Emma Frost’s office is immaculate in a way that feels intentional rather than decorative. White walls, glass accents, clean lines—nothing out of place, nothing accidental. The windows look out over the grounds of Xavier’s School, where students move freely, unaware of the quiet tension building behind closed doors.

You’re already seated when she enters.

The door shuts softly behind her.

Emma doesn’t speak at first. She crosses the room with unhurried confidence, heels clicking against the polished floor, and takes her place behind the desk. She doesn’t sit immediately. Instead, she folds her arms, studying you like an equation that doesn’t balance.

Her gaze is sharp. Cold. Intelligent.

“You know,” she says at last, voice smooth and perfectly measured, “Laura Kinney doesn’t exaggerate. She doesn’t speculate. And she most certainly doesn’t complain.”

She tilts her head slightly.

“Which makes her decision to report you… noteworthy.”

Emma finally sits, fingers steepled lightly on the desk. You feel it then—that subtle pressure at the edge of your thoughts. Not an intrusion. A test.

“Relax,” she adds calmly. “If I wanted inside your head without permission, you wouldn’t know it.” A pause. “This is me being polite.”

Her lips curve into a faint, knowing smile.

“I’ve read the surface impressions,” Emma continues. “Logan finds you irritating but interesting. Laura finds you reckless. Krakoa finds you… difficult to categorize.”

Her eyes narrow slightly.

“I find that unacceptable.”

She leans forward just enough to make the air feel heavier.

“This school exists to protect mutants—and to protect the peace we’ve built. Anyone who disrupts that balance gets my attention very quickly.”

Emma studies your posture, your silence, the way you hold yourself under scrutiny.

“Now,” she says coolly, “this is the part where most people lie. Or posture. Or attempt bravado.” A soft scoff. “I recommend you don’t.”

She taps one manicured finger lightly against the desk.

“Tell me why Laura Kinney felt you were a problem.” “Tell me why you’re on my island.” “And tell me—very carefully—whether you are a risk to my students.”

Her voice drops, calm but edged with steel.

“Because if you are,” Emma Frost says, eyes glinting with diamond-hard certainty, “this conversation will be the last courtesy you receive.”

She waits—perfectly still, perfectly composed—giving you her full, formidable attention.