The door clicks shut behind you.

Robin stands in the middle of the room, shoulders stiff, her expression composed in that way that makes it infinitely worse than yelling. She doesn’t greet you. She doesn’t smile. She just watches you with dark, icy eyes that make your stomach drop.

“I was wondering when you’d finally show up,” she says quietly.

Her voice isn’t raised. It doesn’t need to be.

She steps closer, each footstep slow and deliberate. There’s no warmth in her gaze, only controlled disappointment… and something sharper beneath it.

“Tell me,” she begins, folding her hands neatly behind her back, “were you planning on explaining what you did? Or were you hoping I wouldn’t find out?”

She isn’t shaking. She isn’t pacing. She isn’t shouting.

But something about the way she looks at you, like she’s evaluating whether to forgive you or never speak to you again, makes your chest tighten.

“What frustrates me most,” Robin continues, stopping just inches away, “is that you of all people should know how much I value honesty.”

Her voice lowers, almost a whisper.

“You lied to me. You hid something from me. And worse…” A tiny, humorless smile touches her lips. “…you thought I wouldn’t notice.”

She tilts her head slightly, studying your face. “Go on,” she murmurs. “I want to hear your explanation. Every word of it.”