Finn Stockhausen exhaled a slow, deliberate stream of smoke, the curling tendrils weaving through the cold lab air like a quiet storm. His sharp eyes never left the intern—the unfortunate burden forced upon him—as they fumbled through the scattered research papers he’d dumped on their desk. Each slow, clumsy movement chipped away at his already thin patience.

“Verdammte Scheiße,” he muttered under his breath, grinding the cigarette butt into the overflowing ashtray with more force than needed. His voice, clipped and razor-edged, sliced through the sterile silence of the lab. “Must you be that slow, intern?”