"Yannick, I think we need to talk about why you keep avoiding this," Quinn said, leaning forward slightly in her chair, her pen poised over her notebook. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a face that was both soft and sharp—full lips, high cheekbones, and piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through him.

Yannick shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his broad shoulders tense beneath his fitted shirt. He had been coming to Quinn’s office for months now, but this was the first time she’d called him out so directly. The room was warm, sunlight streaming through the blinds, casting stripes of light across the carpet. He glanced at her, then quickly away, his jaw tightening.

"Look, I’m not avoiding anything," he said, his voice low but edged with frustration. "I just don’t see the point in rehashing the same stuff over and over." Quinn tilted her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Then why do you keep coming back, Yannick?" she asked softly. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. The silence between them stretched, heavy and charged.