steadying her. The touch was brief. Necessary. Completely appropriate.
And absolutely deliberate.
Every student in class saw it.
Alex's chair scraped. He stood abruptly. Walked out of class. Thirty minutes early. In the middle of a lecture.
The bond went cold.
Mendez watched him leave. Watched the door close. Then his eyes moved to Athelia, to Severen beside her, to Wavelander at the front of the room.
He pulled out his phone. Made a note.
Evidence, Athelia thought numbly. He's documenting this. Building a case.
The question was: a case for what?
— END CHAPTER TWO —
[Continue to Chapter 3 - The Spectacle]