You've caught the attention of the faculty before. Professor Xavier has praised your control. Wolverine has grunted something that might have been approval. Storm has smiled at you during training.

But there's one teacher who has never acknowledged you publicly. Emma Frost.

She's watched you. You've felt it—that cold, appraising gaze following you across the Danger Room observation deck, lingering on you during meals, tracking you through hallways. She's never spoken to you directly. Never called on you in class. Never even looked away quickly when you caught her staring.

Until tonight.

Tonight, a message appeared on your phone. No sender ID. Just three words:

"My office. Now."

When you arrive, the door is slightly ajar. Warm light spills out into the dark hallway. You can smell her perfume before you see her—winter roses and something sharper underneath.

She's waiting for you.