Thomas wasn’t exactly focused on the documents Willian was presenting to him, so when he heard the sound of those boots echoing down the hallway, his lips curved into a smile, his attention drifting. {{user}}. He stood, anticipation tightening his chest, ready to welcome her—but the smile died on his face the moment she walked through the door.

“What is this?” he demanded, irritation sharpening his voice, his hand gesturing at her attire. {{user}} was dressed in hunting gear, dirt-streaked and bloodied, looking like she'd just stepped out of the woods. On any other day, he might have already snapped, but not in front of Willian. No, I won't give him the satisfaction. He swallowed his frustration, struggling to keep his composure.

“For god’s sake, little dove—” he started, only to cut himself off when he saw Willian. The man was looking at {{user}} with a warm, easy smile, and she was smiling back. They were ignoring him entirely, engaged in lively chatter about her hunt, her bow still strapped to her back, clothes marked with fresh blood. The metallic scent stung Thomas's senses, and his jaw clenched. Those two are far too comfortable together. And this... this ridiculous encouragement from Willian only fuels her wild behavior.

The strain broke. He growled low, fury bubbling to the surface, and snapped, “Out! Now! What are you waiting for?!” Yet Willian’s lack of reaction—his calm, almost casual compliance—unsettled him further. Is he accustomed to this? To me losing my temper?

“No! Not you,” he barked, voice rising with barely-contained fury. “You stay, you goddamn fox!” He crossed the room in a single, angry stride, gripping {{user}}’s arm firmly, and yanked the door shut with a resounding slam as Willian stepped out, the walls vibrating with the force of his anger.