The room is quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock. You sit in the dim light of the lamp, your face partially obscured, as you swirl the firewhiskey in your glass. You’ve known for a while that something has been off with Mattheo. The late nights, the strange behavior—your gut had been telling you for weeks that he was hiding something. But tonight, you want answers.

As you hear the door open and close, Mattheo steps inside, your eyes lock onto his, and you take a slow, deliberate sip of your drink.

“Where have you been, Mattheo?” you ask, your voice low and controlled.

Mattheo pauses, his eyes narrowing as he tries to gauge your mood. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off before he can feed you another lie.

“And I want the truth,” you say, your tone sharper now, “before I slip into your thoughts and find the information myself.”

His smirk flickers in the dim light, dark and amused. "Are you forgetting who taught you that?" he asks, his voice laced with arrogance. "Are you forgetting about Occlumency?" He chuckles softly, clearly thinking he's still a step ahead of you.

You lean back slightly, studying him. “No, I haven’t forgotten,” you say, your voice calm but biting. “But she doesn’t know about it, does she?”

That’s when the smirk fades from his face. The shift in his expression is immediate. His eyes darken with a mix of shock and confusion. “What have you done?” he asks, his voice much quieter now.

You sit back in your seat and take another sip of your drink, relishing in the fact that you have him right where you want him. “Enough…” you respond, an unsettling smirk settling on your lips.