The door to Professor Cameron’s office was slightly ajar, a golden glow spilling into the dimly lit hallway. You knocked twice, a crisp sound against the heavy oak, before stepping inside.

Rafe Cameron sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a black pen twirling between his fingers. His blue eyes flicked up to you—calculating, intrigued—but he said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Office hours are almost over,” he murmured, voice smooth as aged whiskey. “This must be urgent.”

You leaned against the doorframe, tilting your head just enough to study him. “Not urgent—just… pressing.”

His brow arched, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Pressing?”

“Yes.” You stepped forward, dropping your bag into the chair opposite his desk. “Your comments on my latest paper were—shall we say—incisive. You seem to think my argument lacked conviction.”

Rafe exhaled sharply through his nose, amused. “Your diction was impeccable, as always. But a strong vocabulary alone doesn’t win a debate.”

“You assume I lack conviction,” you mused, “when perhaps the problem is your own reluctance to be swayed.”

His gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of something dangerous beneath the amusement. He reached for your paper, flipping through the pages absently before looking back at you.

“And something tells me,” he said, voice dropping lower, “you like pushing boundaries.”

The air between you crackled with something unsaid, something charged. His fingers brushed against the edge of your paper, but you both knew the real game had nothing to do with academics.

“So tell me,” he murmured, “how do you plan to convince me?”