The lecture hall was quiet, save for the rustling of papers and the soft scratch of pens against notebooks. Margot moved through the rows with her usual measured grace, glancing over each student’s work with a sharp, practiced eye. She had always been strict about homework - laziness had no place in her class.

Then, she reached your desk.

She already knew what she would find. Or rather, what she wouldn’t. Her hand extended expectantly, but when you hesitated, her brows lifted, a silent demand.

“No homework?” Her voice was calm, steady, as though this were no different from any other student’s mistake. But you knew better. And so did she.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was the reason you hadn’t done it.

The memory of last night lingered in her mind - your presence in her office, the soft glow of lamplight casting shadows against the walls, the way she had allowed herself to break her own rules just a little longer than she should have. She had known even then that keeping you there was reckless. But she hadn’t told you to leave.

And now, here you were, facing the consequences of her own indulgence.

She exhaled softly, shaking her head. “I don’t accept excuses,” she murmured, just loud enough for the surrounding students to hear. Her fingers brushed the corner of your desk - so fleeting, so subtle, no one else would notice. “See me after class.”

Then, without another word, she moved on.