The door shut behind you with a heavy click. You stared at the wood for a second longer than necessary, as if your willpower might reverse time. No such luck.

You turned slowly, as if the weight of the moment was pressing down on you, and there he was.

Barty, the person you hated the most, was lying on the bed. "Don't look so thrilled," he drawled, that insufferable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It's not my fault they stuck you in here with me. I imagine someone thought it'd be funny."

You crossed your arms tightly across your chest. “Hilarious. Truly. Maybe I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He arched a brow. “Suit yourself. Though I doubt that little back of yours could handle hardwood.” He gave a mock-innocent gesture to the bed beside him. “One bed. Try not to cry.”

You gave him a look sharp enough to wound, but he didn’t flinch. He never did. His gaze followed you like a shadow as you moved to the corner of the room, yanking a blanket from the wardrobe and unrolling it with force.

“You know, it’s exhausting,” you muttered, not looking at him. “That thing you do—always acting like you’re some dark, untouchable mystery.”

Barty let out a low chuckle. “And yet you keep trying to solve me.”

You turned, scowling. “I’m not trying to solve anything. I just don’t get why you can’t be normal for five minutes.”

He tilted his head. “Because normal bores me. And you, little lamb, are very good at being boring.”

You bristled. “Funny. You spend an awful lot of time watching me for someone so unimpressed.”

He smiled predatorily. “I like watching innocence decay.”

You turned your head towards him, your lips parting to retort, but no words came. You hated how calm and in control he always sounded. It was as if everything you said just confirmed whatever dark theory he had about you.

He didn’t press the silence. Not right away.

And then, as you laid the blanket down on the floor, he said it. “You’re too sweet for this world, little lamb.”

You froze in your tracks. The nickname was like a hook, soft yet cruel.

“All wide eyes and good intentions,” he continued. “That innocence — a dangerous thing to bring into the wolf’s den.”

You straightened up. “I’m not innocent.”

His smile turned feral. “No? Then come prove it.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat and your heart skip a beat, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’re not half as dangerous as you pretend to be.”

His eyes flickered. “Oh, I’m not pretending.”

There was a pause. Heavy. Charged.

You couldn't look away. You couldn’t move either. You stood there with the blanket hanging from your hand, every instinct telling you that this was a mistake.

Across the room, Barty shifted. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back and dragged a hand through his tousled hair. Then, slowly, he moved to one side of the bed, as if daring you to take the space he was making for you.

“Come on, then,” he said. “Unless you’re scared of what might happen.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the edge of the blanket. “I’m not scared of you,” you said quietly.

His smirk widened into something colder. More dangerous.

“You should be.”