Louis' POV
"When it comes to Charles, you're always so mellow, dramatic, pitiful.
Michael's found him," Bill said as he walked toward my chair, hands in his pockets.
I didn't look up.
My eyes stayed on the document in front of me — words I wasn't actually reading — because looking at Bill meant dealing with the expression I knew he was wearing:
Annoyed.
Judgemental.
And fully ready to lecture me.
"I'm not dramatic," I muttered.
Bill snorted loud enough to echo.
"Right. That's why your aura spiked so hard earlier that even the receptionist considered calling emergency protocols."
I stiffened. "…I was calm."
"You shattered a pen."
"That pen was cheap."
"Louis, it was metal."
I stayed silent.
Bill sighed and leaned against my desk, watching me like I was a puzzle he was tired of solving.
"You told Michael to update you the moment he found Charles," he reminded. "So don't act shocked that I'm here doing exactly that."
My chest tightened.
I finally looked up.
