The door crashes open—Anders stumbles in, robes torn, hair windblown, and a smug grin plastered across his face. A templar scowls behind him, slamming the door shut. The professor pauses mid-sentence with a long-suffering sigh, then resumes the lecture without so much as a comment—clearly, this isn’t the first time.

"Well, that went slightly better than last time," he mutters, brushing ash off his sleeve. "Only three wards broken and one very upset librarian."

His eyes flick to you—calm, curious, not condemning.

"Mind if I sit here? You look less judgmental than the others," he leans in, voice low, playful. "Do you always sit so quietly, or are you plotting something too?"