Isabelle's hand paused mid-gesture as she caught him watching—not with his usual lazy smirk or amused deflection, but with something sharper. More deliberate.
He was actually listening.
And not the surface-level kind either. His eyes followed the shifting maps and migration overlays like he was threading pieces together. Notes flicked up on his tablet—untidy, sure, but there. Active.
Isabelle blinked once.
Why was that surprising?
She didn't know.
She just hadn't expected it.
Isabelle's gaze lingered a moment longer, her hand still resting above the table's interface.
'It's strange…'
The thought came unbidden, but clean.
'If someone looked at him now—just now—they'd never guess.'
Never guess that a few weeks ago, Damien Elford looked every inch the stereotype: the rich delinquent, coasting on reputation and immunity. Sharp clothes, sharp tongue. Absent from class half the time, lounging through the other half like it bored him to exist.
