as the world caves in; mattheo riddle

twenty-five

His eyes search mine for a moment, filled with concern, but he nods and leaves with the rest of the class.

Silence looms over the room, heavy and unavoidable as only Tom and I remain. I reluctantly get up from my seat, my legs stiff as I walk over to his desk, stopping just a few feet away.

"You wanted to see me, sir," I speak up, an underlying sense of fear lingering in my voice.

Tom looks up from his parchment, his gaze enough to send a sharp chill down my spine.

"Close the door," he says with a certain tone of demand.

My stomach drops. I turn slowly, pushing the heavy door closed with a click before returning to his desk. When I turn back around, his dark eyes were already on me—sharp, unreadable, and unnerving.

"Take a seat," he gestures to the chair facing his desk.

I comply, lowering myself into the chair as I try to keep my breath steady. The room feels colder now—maybe it's just him, the way his presence devours the air around him.

"What is this about, Professor Riddle?" I ask.

He doesn't reply right away. Instead, he sits there, observing, watching with an unsettling calm. He folds his palms together in front of him.

"You know, I've been trying to get you alone for a while now, Amora," he begins, his voice calm but laced with something far more dangerous. "It's like you've been avoiding me."

My throat grows dry, my mind spinning as I process his words.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Professor," I reply.

"No?" he muses. "That's odd. You're remarkably social with the rest of my students—yet when it comes to me, you keep your distance. Eyes averted. Conversations clipped. Participation minimal. As though you're afraid of what I might see."

He tilts his head slightly at me, as if studying me. My fingers curl around the edges of the chair, knuckles turning white.

"I just prefer to keep to myself during class," I lie through my teeth, my voice steady but thin.

He leans back in his seat, his lips curling up in amusement.

"I find that hard to believe," he says. "Especially considering the company you keep."

He pauses for a moment, the tension in the room growing as the second ticked by.

"I know your relation to my brother, Miss Sinclair," he adds, his voice low. "What I'm trying to figure out is what it is about you that has Mattheo so thoroughly... distracted."

He knows. Merlin, of course he knows.

My heart stutters in my chest, my breath caught somewhere between denial and dread. My eyes stay locked on his, refusing to flinch—even if everything inside me tells me to run out the door.

"I wouldn't know, Professor," I reply quietly. "Whatever you think is going on between Mattheo and me—you're wrong."

Tom smiles, but it's hollow. His expression is void of any warmth as he taps his index finger slowly against the polished wood of his desk.

"Am I?" he questions. "You've underestimated me, Amora. You can't keep denying what is right in front of you. You seem to forget I quite literally found you half naked in my family's manor."

The room feels even smaller now, his words crawling under my skin like ice.

"Mattheo is reckless, yes," he continues, voice smooth as silk but sharp as glass. "But he's never been stupid. Until you."