The heavy doors of Nevermore creaked shut, sealing Dirk in the main hall. Shadows pooled across the gothic architecture, candles flickering along the walls. Principal Weems led the way, her heels clicking against polished stone.
She didn't speak at first. Neither did Dirk. The silence wasn't awkward—it was a contest, a subtle test of who would break it first.
Dirk smirked. She's sharp. Definitely not underestimating me.
At last, she opened a door into her office. The space was elegant, lined with shelves of old books, framed portraits, and a desk that looked centuries old. Weems gestured gracefully.
"Sit."
Dirk lowered himself into the chair, his massive frame dwarfing it. He rested one arm casually on the desk, watching her with calm, unreadable eyes.
Weems studied him in return, every detail noted—the strength coiled in his muscles, the composure in his posture, the quiet fire in his gaze.
"You've caused quite the stir already," she said smoothly. "One word, and a werewolf retreated with his tail between his legs. Not many could achieve that without… theatrics."
Dirk's lips twitched. "Some people mistake silence for weakness. I like proving them wrong."
---
Probing Questions
Weems leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Your file is… interesting. Transferred from out-of-state, minimal family records, no prior institutions willing to give detailed reports. You are, for all intents, a ghost."
Dirk met her gaze without flinching. "Maybe I prefer it that way."
Her eyes narrowed slightly—not hostile, but curious. "You understand, of course, that Nevermore caters to those who are… different. Unique. But uniqueness can also mean dangerous. Tell me, Dirk—what exactly are you?"
Dirk smirked, leaning back. His voice dropped low, calm, deliberate.
"Someone who doesn't fit in anywhere else. Someone who's tired of being invisible. Someone who finally gets a chance to live on his own terms."
He let the silence hang, then added softly:
"Isn't that what this school is for?"
For the first time, Weems faltered. Just slightly.
---
The Shift
She sat back, lips curving faintly. "You're clever. Most students fumble when I ask. They rush to prove themselves. You… leave me guessing."
Dirk tilted his head. "Keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"
Her laugh was soft, genuine, surprising even herself.
"You're unlike the others. Confident, but not arrogant. Guarded, but not afraid. Dangerous, but… controlled."
She poured herself a glass of wine, then paused—offering a second to him. A rare gesture.
Dirk accepted, his fingers brushing hers briefly as he took the glass. Her eyes lingered a fraction longer than necessary before she turned away, masking it behind her usual poise.
---
Underlying Tension
They drank in silence, the candlelight casting shadows across their faces.
"You'll need to be careful," Weems finally said. "Your presence already unsettles the student body. That kind of attention… can be a burden."
Dirk's gaze locked with hers, steady, intense.
"I've carried worse burdens. Attention doesn't scare me."
Something flickered in her eyes—respect, maybe even intrigue. For years she had been the authority, the untouchable figure of control. Now, here was someone who met her stare as an equal.
The air between them thickened, subtle but undeniable.
---
Closing
At last, Weems rose, setting her glass down. "Classes begin tomorrow. I expect you to behave… at least as much as you can."
Dirk smirked, standing to his full height, towering over her but never looming. "I'll try not to cause too much trouble."
As he turned to leave, she spoke again, softer.
"Dirk."
He glanced back.
"Whatever you are… don't waste it."
For the briefest moment, the mask slipped. A hint of genuine concern crossed her features.
Dirk gave a small nod. "I won't."
When the door closed behind him, Weems let out a slow breath, her composure cracking just slightly. She touched her glass, lips curving into the faintest smile.
"…Dangerous. And fascinating."