Being back in Oxford made her nervous. There were too many old doorways and arches. The bricked-up ones she came across-in her college’s hallways, in the sides of buildings and churches-made her especially nervous and she gave them a wide berth. She was going through her medication faster than she’d like. She’d have to talk to her psychiatrist about that, but that would have to wait five weeks until the end of term. What would she do if she ran out before then?

She ordered a latte and took a seat. It was overcast outside and she couldn’t see the sun-definitely a day to be cautious. Her watch said she had about forty minutes until the lecture. She had started chapter five of her Introduction to Moral Philosophy book three times. Her mind kept racing ahead to the lecture at ten a.m., and she hoped she could control herself this time. The medication would take the edge off at least. Maybe.

Leaving places was fairly safe, especially with a lot of other people milling around, so she didn’t have to test the doorway leaving the coffee shop like she had to when she entered it. From St. Aldate’s it was a short walk down Blue Boar Street to Merton Street and then into the exam schools. She circled around and entered via the main doors on High Street, which meant that she only had to deal with one set of doors to get into the building and then one more set to get into the room the lecture was in. For both of these, she pretended that she was waiting for someone to meet her; checking her phone and looking around allowed her to repeatedly duck in and out of the doorways. People would think she was lost, maybe, or a little ditzy, but they wouldn’t think that she was crazy at least.

The monitor in the entrance hall informed her that Textual Histories of Pre-Arthurian Britain was in the large lecture theater called “South Schools.” She followed the signs that led her up a wide stone staircase with a bannister made of rose marble.