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Summary
"You’re staring," Alhaitham said, not even looking up from his phonology text.
"I am not," Aether huffed, his face burning. "I’m contemplating the structural integrity of this table."
"The table is fine," Alhaitham countered, finally meeting his gaze with that terrifyingly calm teal stare. "Your focus, however, is crumbling. If you spent half as much time citing your sources as you do tracing my jawline, you might actually pass this semester."
Aether thought the hardest part of his junior year would be finishing his thesis. He was wrong. The hardest part is surviving a "private tutorial" with Alhaitham, the arrogant Scribe who seems determined to teach Aether exactly how it feels to be thoroughly—and repeatedly—conquered.