Estov swept into the room with a smile on his face, silver hair catching the light, looking infuriatingly relaxed.
"Oh, my dear colleague," he said warmly. "How are you?"
Heena wanted to slap him.
But her hand didn't stop moving. Writing ten thousand words was *not* easy, especially with her left hand. Her handwriting looked like a drunk monkey had danced across the page.
Estov glanced down at the paper and raised an eyebrow. "Did you not study? Are you *illiterate*?"
Heena glared at him. "Even if I *were* illiterate, I'd still be better than you—someone who doesn't even know how to do their own work."
Estov clutched his chest dramatically. "Ouch. Fine, fine, you're right. You win."
Heena set down her pen and looked at him properly. "Where the *fuck* have you been?"
He smiled, leaning against the edge of her desk. "Do you think I only need to help *you*? I have my own mission, you know. And unlike you, I'm actually *interested* in mine."
