"Are you a poli-sci major?" I ask.
He smirks. "No. I just grew up around people who think they run things."
"Like who?"
"People who confuse position with power." He says it casually, but there's an edge underneath. "Anyone with a title and an ego."
I want to press further, but his phone buzzes on the table between us.
He glances at the screen, and I catch the name before he picks it up: Nessa.
He answers the call. "Yeah, I'll be there."
I pull my laptop toward me and pretend to read something. He ends the call and leans back in his chair. When he looks at the ceiling, I get the feeling he's deciding something — not about where he needs to be, but about whether to stay.
He stays.
"Your turn," he says, like the call never happened.
I look up. "For what?"
"You've been asking me questions for almost an hour." He tilts his head slightly, intrigued. "I haven't asked you anything."
He has, but I blush anyway and say, "What do you want to ask me?"
He looks at me for a moment. "I haven’t seen you before.”
I nod. “That’s because I just transferred here.”
“You just transferred? Why?"
"I had a reason," I say.
"Past tense."
I don't answer that.
He doesn't push it, which is almost worse — because it means he heard the thing I didn't say and decided to leave it there. Most people would fill the silence. He lets it exist, watching me with those pale eyes that give nothing away and somehow take everything in.
"What does your father do?" I ask, redirecting.
"He practices law."
"What kind?"
"The kind where the outcome is decided before the trial starts." He says it without bitterness. Just fact. "He's good at it."
I turn that over. "And your mother?"
"She works with people who break." A pause. "Helps them figure out where the crack started."
I nearly smile. That’s a thoughtful way to put it. I look at him, full of questions. Instead, all that comes out is, "Like a therapist?"
"Forensic psychologist. She says most people in power are just afraid of what happens when they lose it."
He is insightful. I watch him for a moment and ask, "Is she right?"
"About most things." Something moves across his face that I can't read. "It's inconvenient."
