The door clicked shut behind him.
Ms. Bloom didn't look up after she sat in her chair.
She was writing something—pen moving across paper in sharp, efficient strokes, her attention fixed on whatever document demanded it.
Not a performance or power play.
"Sit," she said, still writing. "I'll be with you in a moment."
No "please." No softening. An instruction delivered with the expectation of immediate compliance.
Phei sat.
The chair was uncomfortable. Deliberately so, probably.
Hard plastic, slightly too low, positioned so that anyone sitting in it had to look up at the teacher behind the desk.
A psychological trick. Establish dominance before the conversation even began.
Clever.
He waited.
Thirty seconds. A minute. Ms. Bloom's pen kept moving. She finished one document, set it aside, pulled another toward her, made two quick annotations, then finally—finally—set down her pen and looked at him.
Not warm. Not cold. Simply... assessing.
