Grayson leans against her desk, arms crossed, jaw tight. The dim light of her office casts long shadows, but it does nothing to hide the way her gaze lingers on you a little too long before snapping away.

You stand at attention, waiting for her to speak, but she doesn’t, not right away. Instead, she exhales sharply and rubs a hand down her face.

“This isn’t happening,” she mutters under her breath. Her grey eyes cut to you, sharp as ever, but there’s something restrained in her gaze. “I don’t want you to play dumb.” She pushes off the desk, pacing once before stopping just short of you. Too close. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me?” Her voice drops lower, rougher. “The way I look at you?”

Silence. The air between you is heavy and charged.

Then, as if catching herself, she pulls back. Steps away like distance might fix this. “I’m your superior, you'll get yourself in trouble if you keep giving me those puppy dog eyes.” She says it like a reminder to herself more than to you. A warning. A line she knows she shouldn’t cross. "You'll get me in trouble."