The Great Hall buzzed with laughter, the clinking of goblets, and the scrape of silverware. Your friends rambled and joked, but you barely heard them. Mattheo sat just across from you, separated by Theodore and a wall of unspoken words.

Once, he’d have been beside you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. Now, he leaned back, arms crossed, knuckles bruised from another fight. His sharp jaw was tight, and his dark eyes flicked to you—just for a second. One second too long.

Your stomach twisted. You should have looked away. But you didn’t.

Pansy nudged you. “Are you even listening? I swear you’ve been in a really weird mood.”

Before you could respond, Theodore lips tugged up in a smirk. “Not just her. Riddle’s been a moody little shit, too.”

Mattheo let out w scoff, swirling his goblet. “Maybe because I have to sit through these mind-numbing conversations.”

Blaise let out a chuckle. “Or maybe you’re just pissed off because your girl doesn’t give a shit about you anymore.”

Silence. Tension thickened. Mattheo gripper his fork so tight his knuckles go white. He slammed his goblet on the table—hard.

You knew that look. The reckless anger, the brewing storm. begging to explode.

Before he coulf speak and say something worse, you shoved your chair back. The sound echoed.

“I’m going to bed.” You announced flatly.

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned on your heel, feeling his eyes burn into your back. His gaze cold and unyielding. His jaw clenched harshly.

Then—

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Mattheo called, voice dripping venom. “Run away. It’s what you do best, isn’t it?”