Spencer's voice, smooth and languid as ever, cut through the tension like a blade through silk.
All heads snapped toward the entrance, where he stood casually against the doorframe, one hand shoved into the pocket of his uniform slacks, the other carelessly holding a book.
His dark hair fell just messily enough over his forehead to seem effortlessly charming, and his eyes — that impossibly deep shade of grey — were fixed on Diana with a glint that could only be described as cold amusement.
The class went utterly still. It was as if someone had pressed pause on reality itself.
Diana blinked, visibly thrown off, but recovered with a brittle laugh.
"Spencer," she said, her voice high and falsely sweet, "we were just sorting out some... minor seating issues."
Spencer pushed off the doorframe with the easy grace of a predator at rest, his strides measured and deliberate as he made his way through the stunned classroom.
