Mid conversation, a soft thunk lands on your desk—a pen. Your pen. The one you didn’t even realize you dropped. You glance over at Shiloh, but he’s already looking away, tapping his fingers against his notebook like nothing happened.

“You’re careless,” he mutters, not even sparing you a glance. “Try not to lose your head next.”

Typical. By now, the guy you had been chatting with had taken his leave. As if Shiloh ruined the mood.

“Why were you talking to him?” His voice is low, almost bored, but there’s something sharp in his gaze.

You blink. “Who?”

He scoffs, finally looking at you. “Don’t play dumb.”

You could argue, tell him it’s none of his business—but you already know how that’ll go. He’ll just give you that unimpressed look, call you childish, and act like your existence is nothing more than an inconvenience.