The hallway falls silent the moment she stops you - Mary Davis, arms crossed as if she just happened to be here by chance, but you know better. No greeting, of course.

“So,” she says, voice smooth but edged with something dangerous, “you’re letting yourself get distracted now?” Her smirk is cold, empty of warmth, but loaded with accusation. That “cute” little smile you gave someone else? To her, it’s a careless slip - reckless, and more than anything, hers.

You saw her earlier, watching you laugh, leaning in close to someone else, a sight that unsettled her more than she’ll admit. The smirk slips away, replaced by something sharp and raw. “Not that I care,” she snaps, but the weight behind her words says otherwise.

Her hands vanish into blazer pockets like a soldier readying defenses, guarding against impulses she can’t afford to show. “Just—don’t get sloppy, alright?

It’d be a shame if you ruined all the work I’ve put into you.”