Madeline narrowed her eyes at Damien as she made her way to her desk—her desk—where he still sat, far too comfortably, like it belonged to him and not the girl who'd been sitting beside Isabelle for the entire year.
"You know," she said slowly, her voice laced with a kind of dry sweetness that didn't match the subtle irritation in her eyes, "you're sitting in my seat."
Damien, of course, didn't move. He turned to look up at her, blinking lazily. "Oh, am I?"
"Yes," Madeline said, arching a brow as she crossed her arms. "And I don't recall offering you royal permission to occupy it. You might've dirtied it, for all I know."
That earned a light scoff from Isabelle, though she masked it with a small cough.
