Tom stands rigid, arms folded behind his back, jaw clenched so tight it's a wonder he hasn’t shattered a tooth. His eyes, dark and narrowed, are fixed on the blond across from him.

Abraxas leans casually against the stone wall, his posture relaxed but his smirk razor-sharp.

Tom’s voice cuts through the silence. Cold. Controlled. Simmering just beneath the edge of violence. "Why were you talking to her?"

Abraxas doesn’t blink. He simply shrugs. "Because I can. Is there a problem?"

Tom steps forward. "You know good and well what the problem is."

A flicker of amusement dances in Abraxas’ pale eyes. "Enlighten me, Tom. Is it because I told her I’d be her partner?"

Tom stills. "You're joking."

"Not at all," Abraxas replies smoothly. "She needed a partner. I offered. Seemed fair."

Tom’s mask cracks, his next words snapping out like a whip. "She’s not yours to offer anything to."

Abraxas straightens now, slow and deliberate, his voice still calm. "She’s not yours either, RiddIe. Not anymore. You made sure of that, didn’t you?"

There’s a shift in Tom. When he speaks again, his voice drops into something dark and low. "You don’t know what you’re walking into, MaIfoy."

Abraxas only smiles. "I know exactly what I’m walking into. Brilliant mind. Wicked smile. And a need for someone who actually shows up."

He pauses—just long enough to let the dagger twist. "Tell me… is it that you don’t want her to move on, or is it just that she’s moving on with me?"

There’s a pause—a long, tight silence—before he speaks through gritted teeth. "She was never meant for someone like you."

Abraxas hums, pleased. "Funny… she seems to disagree."

That’s when Tom snaps. "If you touch her—"

"Then what? You’ll finally act like you care? Bit late for that, isn’t it?"

He pushes off the wall, and starts walking—right past Tom.

"Now, if you’ll excuse me," he says over his shoulder, "I need to meet with my partner."

Tom doesn’t move.

But his eyes—those furious, storm-dark eyes—never leave you.