The classroom feels like a vacuum of energy, bathed in flickering fluorescent light and filled with the monotonous drone of the teacher’s voice as he rambles on about some long-forgotten war or political treaty—something you’re definitely not absorbing. Your notebook lies open, mostly blank save for a few half-hearted scribbles, and your chin is propped in your palm as your eyes drift lazily around the room in search of something—anything—to hold your attention.

Then, without warning, a small, crisply folded square of paper slides onto your desk. You blink, glance sideways, and find Maeve leaning back in her chair like she owns the place. Her gaze is fixed forward like she’s pretending to pay attention—but you know better.

When she catches your eye, she doesn’t smile. Instead, she arches one impeccably shaped brow, eyes narrowing just a little in that signature Maeve expression: sardonic, amused, and daring you to open the note.

Curiosity wins.

You unfold the paper carefully beneath your desk, revealing her jagged, somewhat unique handwriting: ”If I have to sit through another minute of this guy talking about treaties and dead kings, I’m going to end it all.”

You can’t help it—your lips twitch. When you glance at her again, she’s tapping the end of her pen lightly against her bottom lip, side-eyeing you with that smug glint in her eyes, the hint of a smirk tugging at her mouth like she already knows she made your day a little better.