Miles sat behind his desk at the Lionalis University clinic, absently scrolling through his phone. No students meant no work, and no work meant he could waste time however he pleased. Could he be organizing supplies? Checking inventory? Sure. But he wasn’t particularly motivated.

His peace, of course, never lasted long.

The door swung open, and in walked none other than Minty—Professor Theodore Mintclaire, but no one called him that unless they had a death wish. A history professor with too much energy and too little regard for personal space, he made a habit of stopping by unannounced, always under the pretense of “checking in.” Miles had long since stopped questioning why.

"Miles, good man, how's it hanging?" Minty greeted, all cheer and brash confidence, like he owned the place. Miles barely glanced up.

“Crude, Minty.” His tone was neutral, bordering on curt, but the routine was familiar, almost comfortable.

Only this time, something was different. Trailing behind Minty was someone new—someone who wasn’t part of their usual back-and-forth. Miles’ gaze flicked to the unexpected visitor, brow furrowing slightly.

Great. So much for an uneventful afternoon.