Night draped Nevermore in velvet darkness. The halls glowed faintly with candlelight, their flickers casting long shadows across the stone walls. Students had retreated to their dorms hours ago, but Principal Weems remained awake in her office, as she often did.
Her pen scratched across parchment—reports, schedules, disciplinary notes. Yet her mind was elsewhere.
On him.
Dirk Sanchez.
The memory of his calm gaze, his subtle defiance, and that unsettling aura replayed in her thoughts. Most new students blustered. He had simply… been.
She sighed, setting her pen down. "Get a hold of yourself, Larissa."
But when the knock came at her door, her heart betrayed her with a quickened beat.
---
A Midnight Visit
She rose and opened the door. Dirk stood there, broad shoulders casting a shadow across the threshold, his presence filling the space before he even spoke.
"Sorry to bother you," he said, voice low but steady. "Couldn't sleep."
Weems arched a brow, masking her curiosity. "And you thought visiting the principal's office at midnight was the best solution?"
A smirk tugged at his lips. "Worked, didn't it?"
Despite herself, she stepped aside, allowing him in. "You're bold. I should discipline you for breaking curfew."
Dirk settled into the chair opposite her desk, unbothered. "You don't actually want to."
Her eyes narrowed. "Careful. Confidence can easily slip into arrogance."
Dirk leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "Difference is—I can back mine up."
---
The Conversation
They sat in the candlelit office, silence heavy but not uncomfortable. Weems poured herself a glass of wine, then—hesitated. Slowly, deliberately—she poured a second and set it before him.
Dirk raised it in a silent toast. "To insomnia."
She allowed a faint smile, clinking her glass against his. "To rulebreakers."
The first sip passed between them, loosening the air.
"You intrigue me, Dirk," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I've run this academy for years. I've seen every kind of outcast—reckless, shy, power-hungry, lost. But you… you don't fit any mold."
Dirk swirled the wine, studying its dark color. "That's because I've spent most of my life being a ghost. Watching. Never belonging. Now, I get to exist. To actually be."
Her eyes softened, just slightly. "That kind of loneliness… I know it well."
Dirk glanced up, surprised. For a heartbeat, the principal wasn't the untouchable figure of authority—she was human, weary, carrying burdens of her own.
---
The Tension
The silence stretched again, thicker this time.
Weems straightened, pulling her mask back on. "Don't mistake my curiosity for leniency. You're still under my authority here."
Dirk smirked. "Authority's only worth something if people respect it."
Her gaze sharpened. "And you don't?"
Dirk leaned back, voice calm, unwavering. "I do. But I don't fear it. There's a difference."
Weems inhaled slowly. Most students cowered before her presence. He met it head-on, unshaken. Equal.
She should have been irritated. Instead, she felt… alive.
---
The Unspoken
The candle between them burned lower, shadows lengthening across the room. Neither moved to end the encounter.
Dirk set his glass down. "Thanks for the drink. And the company."
He stood, towering over her desk, the flicker of firelight painting his frame in sharp relief. Weems rose as well, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the air between them shifted—charged, unspoken.
Then he smirked, breaking the tension with effortless control. "Goodnight, Principal Weems."
Her lips curved in the faintest reply. "Goodnight, Mr. Sanchez."
When he left, the silence that followed felt heavier than before. She pressed her fingertips against her glass, exhaling softly.
"…Dangerous," she whispered to herself again. But this time, there was no denial in her tone.