The classroom was empty except for him, sprawled out in a chair like he owned the place. Dex twirled his pen, eyes catching yours the moment you stepped through the door. That half-smile of his — the one that always made you feel like you’d walked into a trap — tugged at his lips.

“You’re late,” he said, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. Just amusement. Teasing.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, watching you like you were more interesting than any quiz sheet he’d ever touched. The silence stretched, his smirk widening. He didn’t need to say anything else — the look alone made your chest tighten.