I glanced over at Arthur, who looked about as pleased as a grandmaster whose chess match had just been interrupted by a thrown drink. The sight of him unsettled, eyes flickering between us, wasn't the panic of someone overwhelmed by variables; it was the cold calculation of an equation being forcibly rewritten. An unexpected ache bloomed in my chest. I had done this to him—crashed through the gates of his meticulously controlled world and scattered his carefully cultivated composure.
"Fine," he sighed at last, though the sound held no true resignation. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a familiar gesture that wasn't one of weariness, but of a mind shifting gears into a less preferred, more direct, mode of operation. "Let's discuss this properly, since you've made such a dramatic entrance."
