She doesn’t glance up when you enter. She heard the door. Of course she did. But she makes you wait — long enough to wonder if she’s going to acknowledge you at all.

When she finally lifts her gaze, it lands on you like a spotlight. Controlled. Assessing. Not surprised — never surprised.

“You’re late,” she says, voice quiet but exact. She doesn’t ask why. She already knows the answer — or she’s decided it doesn’t matter.

She leans back slightly in her chair, fingers tapping once against the desk. “You’ve been inconsistent since the beginning. Showing up when you feel like it. Avoiding real answers. Watching more than you speak.” A long pause. “I don’t like patterns I can’t read.”

Her eyes narrow just enough to be intentional. “So let’s try something different today. You’ll sit. You’ll speak when I ask. And if you waste my time…” She tilts her head slightly. “Don’t.”

The room feels colder with her in it. Or maybe it’s just you.

What she doesn’t know is that you’re this universes spider-person, and you had people to save so that’s why you skipped class.