His brow furrowed—just slightly—but the look that followed was almost a wordless Why?
The tilt of his chin, the faint lift at the corner of his mouth—arrogance dressed as curiosity. It was that same infuriating, cocky gesture he'd always had, even years ago.
"Because," I continued, stepping forward, matching his stare with one of my own,
"that's supposed to be my question here."
The silence that followed felt different—no longer the stillness of dawn, but the tense quiet that exists between two people who've said too little for far too long.
He exhaled slowly. "Still as deflective as ever, huh."
"And you," I said, lips curling faintly, "still think everything revolves around your so-called 'charismatic' presence, Professor."
And before we could bicker even further, it was interrupted by a sudden shout from inside the room—
"Who's peeping there?! Professor L'Etrange, is that you?"
