The kitchen fell into a focused silence. The lingering heat of Arm's kiss still hummed on Mild's skin, but the gravity of their situation acted like a cold drench of water. Arm pulled a chair out for Mild, insisting he sit while they began the grueling process of elimination.
"Think, Arm," Mild said, resting his hand near the spot on the counter where he'd hit himself. "A pinhole camera in a private bedroom isn't something a stranger does. It requires time, access, and a lack of suspicion. Who has been in your room in the last two years?"
Arm paced the small kitchen, his brow furrowed. "At school, my dorm was a fortress. But the house... the estate is different. My mother hosts events constantly. We had the Foundation Gala, the Winter Benefit, and my father's political mixers. Dozens of 'high-achieving' students and staff have walked those halls."
"But they don't go into your bedroom," Mild countered.
