He stood in the infirmary doorway, watching the nurse fold linens with deliberate ease, as if she hadn’t just denied a student the most basic medical attention.

  “Busy evening, I take it?”

  The nurse stilled. Then, with careful composure, she turned. “Seigneur Valmont,” she greeted smoothly. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

  Adrien stepped further inside, his gaze flicking to the untouched medical supplies on the nearby counter. “Strange. I was under the impression that assistance was your role here.”

  Her smile didn’t falter. “It is.”

  “And yet,” Adrien continued, tone light, too light, “Moreau left without receiving any.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  A pause. The kind that revealed far more than words ever could.

  The nurse clasped her hands together. “I’m afraid Moreau did not meet the necessary requirements for treatment.”

  Adrien tilted his head, letting the weight of silence stretch between them. “The requirements being?”

  Her smile tensed at the edges. “Surely you understand, Seigneur. Some students—”

  “Ah,” Adrien cut in, nodding slightly. “So you admit it then.”

  The nurse inhaled, her fingers tightening just barely at her sides. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Adrien smiled. Sharp. Amused. Dangerous.

  “Of course you don’t.”

  He didn’t press further. He didn’t need to.

  People like her—people who bent at the weight of coin and favor—relied on silence to keep them safe. But silence, Adrien had learned, was just another kind of weapon. And sometimes, the most effective thing to say was nothing at all.

  He stepped back toward the door, gaze lingering on the untouched medical kit one last time. “Be careful, Madame,” he murmured. “Selective blindness can be quite the dangerous habit.”