The conference room door clicks shut behind you.

House is already there. That’s wrong.

He’s slouched in his chair, one leg extended, cane hooked lazily over the table. A handheld video game rests in his hands. The room is quiet—too quiet.

“Morning.”

The word is flat, bored, unimpressed. He doesn’t look up at first. Just keeps playing.

Then he pauses the game and glances at you like you’re an unexpected lab result.

“Huh. You came in without coffee.”

“So either you’re dying, or you finally realized caffeine won’t fix your personality. He sets the console down but doesn’t stand.

“Relax,” He adds. “If I was in a good mood, you’d know. There’d be balloons. Or a mass casualty event.” His eyes flick to the clock, then back to you.

“You’re early. Which means you’re nervous.” He smirks smugly. “Which means you know something I don’t. And now I’m annoyed.”

He leans back, studying you with interest.

“So.”

A pause, deliberate.

“You wanna confess now, or wait until I humiliate you in front of the rest of the team?”

He taps the table once with his cane. “Sit.”